‘It was as if the devil incarnate wielded the baton with diabolical delight in this hellish concert.’1
— Major Max Klaus, Reserve Field Artillery Regiment 26
‘BOOM! ABSOLUTE SILENCE for a minute. Boom! Followed quickly by a more distant report from a fellow-gun,’ wrote Second-Lieutenant Edward Liveing, 1/12th Londons (Rangers).2 The bombardment had begun; hundreds of artillery guns cracked forth from behind the British lines in a concerted roar, belching muzzle flashes and smoke as they lobbed life-stealing shells over no-man’s-land. Pillars of flame, chalkstone, clay and smoke of all colours rose and fell along the German line. Barbedwire entanglements jangled and snapped, and shattered wooden trench revetments were tossed about. German soldiers scurried into their yardsdeep engineered dugouts to escape the metal storm. The ground heaved and quaked and minute waterfalls of chalkstone dust trickled between dugout joists. ‘Our whole line,’ wrote Feldwebel Karl Eiser, Reserve Field Artillery Regiment 29, a lookout in Contalmaison’s church spire, ‘was lit up as innumerable lightning flashes soared over, a hissing and howling, gasping, splintering and exploding — all this filled the air.’3
British gunners belted out one shell after another to an exacting timetable, day in, day out. Lieutenant Frank Lushington, Royal Garrison Artillery (RGA), said the ‘whole of life seemed to merge into one clanging, clashing, roar of sound. Covered with sweat and grime, the slaves of the gun toiled and laboured, ate, lay down and slept, and toiled and laboured again, to the roar and rush and scream of hundreds of hurrying shells. Their horizon was bounded by the vast and insatiable engine which they continuously fed. Their minds were numbed and deafened by the neverending clamour of their gods.’4
The bombardment was supposed to have lasted five days, 24–28 June, these known to planners respectively as U, V, W, X and Y. The attack was to have gone in on Z day, 29 June. Rain and poor visibility saw the shellfire extended two days — officially Y1 and Y2, 29–30 June — with the attack deferred until 1 July. Weather conditions were far from perfect. Of the five-day period only one was fine; the rest — along with the two additional days — saw rain, mist and low cloud. Bad weather or not, the artillery’s job was to smash German defensive obstacles and mechanisms, kill or otherwise subdue the enemy garrison, destroy or neutralise the hostile artillery, and break or harass German communication lines and logistics networks.
In practice, the first two days of the bombardment were for wirecutting and registering the guns on selected targets to ensure accuracy of shot.5 They were followed by three more, subsequently extended to five, for wire-cutting and the systematic destruction of defences such as trenches, fortified localities, strongpoints, observation posts and machine-gun emplacements, along with the targeting of billets, lines of communication and villages. The rump of the destructive fire was the responsibility of the heavy guns and howitzers, because of their greater range and larger shells.6 However, the late arrival of many batteries meant that time was lost registering their fire for accuracy, and that most of their shellfire was weighted to the second half of the bombardment. Of the field guns, 18-pounders were to cut wire, and sweep trenches, villages, woods and hollows with their fire. The 4.5-inch howitzers were tasked with destroying trenches and assisting in the bombardment of villages and woods, and with completing the destruction of machine-gun emplacements. The British gunners, wrote Leutnant-der-Reserve Friedrich Kassel, Reserve Infantry Regiment 99 (RIR99), ‘wanted to be sure of overkill. Nobody should be alive when their infantry left their trenches.’7
Haig had 1769 artillery guns and howitzers to support his two attacking armies. Fourth Army, responsible for the lion’s share of the operation, had 1537 artillery pieces spread more or less evenly along a frontage of about 25,000 yards (14.2 miles). There was one field gun for every 21 yards, while the heavy barrels equated to about one to 57 yards.8 The 232 guns spread across the 4000 yards of VII Corps’ net battle front equated to about one field gun per 27 yards and one heavy for every 47 yards. Two-thirds (1158, or 65.5%) of the total gunstock was field artillery — 18-pounders and 4.5-inch howitzers — with the rest heavier guns and howitzers (511, or 28.9%) and French artillery pieces mostly for firing gas shells (100, or 5.6%).9 Among the 511 barrels comprising the heavy ironmongery were 60-pounder guns (140, 27.4%), plus 4.7- (44, 8.6%), 6- (22, 4.3%), 9.2- (3) and 12-inch (1) guns.10 Additionally there were 6- (132, 25.8%), 8- (64, 12.5%), 9.2- (84, 16.4%), 12- (13, 2.5%) and 15-inch (8, 1.6%) howitzers.11 This concentration was impressive to those who had not seen the like before.12
Fourth Army allocated its artillery about 3 million shells for the bombardment and attack, most for 18-pounders (2.6 million shells) and 4.5-inch howitzers (260,000). About half, or 1.5 million, were loosed off on 24–30 June.13 Average daily expenditure was 215,521, ranging from 138,118 on 24 June to 375,760 on 30 June.14 General Sir Henry Rawlinson, commander of Fourth Army, said this worked out at roughly 150,000 shells each day, with a further 50,000 nightly.15 His data showed that, between 24 June and 1 July, Fourth Army fired 1.64 million shells.16 Of these, 1.29 million (78.8%) were fired by the army’s field artillery and 348,603 (21.2%) by its heavy guns. He noted that ammunition accumulated for the five-day bombardment alone totalled 40,000 tons, and reckoned there ‘should not be much left of his [the enemy’s] defences at the end of it.’17 The problem was the vast majority of Fourth Army’s stockpiled ammunition was for field artillery not suited to laying destructive shellfire of the type needed to obliterate German-engineered dugouts, fortified villages and formidable redoubts.
