Chapter Ten

I DO NOT CARRY ARMS FOR FIGHTING

*

I think I told you before that I do not carry arms for fighting, yet I have captured two prisoners lately myself. It’s curious to feel you have the custody of another man who would have, a few minutes before, done his best to kill you. But after all, we are all human and [I] have yet to find a really bloodthirsty enemy. Many of them are glad to be captured and more seem to think they haven’t much chance against our numbers.

Wilkins’ letter to his mother, August 19181

After the 1917 revolution in Russia deposed the royal family, the Bolsheviks immediately surrendered to Germany. During the winter of 1917–18, Germany left a million troops guarding its eastern flank, lest the new government change its mind, and marched the rest to the Western Front. Meanwhile, American troops, led by General John ‘Black Jack’ Pershing, were already in England. Spies told Germany’s General Ludendorff that Pershing had insisted the Americans would only serve under American officers, so they would stay in England until they were properly trained and drilled. They were not expected to join the fight until May 1918. Ludendorff, who was now wielding Germany’s military power, knew he only had a brief opportunity to win the war. He would need to use the reinforcements from Russia to smash the enemy before the Americans arrived. The Allies were aware of this because their pilots had seen long lines of German soldiers snaking through the countryside on the way to the Western Front. What the Allies did not know, however, was where the attack would take place. Therefore they did not know where to assemble the strongest defence.

The British held the front from the English Channel to the Somme River, while the French held it from the Somme River to the Swiss border. Ludendorff planned to drive a wedge between the British and the French. The depleted and demoralised French might defend their line, but they were too weak to come to the aid of the British. Thus, the German forces would advance through the middle before turning north and ‘rolling up’ the British and driving them into the sea. A sudden strike and a swift advance were necessary for the plan to succeed: crush the British, and then get the French to surrender. And do it quickly.

Germany’s spring offensive began at dawn on 21 March 1918. The Germans bombarded 20 kilometres of the front, held by the British Fifth Army, with one million shells in five hours. German soldiers marched confidently forward, on the attack for the first time since August 1914. The small force of British soldiers that was holding the front, while other divisions rested, was completely outnumbered. British officers, who were used to static trench warfare and following orders during planned attacks, had no idea how to organise an orderly retreat. Troops left their guns and supplies, and simply ran. On the first day, 20,000 British soldiers were killed, 35,000 were wounded, and another 20,000 were taken prisoner. Germany pressed its advantage, and brought up the biggest guns yet made — massive Krupp cannons — and started shelling Paris. Everywhere, shocked civilians grabbed their possessions and fled. It seemed as if Germany’s big gamble was about to pay off.

Bean was in London when the offensive began, and he hurried across the channel. In the midst of the chaos, Bean’s priority was to look after his museum collection and records. He headed straight to the AWRS huts to get everything moved to safety.

Wilkins was also in London when the attack began. He had gone for a day’s leave, expecting to be back before the attack came. He immediately took a channel ferry, and arrived to find ‘the whole area over which [the Germans] were advancing was in the utmost confusion. All communication had broken down and … the Allied retreat appeared to be a complete rout.’ Amid the falling shells, disorganised troops were scattered everywhere. ‘Artillery, infantry, labour corps, tanks, wounded, cavalry, and medical units were all jumbled together and pouring towards the rear without any apparent organisation or control.’2

The German advance was more successful than even Ludendorff had hoped. They had smashed through the British defence and had caused havoc. Some German brigades had even rushed so far forward that they were at risk of being cut off from their supply lines. Ludendorff was caught without a follow-up plan, and was unsure what to do next. Three days after the start of the offensive, he came up with an idea. He would capture the strategic city of Amiens, which linked southern France with northern France and Belgium. From Amiens, the vital railway network spread like spokes from the hub of a wheel. Amiens was within his grasp and, if he could take it, the British and French would be separated. Ludendorff issued his order: capture Amiens.

Unlike the Battle of Passchendaele, where Wilkins and Hurley had advance notice of what was to take place, no one had a clear understanding of what was happening as the Germans overran the British army. There was no strategy, no lines of communication, and no front. At the time of the attack, the Australian infantry divisions were resting, well behind the front. The only Australian troops caught near the Germans were the tunnellers. Wilkins told Bean he would take his camera and some unexposed plates, and head towards the fighting in an attempt to find the Australians.

