Advancing years and major surgery – particularly in combination – have an uncomfortable habit of reminding one of one’s own mortality and causing one to pause and reflect on remaining ambitions and unfulfilled tasks. A serious illness and a subsequent operation in 2012 certainly made me realise that I still had a fair amount of historical writing ‘in the bank’ in the form of unpublished historical essays and lectures on topics which have long been of interest to me. With the centenary of the Great War upon us, I felt that these pieces might possibly be of some interest to others and, thanks to Pen and Sword, I am now able to share my thoughts with a wider readership.
The essays that make up this book were written over a period of fifteen or more years, although they have been updated, where appropriate, to take account of fresh evidence and new research and writing on the First World War. While it was by no means a deliberate aim when I first wrote them, most of the essays (or chapters) have a number of common themes. One is the combat performance of the Kitchener-raised New Army divisions on the Western Front, and especially in the Somme region, in the years 1916 and 1918. A second thread is the learning process which took place in the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) in France and Flanders during the 1916–1918 period and the extent to which that process was continuous, smooth or uniform amongst its component formations. The third recurrent theme is the increasing devolution of command downwards to divisional, brigade and battalion level as the war progressed. The first two essays, however, are historiographical in content. As I re-emphasise in Chapter 1, the centenary is probably as good a time as any to take stock of recent interpretations of the fighting on the Wetsern Front and the nature of the front-line experience.
Having been centrally involved in the ‘revisionist’ movement in British First World War studies, and admitting to being at least partly responsible for applying the term ‘learning curve’ to the process of operational and tactical improvement in the BEF which culminated in the successful all-arms battles of 1918, I find that I am now often hoist with my own petard. As I hope that this book reinforces, the majority of historians of the British army in the Great War are firmly in agreement that the BEF did achieve marked improvements in many aspects of its performance even if most would also argue that the so-called ‘learning curve’ was in fact far from smooth and was subject to periodic mistakes and setbacks. At this juncture, I feel it necessary to point out that, when first used in this connection among British military historians in the early 1990s, the phrase ‘learning curve’ was mainly employed as a kind of shorthand to signify that one rejected the ‘lions led by donkeys’ and ‘butchers and bunglers’ interpretations of the First World War. It also signalled that, based on archival research and analysis of primary sources, one had come to adopt a different, more objective view of the BEF’s real achievements and of the various factors which underpinned them. Given the growing consensus on the issue, we should perhaps at last recognise that, at least among serious students of the First World War, this particular battle has now been fought and won and that the term ‘learning curve’, when used in this connection, should therefore be laid gently to rest, its duty done.
This is not to say that victory in the wider battle has yet been attained. In a recent lecture, Professor Stephen Badsey, of the University of Wolverhampton, remarked that the ‘revisionist’ view of the BEF on the Western Front has now become ‘mainstream’.1 I would agree with Steve that this is so in academic circles but I would equally argue that the wider public perception of the Great War is still deeply mired in the seemingly bottomless depths of the Blackadder approach and ‘butchers and bunglers’ myths generally (though not universally) peddled by the popular media.
I still find it difficult to swallow the criticism that the work of several ‘revisionist’ historians, including myself, has been too Anglocentric in scope, content and tone. Speaking personally, I make no apologies for having spent the best part of thirty years working on the history of the BEF on the Western Front. When we set out on the ‘revisionist’ path, many academic historians and popular writers still followed the ‘lions led by donkeys’ interpretation. Now, in 2014, we know a great deal more about the organisation, infrastructure, tactical development, command and control, logistics, artillery and engineering effort, brigade and divisional commanders, and the actual operations of the BEF. As a result of a lot of effort, we have moved some way from the basic ‘muck and bullets’ perception but this position would not have been reached without a considerable amount of dedicated – and unashamedly Anglocentric – research, which simply needed to be done. Much work remains to be carried out on the role of the British and Dominion forces in France and Flanders, particularly on manpower issues, training, the reserve and drafting system, the social and geographical composition of units, casualties and morale and discipline. So long as these gaps in our present knowledge exist, there will be an important role for British First World War studies in general. How can we truly place the achievements of Britain’s allies in a proper perspective and really understand our relationships with those allies unless we also genuinely understand the nature and experience of the BEF and its component parts?