Nevertheless, the concerted roar of these guns was deafening.18 Lieutenant-Colonel Neil Fraser-Tytler, Royal Field Artillery (RFA), said his dugout was ‘fairly rocking with the roar of the bombardment,’ and when he was on the telephone ‘I had to smother my head and phone under the bed-bag before I could hear a word.’19 Orders had to be written, it being ‘impossible to make anyone hear the spoken word.’20 In the gun pits, artillerymen blocked their ears with cotton wool, paper plugs, or grimy palms; in the trenches, infantrymen gradually acclimatised to the din. Lieutenant Derick Capper, 8th Royal Sussex, found ‘gunfire when not directed at one definitely stimulating and morale raising to the extent that one felt almost exhilarated by it.’21 Lieutenant Lushington said the ‘tumult of Hell’ grew in force and volume until the ‘whole world seemed to rock with sound.’22 Infantrymen in the trenches and billets found no respite from the noise. ‘Practically all the time, too, the air reverberates to the drum of our cannonade,’ wrote Major James Jack, 2nd Scottish Rifles, complaining that ‘we get scarcely any sleep.’23 Private George Ashurst, 1st Lancashire Fusiliers, likened the sound to ‘ghostlike express trains hurtling through the sky.’24 Gunners and infantrymen alike struggled to communicate in the noise, the aural assault quite likely storing up hearing issues for later life.
By day many were fascinated by the sight of massive shells labouring up their parabolic arcs.25 ‘I would stand behind the guns and watch the shells in flight; sometimes I could see where they were bursting,’ wrote Private Leonard Price, 8th Royal Sussex.26 Fraser-Tytler observed one shell climbing at a ‘very steep angle, and when about half-way on its downward path it gradually becomes invisible.’27 Rumour had it, said Lieutenant Robin Rowell, 12th Squadron, Royal Flying Corps (RFC), that one pilot saw a ‘shell come up, look at him, and turn at the top of its parabolic path to go down again and blow up the Hun. I have often wondered why the idle gunners chalk ugly faces on the noses of their shell. Now I know.’28
The sight of shellfire slamming into the German lines was equally captivating. Second-Lieutenant Liveing said the projectiles ‘crashed into strong points and gun emplacements and hurled them skywards.’29 Fraser-Tytler thought shell blasts a ‘wonderful sight’ with their ‘smoke of every colour, black, white, grey, yellow and brown, rising often hundreds of feet in the air.’30 Midway through the bombardment he said ‘the Hun trenches have become merely one vast shell-ploughed field.’31 Lushington likened the sprays of earth and smoke thrown up by big shells to waves crashing against boulders. ‘The white chalk line of a piece of trench would appear through the billowing smoke, then a giant breaker would strike it, flinging up a cloud of black spray.’32 Lieutenant-General Sir Thomas Morland, commander of X Corps, said ‘we are pounding them properly.’33 Lieutenant-General Sir Walter Congreve, VC, commander of XIII Corps, simply ‘saw & heard a great many shells.’34 Ashurst said the larger howitzer shells ‘dug deep into his [the German] line before they exploded, shaking the very ground under our feet four or five hundred yards away, lifting tons of debris into the air and leaving a gaping hole in which a house could be placed.’35 To most observers it looked as though the German positions were being transformed into a desolate moonscape of shell craters and debris.
By night the staccato symphony continued. Captain David Kelly, Leicestershire Regiment, watched the ‘endless line of gun flashes and bursting shells.’36 Ashurst saw the ‘sky illuminated with hundreds of large and small flashes like lightning dancing on the distant ridges.’37 Rifleman Aubrey Smith, 1/5th Londons (London Rifle Brigade), remembered that night firing at Gommecourt ‘afforded such a marvellous display of flickerings and flashes in the heavens,’ which he likened to a ‘terrific thunder-storm.’38 One evening, high above the German lines, Lieutenant Cecil Lewis, 3rd Squadron, RFC, peered back across no-man’s-land: ‘Below, the gloomy earth glittered under the continual scintillation of gunfire. Right round the salient down to the Somme, where the mists backed up the ghostly effect, was this sequined veil of greenish flashes, quivering. Thousands of guns were spitting high explosive, and the invisible projectiles were screaming past us on every side.’39 Near Maricourt, Lieutenant Robert Kelly, RFA, said the muzzle flashes of French guns ‘ran up and down the far slopes of the darkening valley, and the soft barks of their 75’s mingled like the tappings on giant kettle-drums. . . . We used to stand and watch the growing heaps of empty cartridge-cases dwarf the faint figures of the gunners until dusk veiled all things save the orange flashes of the guns.’40 The sheer scale of the surreal light show was novel to many, and at least temporarily held their attention.