In this period of hurried confusion, when even the generals did not know where their troops were, Wilkins’ photographs tell a story. Importantly, he later wrote detailed captions for every plate he exposed. ‘Miles of transport lined the roads, slowly moving back to new positions’, the caption for one photograph reads. ‘The No 2. Australian Tunnelling Company, practically our only troops concerned, were with them, and because of lack of transport they had to remove their kits and stores in relays.’3

For two days, Wilkins moved with the retreating men. He photographed them resting or marching in columns. He stopped at the side of the road to photograph the wagons as they passed by, or to frame the men as they huddled around a fire, cooking a chicken they had snatched from a farm. And in the midst of the turmoil, under the duress of the retreat, his photographs are a sharp record of the events of those disorganised days.

Wilkins has often been criticised for taking photographs that are dull or flat. The plain, unexciting photographs of the empty trenches or barren battlefields are the pictures that Bean wanted him to record. He took those photographs because it was his duty. Equally, under the worst conditions, he could compose striking images. Along the road to the Somme he captured retreating men, driving wagons and riding horses. He took the time to not only frame the weary Anzacs, but to position a huge Christ on a Crucifix between the trees, so that the Lord looked down on the line of retreating soldiers. He captured the exhausted Diggers slumped beside the road. One lies on his back, his slouch hat over his face, presumably sleeping. Others sit in a small group. One lights a cigarette. In the background, the wagons continue to trundle past, and bare trees and telegraph poles point skyward like bony fingers. No other photographer rushed forward to capture the confused panic-ridden retreat from the German offensive. No photographer was better qualified to do so than Wilkins. The results are impressive.

From the tunnellers, Wilkins found the No 4 Squadron of the Australian Flying Corps (AFC). They were making low-flying missions over the enemy, strafing them with machine-guns. Wilkins photographed the squadron and two German planes they had shot down, always careful to ration the limited amount of plates he could carry. Bean had no idea of his movements, recording in his diary, ‘He may be in Bapaume — I hope he gets back.’4

As one of the few officers who moved towards the Germans, when everyone was moving away, Wilkins was also in the unusual position of being able to gather intelligence. Bean’s diaries for this period are filled with reports of movements that were relayed to him by Wilkins. A typical one is recorded on 26 March, when Bean was at the AWRS hut at Steenvoorde:

We walked to Steenvoorde to find whether there was news of Wilkins and just as we got there the Ford car with him in it drove up.

He found our 2nd Tunnellers at Pozières on Sunday about midday. At the time the tunnellers were under orders to dig a line of defences across the summit at Pozières. Wilkins found them by the windmill. Their baggage has come in wagons.

Wilkins spoke with the men … The majority seemed to be anxious to get some place where they could get a rest and then turn on [the Germans].

… Wilkins saw no field guns at all. Just two or three guns were firing — the Germans were putting some 12-inch shells and heavy shrapnel into LeSars and the road between LeSars and Courcelete.5

Wilkins stayed at the hut at Steenvoorde long enough to rest, get a new box of unexposed plates, and then head back towards the fighting. He found and photographed the 71st Squadron AFC, then returned to Steenvoorde to pass the information onto Bean, who recorded:

They told Wilkins that they had to go pretty well behind the German lines as they could not tell exactly where the front was. They told him two interesting things — first, that the roads behind the German front were just as crowded with traffic as those behind our front, where all these masses of guns, lorries, etc. were retiring. Second, that the Germans were camped in very great numbers in the fields and country around behind Bapaume. Around Bapaume there were many German dead … These boys say that the German plane is not worth worrying about by day. One of our AFC pilots put down three of them, either the day Wilkins was there, or the day before; and another put down one. And all this squadron lost was a plane, which could not get home but landed safely. [The Germans] seemed to be keeping their planes almost entirely to night bombing.6

The troops were pillaging the farmhouses and collecting what food they could as they retreated. They carried off sheep, fowl, army rations, or whatever they could find, and simply hurried west. Wilkins described them as ‘happily trundling their loot along the road in the midst of ammunition wagons, armoured cars, and automobiles filled with staff officers who had lost their units’.7

On one occasion, the intelligence he brought back had a bearing on the outcome of a battle. Wilkins had gone forward until he was stopped by the sound of German machine-guns. He saw French armoured cars also going forward along the road, but they too stopped and turned around when they realised they had reached the advancing Germans. ‘After exposing all my negatives’, Wilkins recalled, ‘I hurried back to the town I had marked for use as a base.’

The town had been undisturbed when he had passed through it in the morning; but by the time he returned, the civilians had been evacuated, and the hotel was occupied by British generals. ‘A friend in the intelligence service told me they were considering abandoning the town and retreating still further.’ The intelligence officer told Wilkins that the Germans had broken through, further along the road, and were now advancing with armoured cars.