In the course of fifty years as a military historian, it has been my privilege to work under, and learn from, some of the leading international figures of my profession. First and foremost is the doyen of British military historians, Professor Sir Michael Howard, under whom I studied as an undergraduate and (briefly) as a postgraduate at King’s College, London, between 1958 and 1962. It was Michael Howard who, above all, inspired me to follow in his footsteps and, indeed, who was largely instrumental in securing a post for me as archivist and research assistant to the late Sir Basil Liddell Hart – a position which I held from early 1962 until the late summer of the following year. Ironically, I now hold views on the history of the Great War which are almost diametrically opposed to those instilled in me relentlessly by Sir Basil, but I shall never forget his kindness and encouragement to me as a young historian, and the stimulating after-dinner conversations which we had in his study at States House, Medmenham. I am in little doubt that this sort of exposure to Sir Basil’s acute intellect helped me to sharpen my historical instincts to a marked degree at a key formative stage in my career. Then, on 3 September 1963 – the anniversary of Britain’s declaration of war on Germany twenty-four years earlier – I joined the staff of the Imperial War Museum in London, the Director of the Museum then being Dr Noble Frankland, the distinguished official historian of the 1939–1945 strategic air offensive against Germany. He taught me much, over the next two decades, about the need for rigorous scholarly methodology. My thirty-five years at the IWM presented many challenges which, I sincerely hope, similarly helped my development as a historian. The task of translating historical concepts and ideas into a visual form for museum exhibitions, through the use of artefacts, documents, photographs and audio-visual techniques – something I was frequently called upon to achieve – imposed its own set of exacting demands. Having to summarise the Battle of the Somme in 175 words at the insistence of an exhibition designer was unquestionably a useful discipline to master! A further inspirational figure, whom I first met in Liddell Hart’s study half-a-century ago, is my long-time friend Professor Brian Bond, whose own standards of scholarship offer a constant benchmark of excellence to which I have always, if sometimes inadequately, aspired.
I feel similarly blessed to have worked closely with, and to have learned from, a whole company of other scholars, not only of my own generation but also including promising younger members of the profession. Those whose friendship and advice I shall long treasure – and whose work in this field has contributed hugely to the re-emergence of military history as an academic discipline – include, not least, my colleagues at the University of Birmingham over the last decade or so: Dr John Bourne, Professor Gary Sheffield, the late Dr Bob Bushaway and Dr Jonathan Boff. I owe an immense debt to both John Bourne and Gary Sheffield for encouraging me me to remain active in the academic world after my retirement from the Imperial War Museum and for allowing me to play a role in the development of the MA in British First World War Studies at Birmingham. Others whose help I have greatly valued are Professor Martin Alexander, Professor Stephen Badsey, Professor Ian Beckett, Professor Mark Connelly, Dr Adrian Gregory, Professor John Gooch, the late Dr Paddy Griffith, Dr J.P. Harris, Professor Keith Jeffery, John Lee, Dr Nick Lloyd, Dr Sanders Marble, Dr K.W. Mitchinson, Professor William Philpott, Dr Andy Simpson, Professor Sir Hew Strachan and Professor J.M. Winter. Nor should I forget my friends and colleagues in the Commonwealth, particularly Peter Burness, Ashley Ekins, Roger Lee, Peter Pedersen, Robin Prior, Chris Pugsley, Peter Stanley and Trevor Wilson.
I also owe a special debt of gratitude to those colleagues with whom I worked daily at the IWM for so many years and who did as much as anyone to help shape my historical thinking, especially that relating to the First World War. Foremost among these former colleagues in this connection are Peter Hart, Dr Bryn Hammond, Mike Hibberd, Brad King, Chris McCarthy, Laurie Milner, Dr Simon Robbins, Mark Seaman, Nigel Steel, the late Rod Suddaby and Dr Neil Young. Many of the IWM staff members whom I have just named were regular members of the memorable ‘Friday Club’ – held at the nearby ‘Two Eagles’ or ‘The Ship’ – where, over sausage, egg and chips, and a pint or two of IPA, one invariably engaged in lively discussions on historical issues of mutual interest, ranging from the identity of Jack the Ripper to the BEF’s tactics in the ‘Hundred Days’. It is, I believe, no facile exaggeration to claim that, for a period in the 1990s, the IWM’s ‘Friday Club’ – at which the likes of John Lee, Gary Sheffield and Andy Simpson were frequent participants – made a notable contribution to the then current ‘revisionist’ debate and thereby reinforced the Museum’s growing reputation as a centre of excellence in First World War studies alongside King’s College London, the University of Birmingham and the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst.