German positions were pounded, pummelled, pulverised. ‘Artillery fire continues to a depth of ten kilometres [6.2 miles] behind the trenches; everything is blown to bits,’ said one German soldier.41 Unteroffizier Felix Kircher, Reserve Field Artillery Regiment 26 (RFAR26), assessed the trenches as ‘drumfire flattened,’42 as did an officer in Reserve Field Artillery Regiment 20 (RFAR20) who wrote of an ‘incalculable field of craters.’43 Kanonier Hermann Heinrich, Field Artillery Regiment 21 (FAR21), thought the shellfire a ‘travelling Hell, this whining, crashing and bursting of exploding shells.’44 Oberstleutnant Alfred Vischer, commander of Infantry Regiment 180 (IR180), said he and his men saw ‘smoke and masses of earth flying up like a shroud into the air above them and the incessant flashes of the shrapnel shells was like being in the mouth of Hell.’45 Leutnant-der-Reserve Matthaus Gerster, Reserve Infantry Regiment 119 (RIR119), described the scene:
All around there was howling, snarling and hissing. With a sharp ringing sound, the death-dealing shells burst, spewing their leaden fragments against our line. The [shrapnel] balls fell like hail on the roofs of the half-destroyed villages, whistled through the branches of the still-green trees and beat down hard on the parched ground, whipping up small clouds of smoke and dust from the earth. Large calibre shells droned through the air like giant bumblebees, crashing, smashing and boring down into the earth. Occasionally small calibre high explosive shells broke the pattern.46
Numerous villages, whether part of the forward defences or further back, were reduced to chaotic piles of wood and masonry. Some civilians were killed, the tearful living evacuated. Feldwebel Eiser said the resultant ‘red cloud of disintegrating brickwork hindered visibility.’47 Fahrer Otto Maute, IR180, saw Miraumont ‘burning brightly.’48 An ammunition train was blown up at Combles, while Ginchy, Guillemont, Longueval and a host of other villages were set ablaze and soon reduced to rubble.49 Scarcely a wall stood in Beaumont Hamel,50 Fricourt and surrounds were ploughed up,51 Pozières was veiled in ‘smoke and fumes.’52 At Longueval, Vizefeldwebel Weickel, Reserve Infantry Regiment 109 (RIR109), described the shellfire as a ‘most dreadful’ overture:53 ‘One of the very first shells demonstrated their destructiveness, tearing down completely, as it did, the side wall of a tall house. Staircase, rooms, furniture, stoves; all were exposed to view. Two days later it was all one great heap of ruins.’54 Once-orderly trenches became wastelands of loose earth, postcard villages collapsed into brickheaps and paddocks and roads were heavily dimpled. A pall of smoke and dust lingered over all. Gerster later wrote of the greyish veil:
Was it chance or did the power of the endless shocks cause the dust in the air to coalesce? The clear sky soon clouded over and a light rain damped down the clouds of smoke from the exploding shells, thus making observation easier. At the same time the bombarded trenches, which were full of powdered, loose soil, were turned into muddy puddles, thus adding to the misery of the trench garrisons.55
Clouds of lethal chlorine gas were released from cylinders in the British lines from time to time, the idea being for the wind to carry its vapours across the long, rank, yellow grass of no-man’s-land. These releases usually lasted an hour, but they were frequently stopped by erratic wind and technical problems.56 Private William Senescall, 11th Suffolks, saw one gas cloud as it floated across no-man’s-land. ‘Low down on the ground you could see tree stumps, wire stakes etc sticking through it.’57 Lieutenant-General Sir Aylmer Hunter-Weston, VIII Corps, described gas as ‘nasty, tricky stuff’ and hoped it would kill numerous Germans.58 On 27 June, III Corps said ‘gas from 1600 cylinders was liberated with smoke,’59 while gas-mask-wearing enemy soldiers watched as the ‘chlorine and phosgene plume clouds rolled in.’60 German soldiers were generally well equipped with gas masks, meaning casualties were few,61 and the gas clouds often dissipated before reaching the German gun lines.62 A German officer at Fricourt said ‘the pressure in the [British] gas cylinders is too low and the wind too weak for the men occupying the trenches to be much affected.’63 Reserve Field Artillery Regiment 28 (RFAR28) said humidity and long grass worked as natural filters on the gas clouds.64 Gas shells fired by the French 75-millimetre field guns produced negligible results.65 A German Second Army report said because of ‘technical mistakes, the enemy has so far achieved little through the use [of gas].’66 Environmental and technical factors rendered Fourth Army’s gas releases essentially useless.67
German soldiers sat out the gas clouds and shellfire tornado in their deep dugouts. Leutnant-der-Reserve Emil Geiger, Reserve Infantry Regiment 121 (RIR121), described this period as ‘terrible days of gruelling barrage.’68 Leutnant-der-Reserve Rudolf Greisinger, IR180, remembered ‘shaken and agitated men sitting in their dark shelters trembling and wondering if their [dugout] shelter will collapse.’69 At Beaumont Hamel, Leutnant Stefan Westmann, RIR119, said the ‘ground shook under the constant impact of light and heavy shells.’70 Feldwebel Eiser felt the ‘tremendous jolt and tremor of the “moling” shells with which they were showering the village. Heavy shells howled and wobbled high overhead.’71 At Thiepval, Gefreiter Peter Kuster, RIR99, said heavy-calibre shells known as ‘marmalade buckets’ sounded ‘like an InterCity train’ and the earth trembled when they blew.72 Kassel recalled a dud shell buckled his dugout’s joists: ‘My heart seemed to stop, now comes the end. . . . But the catastrophe did not come.’ Grenadier Walter Peeck, RIR119, agreed: ‘Our dugouts were 8–10 metres [9–11 yards] deep and had been strengthened with heavy wooden beams and railroad ties. Lucky for us this provided quite adequate shelter.’73 As Leutnant-der-Reserve Gerster explained: ‘Half collapsed holes indicated where the dugouts which still remained were located. The staircases were buried beneath piles of earth, which had fallen down from above. As a result the troops had to scramble up a smooth steep slope, which offered almost no footholds, in order to climb up to daylight.’74 Whatever the appearance of the German trenches between Montauban and Gommecourt, their garrisons, as we shall soon see, were mostly safely holed up yards below.
Some were not so lucky. Westmann repeatedly dug others ‘out of masses of blackened earth and splintered wooden beams. Often we found bodies crushed to pulp, or bunks full of suffocated soldiers.’75 He was writing of shallower dugouts, ones not designed to withstand direct hits.76 Others told of how dreaded 38-centimetre shells slammed down, mansized monsters that burrowed deep into the soft earth before detonating.77 Leutnant-der-Reserve Wilhelm Geiger, Reserve Infantry Regiment 111 (RIR111), wrote of one such strike near Fricourt: ‘All the lights went out. There were shouts in the dark and a choking cloud of explosive gases.’78 Gerster was at Beaumont Hamel:
Their mighty explosions blew a crater three metres [3.3 yards] deep and 4–5 metres [4.4–5.5 yards] in diameter. Weaker dugouts were crushed by the force of these evil monsters. Soldiers sat in their dugouts and listened to the devilish whistling as these shells rushed down, all their senses alert and every nerve stretched to breaking point, and then the shell hit with a dull thud and exploded with a gruesome roar. . . . Weak tallow candles and acetylene flames were extinguished by the blast. The walls rocked like a boat. Black and toxic smoke crept down the stairs. Soil and rock flew high in the air, and for a long time after the explosion the pelting down of stones and clods could be heard.79
Survivors were often left stunned, disoriented and shell-shocked.