I enquired where these German cars had been seen, because they had not been reported to me and it was my business to find them and photograph them. My friend described place and time, and I realised that what they were talking about was in fact the French armoured cars that had passed me that day. This seemed to have an important bearing on Allied plans and I was asked to report my information at once. Messengers were hurriedly dispatched to verify my report, and as a result it was decided that our lines could be held after all. I received special Mention [in Despatches] for the service that I chanced to render that day, although it was quite by accident that my information had such value.8

It was almost a week before any order was restored to the British army. Haig asked for 20 divisions to defend Amiens, but nowhere near that many were available. Haig had to resort to throwing the resting Australians in with the remnants of his British divisions to straddle the German route to Amiens. The Germans’ response was to try to push through this thin defence at Dernacourt, Morlancourt, and Villers-Bretonneux. As the defence was being put in place, Bean and Wilkins moved to a cottage behind a church, where Wilkins set up a darkroom to develop his plates. From there he went out continually to take photographs. Bean observed him:

Wilkins, who was out today over the same country (only further) than I covered yesterday, told me he got two photos of our men plucking hens. At one place he passed near the trenches [he saw] a camouflaged pig — they had it covered with branches. There was a certain amount of champagne, even in the front line and the men were enjoying this war as never before. They say the stuff largely came from Maricourt, which is being shelled heavily and of course will be destroyed.9

A few days later, Bean returned to the cottage to find their things cleared out and the area being bombed. He and Wilkins found another cottage, unloaded their equipment, and continued their work.

The arrival of the Australians had slowed the German advance that had, until then, gone unchecked. In the following days, the fight went back and forth. Brigades were moved hastily, artillery was wheeled into position, and a confused war scrambled from one village to the next. Still, in less than a week, the Germans reclaimed the territory that had been wrested from them the previous year in the hard-fought battles of Messines and Passchendaele. They were close enough to threaten Amiens.

On 4 April, Germany made a major push to win a footing on Hill 104 and bring them within striking distance of Villers-Bretonneux, which overlooked Amiens. Wilkins and Bean woke to the sound of guns to the south and, anxious to find out where it was coming from, got in a car and raced towards Villers-Bretonneux. As they got closer to the village, ‘the shell holes became thicker and there were dead horses about and the road and roadside were blurred with the ugly dark burnt dust of newly exploded shells. We hurried into the town …’10

With Villers-Bretonneux under attack, Bean and Wilkins went to work — Bean taking notes, and Wilkins taking photographs. They instinctively hurried forward, and found British soldiers not knowing what they were meant to do. Bean told the driver to take the car, which would be a target, and wait on the other side of the wood. He and Wilkins then set out on foot past a battery of six-inch howitzers, which was trying to shell the approaching Germans. They scouted the village and the nearby roads, and then headed back to their car, avoiding the woods because, wrote Bean, ‘Wilkins has the idea that the Germans scatter a lot of shrapnel through the woods — he doesn’t like the woods or the town when it is shelling.’11

At Villers-Bretonneux, Bean and Wilkins repeatedly moved forward to find the battle as it was happening, and to record it in detail. It may not have made a great story, but it left a legacy for history. Bean sketched the landscapes, drawing roads, hills, and the skylines of the villages, and even marking the positions of overturned carts. He drew the battery of men with their howitzers, firing on the German advance. He wrote page after page of notes. Amid the fighting, Bean, as always, was concerned with his museum relics, noting on one occasion:

We have already lost one of our Lagnicourt guns … and a heavy minenwerfer [mine launcher or mortar], which the 2nd Tunnellers had rescued for us and the Germans have retaken; and all the heavier relics of our corps school at Aveluy.12

But as the Germans clawed their way forward to Hill 104 and Villers-Bretonneux, they met solid resistance from two brigades of the Australian 4th Division at Dernancourt. The under-strength brigades (the 12th and 13th), consisting of about 4,000 men, faced four German divisions totalling about 25,000 men. The Australians formed a defensive line at a railway embankment, and there they held the Germans until reinforcements arrived. The great blow to take Amiens had been slowed. Along the front, other Australian divisions rushed to stall the Germans and, after the wild confusion of the first weeks of the spring offensive, the battle settled back into trench warfare. One by one, brigades rejoined their divisions, and lines of communication were re-established.

The day after the attack on Villers-Bretonneux, Bean returned to the village to find that the Allies were still holding it, but that further attacks were expected. The Germans were not about to give up. Bean found Villers-Bretonneux ‘a shocking sight — every house seemed to have been hit’.13 Shells were still landing every few minutes on the town that had been ‘quite intact two days before’. Wilkins recorded the devastation with his camera.

The stout defence of Amiens had earned the Australians a new respect. The soldiers who were previously considered undisciplined and only of value when they were fighting in support of British troops were now seen as a crack fighting force. ‘Dominion troops’, which also included New Zealanders and Canadians, were called upon to man the front lines as the Germans strove to find new ways to break through the Allied defence.