While acknowledging my indebtedness to so many in our profession, I must not fail to mention two more who have, in different ways, exerted a huge influence on me. One is the late John Terraine who, for so long, swam courageously against the prevailing tide of opinion about the Great War and who, I hope, was belatedly reassured and repaid by the knowledge that younger generations of scholars now shared his views. The second near-legendary figure who made a lasting impact on me was the late Rose Coombs, herself a former colleague of mine at the IWM. It was Rose who first introduced me to, and taught me to cherish, the battlefields of the Western Front. Through her, I became, in the mid-1980s, an enthusiastic participant in the activities of the Western Front Association, little thinking that, in 2011, I would be accorded the massive honour of being elected as the WFA’s Honorary President, in succession to John Terraine and Correlli ‘Bill’ Barnett. To this day, whenever I am in Ypres, I make a point of treading the path of the Rose Coombs Memorial Walk near the Lille Gate and paying a silent but heartfelt tribute to a remarkable lady.
I am, of course, particularly grateful to those institutions and individuals who have allowed me access to the collections in their possession and have granted me permission to use, or quote from, material for which they hold the copyright. They include The National Archives at Kew and the Controller of Her Majesty’s Stationery Office; the Trustees of the Imperial War Museum, London; the Trustees of the National Army Museum, London; the Trustees of the Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives, King’s College London; the Master, Fellows, Scholars and Archivist of Churchill College, Cambridge; the Cambridge University Press; the Trustees of the National Library of Scotland, Edinburgh; the Public Record Office of Northern Ireland; the Councillors of the Army Records Society; the Special Collections Department of the Brotherton Library, University of Leeds; the Regimental Museum of the Royal Highland Fusiliers, Glasgow; the Australian War Memorial, Canberra; Earl Haig; and Mr M.A.F. Rawlinson. Every effort has been made to contact the current copyright holders of material cited in this book and sincere apologies are offered to anyone whose copyright has inadvertently been infringed. In such cases I will seek to rectify the matter in future editions.
Apart from those mentioned above, I must also offer my warmest thanks to various people who have, in their different ways, helped to see this book into print. These individuals, in turn, include Gary Sheffield, for writing the Foreword; Duncan Youel, for his splendid work on the maps; Michael Stedman, for his kind assistance with some of the photographs; William Spencer at The National Archives, for his help in locating relevant documents; Jamie Wilson, for passing on to the publishers my original suggestions for the book; Joyce E.M. Steele and Sandy Leishman at the Royal Highland Fusiliers Museum, for finding and supplying the portrait photograph of A.J. McCulloch; and Suzanne Foster, the Archivist of Winchester College, for additional details abour George Gater. On my return visits to my former place of employment, the Imperial War Museum, my path was greatly smoothed by Suzanne Bardgett, Yvonne Oliver, Tony Richards and Alan Wakefield, as well as the aforementioned Simon Robbins and the late Rod Suddaby. For so generously sharing information and material with me, I am deeply grateful to John Bourne, Steve Broomfield, Derek Clayton, Aimée Fox-Godden, Alistair Geddes, Trevor Harvey, Alison Hine, Dr Peter Hodgkinson, Simon Justice, Andy Lonergan, Dave Molineux, Dr Geoffrey Noon, Dr Alun Thomas, Rob Thompson and Berkeley Vincent. Whenever I got into trouble with my computer, which was often, my son-in-law Jonathan Byford invariably solved the problems for me. My commissioning editor at Pen and Sword, Rupert Harding, has likewise been a model of wisdom, patience and sound advice during the preparation of this volume. Alison Miles, my copy editor, has shown both tact and commendable attention to detail in helping me to fine-tune the text. Finally, I must, above all, thank my brothers, Geoff and Michael, my daughter Catherine and my wife Jane for their love and encouragement.
Peter Simkins
May 2014