Fourteenth Reserve Corps suffered an estimated 2500 casualties in the period 24–30 June,80 and almost certainly no more than 3000. This from the corps’ ration strength of about 95,000 men, which suggested a casualty rate of about 2.6–3.2%. This was a small loss given the thousands of British shells raining down. The oversized RIR99 at Thiepval was worst affected, with at least 472 men killed, wounded or missing. Infantry Regiment 62 (IR62) around Montauban suffered a total of 350 casualties, while Reserve Infantry Regiment 55 (RIR55) at Gommecourt booked losses totalling just 50. RIR121 at Redan Ridge and Heidenkopf, RIR119 around Beaumont Hamel and RIR111 around Fricourt lost 147, 103 and 87 officers and men respectively. Available data suggests the other infantry regiments comprising the corps suffered losses within this broad range, but precise figures for its numerous machine-gun, pioneering, artillery, transport and ancillary units are unavailable. Although XIV Reserve Corps had lost the equivalent of one infantry regiment, the overall low casualty rate proves that the vast majority of its men were safely housed in underground dugouts.
General-der-Infanterie Fritz von Below, commander of Second Army on the Somme, grew increasingly alarmed by the British preparations for what he expected to be an offensive of attrition. After five days’ intensive shellfire he concluded that it would continue for some time:81 ‘Because of the procedure which he has adopted, the enemy is in a position to flatten our positions and smash our dugouts, through the application of days of fire with 280 and 300 millimetre guns. This means that our infantry is suffering heavy losses day after day, whilst the enemy is able to preserve his manpower.’82 Below knew the shellfire would be followed by an infantry attack, and rightly determined that there was only so much shellfire his positions could withstand and so many casualties his units could suffer.
BRITISH SOLDIERS GENERALLY believed the bombardment effective. Private Alfred Askew, 7th Yorkshires, said he ‘didn’t think there would be any of them [German soldiers] left alive.’83 Rifleman Frederick Conyers, 1st Rifle Brigade, was ‘quite happily singing away, thinking, I did, that it would be a walkover.’84 Private Howard Wide, 9th Devons, believed ‘there would be little opposition to reaching our objective.’85 Private Arthur Ward, 1/5th Lincolns, had ‘visions of the enemy being devastated’ and hoped this would ‘achieve a miracle, perhaps collapse of the enemy.’86 Lieutenant Philip Heath, 55th Trench Mortar Battery, said his men were ‘so confident that many of them had taken to sitting on the parapet of their trenches to watch what was going on.’87 Lieutenant Billy Goodwin, 8th York & Lancasters, was ‘most excessively cheerful’ and thought ‘Mr Fritz won’t know or dare to look for us until we’re on top of him. Everybody is feeling gloriously confident.’88 Rifleman Herbert Williams, London Rifle Brigade, said a ‘break-through was confidently expected.’89 Private Arthur England, 8th Norfolks, wrote: ‘We were told that the Great Push would be a walkover, and we believed it, for surely no one could have survived such punishment.’90 Captain John Collis-Browne, 2nd Lancashire Fusiliers, said, ‘this must be the start of the end of the war!!!’91 Most believed the infantry attack would be nothing less than an outstanding success, the epitaph to a bombardment whose scale and fury they had not seen before.92
A much smaller number of soldiers were sceptical. Second-Lieutenant Archibald Laporte, RFA, bade a fellow officer at La Boisselle good luck: ‘You know as well as I do we shall never get across.’93 Major Alfred Gibbs, RFA, later said Thiepval was ‘inadequately bombarded by Heavy Artillery before the battle, and I expect most of those concerned thought the same. I remember having very grave misgivings as to the chances of our attack succeeding.’94 Brigadier-General Henry Croft, 68th Brigade, said during training the ‘usual joke went round that we were being “fed up for slaughter.”’95 Others were convinced that the relative quiescence of the German guns was by design rather than because they had been destroyed.96 Lieutenant Aubrey Moore, 1/5th Leicesters, doubted the ‘trenches would be full of dead Boche — a few, perhaps.’97 Ashurst noted that ‘Fritz kept strangely quiet. . . . He knew that later on he would need every bit of ammunition and patiently reserved his fire.’98 Lieutenant Jocelyn Buxton, 2nd Rifle Brigade, imagined that ‘the German generals opposite are having to think furiously.’99 Rifleman Henry Barber, London Rifle Brigade, held a similar view when he said the bombardment unsurprisingly led to the ‘Germans scenting that something was brewing.’100 Fraser-Tytler wondered if ‘the Hun has any surprise devilry in store; he has been suspiciously quiet on the whole, but, of course, as the whole line is strafing he may think that it is only a bluff on this sector.’101 Major Jack was cynical about optimistic senior staff officers.102 He pondered, ‘how much of this admirable spirit will survive the German fusillade?’103 Lieutenant Capper thought the surge in artillery activity ‘must have given the Germans warning of an impending attack.’104 These soldiers all expected the attacking infantry to encounter at least some organised resistance after the impressive bombardment lifted.
Perhaps it was with a view to quieting any such murmurings, along with generally boosting morale, that numerous formation commanders assembled their men for a series of sabre-rattling talks. Most were convened in the days immediately before battle, and several on 30 June. In 50th Brigade, Brigadier-General William Glasgow told the Yorkshires to ‘give them hell, no prisoners. . . . Now is the time to get your own back.’105 Hunter-Weston fronted various battalions of VIII Corps and told his men the attack would be a walkover. ‘What a load of bullshit he talked,’ said a less-than-convinced Private Donald Cameron, 12th York & Lancasters.106 Such reactions, whatever their pithy appeal, were extreme even at the time. The widespread absence of such comments in literally hundreds of soldiers’ memoirs and diaries from the day suggests this disgruntled soldier — and several others like him in VIII Corps — were responding more to ‘Hunter Bunter’ and his reputation as a bungler than to Haig and Rawlinson’s battle plan. Even then, there were exceptions within VIII Corps. As Captain Collis-Browne wrote, Hunter-Weston’s message was ‘conveyed to my men, it gave us all good heart.’107 Lieutenant Lewis was upbeat after Temporary Major-General Hugh Trenchard, head of the RFC, gave a pep talk to his squadron. ‘We were all sure that victory was certain. That the [German] line would be broken, the cavalry put through, and the Allies sweep on to Berlin.’108 Most servicemen remained reticent, however; they well knew death and injury were very real risks in battle, regardless of how impressive the shellfire appeared or what some jawboning officer had said beforehand.