A week after the unsuccessful attack on Villers-Bretonneux, Wilkins related a story to Bean about the French inhabitants of Steenvoorde and how, when they saw the Australians, they ran out offering them fruit and bottles of wine. Two women tapped Wilkins on the shoulder and said, ‘Francais soldiers good soldiers like Australians. Not much salute, march all over the road, officers talk with men like Australians, but good soldiers’.14 It was one of many of Wilkins’ stories that Bean included in the official history.

The comparative calm was disrupted before daybreak on 24 April when the Germans began shelling Villers-Bretonneux again. This time, helped by German tanks, they moved in quickly to snatch it. The Allies reasoned correctly that it was critical to retake Villers-Bretonneux immediately. Throughout 24 April, Allied troops, including two Australian brigades, massed outside the village. Starting at the unusual time of 10.00 p.m., the Allied counter-offensive began: the troops entered the village at night, catching the Germans sleeping, and overrunning them in bloody hand-to-hand combat. By the morning of 25 April, when the sun rose on the third anniversary of Anzac Day, it shone light into the ruins and illuminated the Australians in full possession of the town. Amiens had been defended. The final German attempt to split the Allied armies had failed.

After the successful defence of Amiens, Wilkins told Bean he had been offered another promotion, this time from the British. ‘Today Wilkins tells me he has another offer from the Royal Air Force to manage their camera departments with the rank of captain and major within a month.’ But Wilkins explained to Bean that he was not interested in transferring to the RAF.* He would stay at the front and complete the task that Bean had set. For his part, Bean tried to get Wilkins promoted to captain, ‘but Dodds* wouldn’t hear of it, though all the other colonial photographers are captains and he is the best, easily’.15

[* The air arm of the British army was known as the Royal Flying Corps until it merged with the air arm of the Royal Navy on 1 April 1918. From that date, it was known as the Royal Air Force.]

[* Bean is referring to Colonel Thomas Dodds, Adjutant General, AIF. He is described in the Australian Dictionary of Biography as a ‘bluff, out-spoken and formidable officer’.]

Wilkins could have earned a promotion but, by this time, was fully committed to Bean’s vision of a complete and accurate record of the Australians in the war. Bean was not risking his life to rush into battle. He was, however, constantly risking his life to fight for the war museums that he felt were vital for the future of Australia. It was a passion and focus that Wilkins both recognised and identified with. Wilkins would follow Bean or go where Bean told him, just as he had with Stefansson. Photographing the Anzacs had become Wilkins’ duty and, as he had written to his parents from Banks Island in the Arctic, ‘what is most consoling to me is that I have been able to do my duty as a man faithfully and meet with success’. Wilkins later wrote to his mother about the work of Bean:

[The newspapers] can’t say enough good about him. I, of course, working under him and living with him, was in a good position to know and appreciate his work, which was, I feel sure, second to none on the Western Front. He knew more of any battle than any one general and saw more of the actual conditions of battle covering the whole period in which the Australians were engaged, than any other man.16

THE PHOTOGRAPHS March–April 1918

The German Spring Offensive

The Defence of Amiens

Wilkins’ photographs of the retreat of the British Fifth Army, the confusion that followed, and the defence of Amiens start at E01834 and continue to E01887. Then there is a break in the order, and the photographs that follow include many from September and October 1917. The defence of Amiens resumes at E01920; but, from then on, photographs from the previous year and from before the German offensive are mixed with the photographs of March and April 1918.

Wilkins went looking for the 2nd Australian Tunnelling Company, which was assisting the retreat by blowing up bridges, roads, and ammunition dumps (E01886).

He also located the AFC Flying Squadrons Nos. 2 and 4 as they tried to slow the German advance by dropping bombs. E01877 to E01883 is a series of photographs of the squadrons.

Despite the confusion as hundreds of thousands of troops moved hurriedly about the countryside, Wilkins still took the time to frame his shots and record the names of the men. An example is E01951, where he photographed a line of engineers moving to the front to defend Amiens. E02026 to E02044 show the Anzacs during April, as they dig in to defend Amiens.

The German airman Manfred von Richthofen, better known as the Red Baron, was shot down on 21 April. Wilkins witnessed the dogfight, and saw Richthofen’s plane descend. He hurried to the scene, and photographed the wreckage (E02044). A few days earlier, he had managed to photograph shrapnel bursting in the air beside an AFC RE8 plane (E02038).

E01934 shows a farmhouse used by the AWRS. Bean and Joyce are among the men standing out front. During April, artist Will Dyson often travelled with Wilkins, sketching scenes. The two were to become close friends. Dyson can be seen inspecting damage in E02107, and sketching in E02437 and E02439.