Back in the danger zone, empathy for German soldiers varied. Lieutenant Goodwin, who would be shot dead on 1 July while snared in barbed wire near Ovillers, told a friend that ‘I wouldn’t be a Bosche just now for a good deal.’109 Lieutenant Lushington doubted whether a ‘human being could live under that terrible blasting and hammering!’110 Rifleman Smith noted the comments of men in his platoon: ‘“Let ’em have it.” . . . “Give them a dose of their own medicine.” . . . “Keep it up, boys.”’111 And later, ‘fellows were laughing for joy as they contemplated the shaking this bombardment was giving the Germans.’112 Hunter-Weston, a ‘rubicund little man,’113 wrote that it was ‘very satisfactory that we are now able to repay them in their own coin.’114 Private England was one of several ‘almost moved to be sorry for the Hun.’115 Some regarded the bombardment as payback for hostile shellfire past, others contemplated the suffering foisted upon their enemies; all were pleased that they were not on the receiving end of the metal tornado themselves.
Across the other side of no-man’s-land, Baden, Württemberg, Prussian and Bavarian dugout dwellers were short of food, water and sleep. Many lived on coffee, and the occasional tepid stew brought up by ration parties at night.116 Not all of the ration parties made it through the shellfire, though.117 Drinking water was scarce, let alone water for bathing or shaving in the hot, candle-lit chambers. Gefreiter Kuster said no provisions reached his parched platoon near Thiepval: ‘We collected rain water from the trench and made coffee on the little spirit burner.’118 Another complained that the ‘English offensive has been known long enough to permit more arrangements being made to prevent this.’119 Toilets were buckets, run upstairs and slopped out into a shell hole when full. Within days the dugouts were ripe with stale air, tobacco smoke and body odour. One soldier said his bunker was a ‘beastly hole.’120 Oberleutnant-der-Reserve Heinrich Vogler, IR180, said ‘my men’s mood was low, but they were in no way lacking in courage or determination. Many were still writing letters to their loved ones at home.’121 Privations compounded as the shellfire continued. ‘We are getting no rest day or night,’ said one soldier, ‘sleep is quite a secondary thing, and as for food, that is the same.’122 Wilhelm Geiger, RIR111, was ready to ‘drop with tiredness and wanted to snatch some sleep.’123 Leutnant-der-Reserve Gerster said the ‘uninterrupted high state of readiness, which had to be maintained because of the entire situation . . . hindered the troops from getting the sleep that they needed because of the nerve-shattering artillery fire.’124 Leutnant-der-Landwehr Max Lazarus, RIR109, wrote: ‘Every one of us in these five days has become years older. We hardly know ourselves.’125
Starvation, thirst, exhaustion and shellfire brought fatigue, which soon became chronic. Gerster described the mood in his dugout:
Tired and indifferent to everything, the troops sat it out on wooden benches or lay on the hard metal beds, staring into the darkness when the tallow lights were extinguished by the overpressure of the explosions. Nobody had washed for days. Black stubble stood out on the pale haggard faces, whilst the eyes of some flashed strangely as though they had looked beyond the portals of the other side. Some trembled when the sound of death roared around the underground protected places. Whose heart was not in his mouth at times during this appalling storm of steel?126
This maddening existence was commonplace.
Soldiers’ moods worsened as fatigue set in. Feldwebel Eiser pondered how many ‘men would a battalion or infantry regiment still have who were fit to fight?’127 One despairing soldier of RIR111 concluded, ‘we cannot hold out much longer.’128 Leutnant-der-Reserve August Bielefeld, Reserve Foot Artillery Regiment 16 (RFtAR16), said the ‘continuous artillery bombardment got on our nerves,’129 aggravated by dugout claustrophobia and a lack of contact with the outside world. Leutnant Westmann saw that men ‘became hysterical and their comrades had to knock them out, so as to prevent them from running away and exposing themselves to the deadly shell splinters.’130 Unteroffizier Friedrich Hinkel, RIR99, found the ‘torture and the fatigue, not to mention the strain on the nerves, were indescribable!’131 Infanterist Theodor Eversmann, RIR99, recorded his mood decline, from ‘uncertainty is hard to bear’ to a despairing ‘How long will it go on?’132 Finally, Eversmann, who was killed on 1 July, contemplated his own mortality:
One’s head is a madman’s; the tongue sticks to the roof of the mouth. Five days and five nights, a long time, to us an eternity. Almost nothing to eat and nothing to drink. No sleep, always wakened again. All contact with the outer world cut off. No sign of life from home, nor can we send any news to our loved ones. What anxiety they must feel about us. How long is this going to last? Still there is no use thinking about it. If I may not see my loved ones again, I greet them with a last farewell.133
Heavily fatigued soldiers who were unable to cope with the stress succumbed to nervous exhaustion and, less frequently, breakdown.
Nobody doubted what the shellfire meant. Fahrer Maute thought ‘the British are going to open an offensive and this seems to be starting.’134 Others were more expansive. Soldat Wilhelm Lange, RIR99, knew the ‘big attack that had been expected for a long time would now follow.’135 Generalleutnant Franz Freiherr von Soden, whose 26th Reserve Division held almost half of the besieged ground, realised it heralded the ‘beginning of the long-expected attack.’136 Eversmann wondered when the attack would begin: ‘tomorrow or the day after? Who knows?’137 A soldier in RIR111 commented midway through the bombardment that although no British attack had yet materialised, ‘we are prepared.’138 An officer in RIR121 said it was ‘a deliverance as you finally knew where you stood,’ meaning he expected an imminent attack.139 Vizefeldwebel Weickel felt there ‘could no longer be any doubt. This was deadly serious. It was a matter of life and death and the enemy was going all out for destruction.’140 German soldiers expected an attack, and soon, but the exact date and time remained unknown to them.
These soldiers remained generally willing to defend their positions. Oberstleutnant Vischer overstated the case when he claimed the mood in IR180 was ‘excellent’ and that his men ‘look forward to the coming attack.’141 Leutnant-der-Reserve Gerster was nearer the mark when he said many were ‘seized by a deep bitterness at the inhuman machine of destruction which hammered endlessly. A searing rage against the enemy burned in their minds.’142 Leutnant-der-Reserve Friedrich Stutz, RIR121, felt similarly: ‘This thought completely dominated our mood. Everything else, danger to life, food shortages, hardships and suffering combined into anger towards the English.’143 Hinkel shared these opinions:
There was just one single heartfelt prayer on our lips: ‘Oh God, free us from this ordeal; give us release through battle, grant us victory; Lord God! Just let them come!’ and this determination increased with the fall of each shell. You made a good job of it, you British! Seven days and nights you rapped and hammered on our door! Now your reception was going to match your turbulent longing to enter!144
Other veterans, however, were more measured. One simply said that when the bombardment ended ‘we will have it out between us.’145 Leutnant-der-Reserve Kassel later recalled that he and his dull, apathetic men were ‘prepared to defend ourselves whatever the cost.’146 A battery commander in RFAR20 said the British ‘expected to reap the success of the fire that was designed to wear us down — and were [to be] badly disappointed.’147 There were exceptions, of course: near Mametz some soldiers of RIR109 mulled the merits of surrendering over resistance and likely death.148 German soldiers were, overall, well prepared to meet the British attack when it eventually came, and many were motivated by a desire to exact bloody payback for their ordeal by shellfire.
Back in the British lines, gunners were frustrated by equipment failures. Among the heavy batteries numerous guns broke down through overuse or shoddy manufacture. No fewer than 29 (7%) of Fourth Army’s 427 heavy artillery pieces failed during the bombardment, usually due to damaged bores, wear and tear and a host of other reasons.149 Failures among the 6-inch, 9.2-inch and 60-pounder guns were commonplace, as they were among the 4.7-, 6- and 15-inch howitzers.150 Often these guns were out of action for at least one day, possibly more. Moreover, the 4.7-inch guns were obsolete, and many of the 6-inch howitzers were limited in range and lacked hydraulic recoil systems, meaning they had to be repeatedly re-aimed.151 The 8-inch howitzers were bastardised coastal guns that also lacked hydraulic recoil systems. No wonder that Lieutenant Heath thought such weapons to be ‘antediluvian monsters.’152 Field artillery batteries also struggled with breakdowns. Buffer-spring trouble among 18-pounders was rife. No fewer than 64 (6%) of Fourth Army’s 1010 field artillery barrels were sidelined for at least one day, if not more.153 ‘We had never expected to have to fire so many shells in such a short space of time and the guns had become overheated,’ said Sergeant Robert Sutterby, RFA.154 The number of guns out of action for at least one day was probably closer to 10%, if not more, which was a sizeable dilution of the firepower on which so much depended.
Weapons were repaired with whatever parts were to hand or could be scrounged. Eighteenth (Eastern) Division had exhausted its supplies of 18-pounder buffer springs by the end of June.155 ‘I had to improvise,’ wrote Sutterby of salvaging parts from derelict weapons. ‘With the aid of a few gunners some drag ropes and a few stumps of trees, I lashed the [derelict] gun to a tree stump and the men held on to the ropes. As I released the tension on the recuperator front nut, they let the gun piece move steadily until it had expended all its savage rebound.’156 Twenty-four hours later Sutterby’s 18-pounders were again contributing to the bombardment. ‘The boys were surprised at seeing how it was done.’157
Many of the shells, fuses and cartridges were faulty, unreliable or unusable. Numerous reports referred to them as ‘not so good,’ ‘unsatisfactory,’ or simply ‘bad.’158 Problematic fuses were the most common cause of ‘dud’ shells, meaning those that failed to detonate.159 Lieutenant-Colonel Arthur Jenour, RGA, complained that Americanmade ammunition ‘was not very good, quite an appreciable proportion being duds.’160 Fuses exposed to moisture often failed to detonate, or threw accuracy out by hundreds of yards.161 Third Corps said 2000 rounds for its 6-inch howitzers lacked model-44 fuses or adaptors.162 Thirteenth Corps’ artillery was plagued by numerous bad-quality fuses, its 6-, 4.5- and 8-inch howitzers firing numerous duds.163 Fuses for 8-inch howitzers so frequently failed that the battlefield was in places littered with unexploded munitions; attempts to fix the problem flopped when the fuses unscrewed themselves in flight.164 Model-100 fuses for explosive shells were supposed to blow on impact and cut barbed wire, but the wet ground absorbed the shells and reduced blast effectiveness. Had the ‘quality of the ammunition been good [which even then suggests plenty of room for improvement], the quantity might have sufficed,’ wrote the British official historian.165 The number of dud shells might have totalled as much as 10–20% — it is difficult to estimate precisely — meaning the bombardment’s effectiveness was reduced by at least this much.
One German soldier used a sliver of chalk to scrawl ‘I don’t want war!’ on the belly of a dud British 38-centimetre shell. Soon a smaller-calibre missile landed nearby and also failed to blow. Someone scribbled ‘Neither do I!’ on its side. ‘This childish little joke,’ wrote a German soldier, ‘stood out against the seriousness, horror and death.’166
The preparatory bombardment provided a steep learning curve for many gunners. Captain Innes Ware, RGA, learned a ‘certain amount about the intricacies of gunnery’ on the Somme.167 The different shell diameters, the multitude of fuses each with different purposes, and the variety of brass-cased cartridges to fire the projectiles made the job a complex one: ‘These charges had varying degrees of velocity attached to them. They had something on our range tables and we had to make allowances for that. Really it was quite a complicated matter.’168 Inevitably some gunners either did not fully understand the charts, or simply did not attach sufficient importance to them. Major Musard Nanson, RGA, said many artillery officers failed ‘to make accurate use of the data then supplied in the range tables of their guns for the purpose of the correction of their shooting to allow for changes in the meteorological conditions since a registration of accurate shooting had been obtained.’169 As another artillery officer later said, ‘In truth the problem of semi-siege warfare and the large concentration of guns necessary for the work had never been studied by the General Staff in peace, nor by any of the leading gunners, or gunnery schools, [so] we had to learn our lesson in the pitiless school of war.’170 Pitiless, indeed, and with so very much riding on the success of the bombardment and on the gunners providing it.
Problems with ground observation added to the difficulties in assessing the field artillery’s wire-cutting. This was important work, noted Lieutenant Moore, who said the German wire — with a thick core and razor-sharp one-and-a-half-inch barbs — was a serious obstacle for infantry. It was mostly ‘held up by wooden stakes, the depth or width of this carpet of wire was seldom less than 20 yards and about three feet high, and it was very dense. In many of the enemy’s more important strategic positions a double row was put down.’171 It was no surprise that the British parapet ‘was lined like the dress circle at a theatre’ with forward observation officers (FOO), said one, but the dense shellfire ‘did not conduce to accurate observation.’172 Third and XIII Corps discovered long grass made assessing damage to the enemy wire difficult.173 Bad weather also affected ground observation.174 Thirteenth Corps said on 26 June that observation was difficult ‘owing to weather and smoke discharge,’175 while XV Corps noted on 27 June that visibility was ‘difficult owing to storms & bad light.’176 On 28 June, X Corps said rain and bad light for most of the day ‘made observation at times impossible,’177 a problem also noted by VIII Corps.178 In spite of these difficulties, FOO reports retained a positive bias. In the northern part of the battlefield, where the lie of the land afforded limited observation, III, VIII and X Corps often described their gunners’ work as ‘satisfactory’ or ‘good.’179 In the southern area, where the British positions yielded better views, FOO reports were couched in strikingly similar language. Fifteenth Corps referred to the wire’s being cut with ‘fairly satisfactory results’ and ‘well and satisfactorily cut’, while XIII Corps said its results were ‘very’ and ‘quite’ satisfactory.180 At times other phrases such as ‘progress made,’181 ‘very effective,’182 ‘everything going well,’183 and ‘successfully completed’184 were used. The theme of these corps’ reports suggested wire-cutting was — despite marked observational difficulties — going broadly to plan, but in truth they offered no meaningful assessment.
Infantry patrols probing the German lines under veil of darkness discovered all was not well, as records from about 50 patrols in the period 24–30 June reveal. These covered about 20% of the German front line facing Fourth Army.185 At best these presented an ambiguous picture of the state of the enemy’s front-line wire; at worst they suggested significant problems. Of the 50 patrols, 24 (48%) said the wire in their sectors was not cut, 20 (40%) reported it was cut, and six (12%) that it was only cut in some places.186 This ratio did not appreciably improve as the bombardment progressed.187 On a corps-by-corps basis, the wire facing XV and XIII Corps in the Fricourt–Mametz–Montauban area was cut considerably better than that elsewhere, presumably because of the better observation there. Further north, the reports lacked consistency and showed that III and X Corps’ wire-cutting was almost evenly split between positive and negative results.188 In VIII Corps’ area, the wire was intact before 31st Division, reasonably well cut in front of 4th Division and varied from non-existent to strong before 29th Division.189 Rawlinson said on 30 June that he was ‘not quite satisfied that all the wire has been thoroughly cut,’190 but General Sir Douglas Haig firmly believed the job had been done well.191 Rawlinson and Haig were, however, concerned by VIII Corps’ progress, largely because of disquieting patrol reports from that area, and Major-General Beauvoir de Lisle, commanding 29th Division, who was ‘anxious about the success of the attack north of the Ancre.’192 While patrol reports implied almost two-thirds of the wire-cutting had failed outright or in part, Haig — beguiled by generally optimistic corps’ artillery summaries — believed otherwise.
To most corps-level observers the enemy front-line trench system seemed heavily battered. Tenth Corps said on 28 June that its heavy howitzers had been effective in destroying the opposing German defences,193 and two days later that ‘as far as results could be seen’, concentrated shellfire had done satisfactory damage.194 Thirteenth Corps was even more upbeat on 26 June, reporting the German front line was ‘very badly damaged, also much of [the] second line.’195 A day later it noted that ‘Practically whole [German] front line done in except in a few places.’196 Fifteenth Corps reported on 28 June that ‘many strong points and MG Emplacements destroyed,’197 and on the eve of battle that the ‘whole of the hostile trench system appears to be very knocked about.’198 Seventh Corps assessed the German trenches as ‘very much knocked about,’199 adding the bombardment had been ‘very effective.’200 Eighth Corps said the shelling of opposing German trenches was progressing satisfactorily by 27 June, and just 48 hours later that its 4.5-inch howitzers had ‘done considerable damage to front and second line trenches. Judging by [aerial] photographs trenches have been badly battered.’201 Third Corps said its two front-line divisions ‘appeared satisfied with wire & bombardment,’202 and on other occasions that there was ‘noticeable’ and ‘considerable’ damage done.203 From the other side of no-man’s-land, the smoke- and dust-shrouded jumble of debris that was the German line looked increasingly indefensible.
Several tumbled-down red-brick villages hemmed into the forward German defensive system remained formidable infantry obstacles. These fortified villages totalled nine across the entire battle front, all engineered to hold multiple shell-proofed machine-gun posts in their mazes of interconnected cellars and ruins. These posts were difficult to pinpoint before the bombardment, and near impossible when their camouflaged firing apertures looked pretty much like any other dark void in the piles of rubble. It did not matter much whether that was at Gommecourt, Serre, Beaumont Hamel, Ovillers, Mametz or Montauban, which were all a jot behind the front line, or at Thiepval, La Boisselle and Fricourt, which were part of it. Machine-gunners sat out the bombardment in their dugouts and more than likely were under orders to stay their fire to avoid detection. At La Boisselle, for example, all of its 35 cottages were wrecked save a few lonely walls and topsy-turvy roofs. As one historian has noted, ‘To all appearances, therefore, La Boisselle was but a rubble heap, which afforded poor protection against an attacking force; actually it was a terribly strong position in which a small garrison of brave and determined men could offer a stout resistance for a considerable length of time, causing heavy casualties amongst assaulting troops.’204 These razed villages received nothing like the dead weight of shell needed to neutralise their firepower, and each successive blast only made it more difficult to locate machine-gun posts hidden among their ruins.
German infantrymen who chanced death by shell blast for a look above ground found their earthworks devastated. All line regiments reported their trenches flattened, reduced to shallow scrapes or pitted wastelands of overlapping shell holes and quite unrecognisable, while barbed-wire entanglements were damaged.205 Leutnant-der-Reserve Gerster outlined the scene in his typically vivid manner: ‘Tangles of wire wrapped around steel supports still showed in some places. . . . Where the front line trench once ran, shreds of corrugated iron, splinters of timber shuttering, empty food tins, smashed weapons and the kit and equipment of the dead and wounded lay everywhere.’206
RFC aerial photographs, however, showed that many heavily shellpocked trench lines retained at least some of their pre-bombardment form, more so between Gommecourt and La Boisselle than between Fricourt and Montauban. Evidently some of these German regimental writers — several of whom published their books as propaganda during the First World War, others during the more nationalistic 1930s — overwrote the hardships and difficulties to emphasise the victory of 1 July. Soden was closer to the mark when he said his 26th Reserve Division’s positions initially withstood the shellfire well, but were soon severely damaged.207 The inevitable conclusion among German officers and men was that their positions were increasingly ripe for attack,208 but that did not mean they were indefensible.
The acid test was whether enough deep dugouts had been destroyed, killing or incapacitating their occupants. If sufficient German soldiers lived and won the race to their parapet, British infantry would be met with a storm of bullets in no-man’s-land and their attack would almost certainly fail. Intelligence gathering fell to night-time patrols that stole into the hostile ditches, inspecting damage and nabbing prisoners. The large tracts of uncut or partially broken wire before VIII, X and III Corps — between Serre and Leipzig Redoubt — frequently blocked the raiders. In places they were driven off by rifle fire from an alert garrison, suggesting either that the dugouts were intact or that the shellfire had not hit the trenches sheltering enemy infantry.209 Before XV and XIII Corps, the wire was better cut and patrols frequently breached the enemy parapet, finding several dugouts blown in.210 Even in this area, on the eve of battle, several patrols were forced back by heavy German machine-gun and rifle fire, implying that here too enemy soldiers had been sheltering underground.211 Twelve prisoner interrogations were published by Fourth Army in the period 25–30 June, nine from XV Corps’ area and one each from III, X and XIII Corps’ sectors.212 These suggested some dugouts had been destroyed around Fricourt, Mametz and Montauban, but negligible intelligence for the ground between Leipzig Redoubt and Serre meant no such conclusions could be drawn for that part of the battlefield.213
German casualty figures provide a telling insight. That the preparatory bombardment caused 2500–3000 casualties, or 2.6–3.2% of XIV Reserve Corps’ strength, meant the remaining 92,000–92,500 officers and men, or 96.8–97.4%, were alive and able to defend their positions. This survival rate very obviously reveals that the vast majority of German dugouts across XIV Reserve Corps’ sector were intact at the end of the preparatory bombardment.
Senior British intelligence officers, who were unaware of this data at the time, ignored the abundance of available warning signs that the shellfiretorn German positions remained not only defensible, but also defended. ‘From the examination of prisoners,’ said Fourth Army Intelligence, ‘it is apparent that our artillery fire has been most effective. Most of the dugouts in the [enemy] front line have been blown in or blocked up. Even the deep dug-outs of a Battalion H.Q. were not proof against our big shells.’214 This singular optimism was shared by Brigadier-General John Charteris, Haig’s toadying chief of intelligence. ‘So far as I can see, the Germans have no real idea of any attack in force being imminent,’ he wrote on 28 June, entirely out of touch with reality. ‘The chief danger I fear is that they should leave their front-line trenches practically empty and hold in strength their second and third lines. Evidence to-day tends to show that this has not been done as yet.’215 Was Charteris implying he knew the enemy front line remained well defended with its infantry holed up in dugouts, or was he suggesting more worryingly that distant German trenches remained intact and defensible? Charteris was also well aware that the German artillery and infantry had not been silenced.216 A day earlier he had assessed that there ‘must be heavy [British] casualties,’ referring more to the overall scale of Haig’s attack than hinting at pending disaster, ‘but everything looks well for success.’217 With hindsight, Fourth Army Intelligence’s and Charteris’s conclusions can be seen as vacuous — but at the time they were the official line given to Haig and Rawlinson.
German accounts reveal that infantrymen all along the line were waiting for Haig’s attack to begin, which did not bode well for its chances of success. Sentries sheltered in dugout entrances, popping out to nose around, or using a mirror to peer into no-man’s-land.218 It was harrowing work; death and injury were commonplace.219 ‘Many a time,’ wrote Feldwebel Schumacher, RIR119, ‘I came across a man on sentry, his rosary in his hand and his thoughts directed to the strict fulfilment of his duties.’220 Near Ovillers on 25 June a sentry of IR180 alerted his company to an enemy patrol, which was shot into retreat.221 Patrols near Beaumont Hamel and Thiepval on the nights of 26 and 29 June were also thwarted by vigilant lookouts; dugout dwellers raced up into fresh air and drove the raiders back.222 South of Serre, RIR121 said repeated British patrols were fended off by alert soldiers who rushed from their dugouts at a moment’s notice.223 Referring to 26th Reserve Division’s sector north of the Albert–Bapaume road, Leutnant-der-Reserve Gerster was correct when he said the battered ‘German positions were ripe for attack, but not the crew!’224 Further south, at Montauban, IR62 believed that ‘although the position was battered, the garrison was still prepared to defend it.’225 The message was clear: the broken forward German positions remained at least defensible, their garrisons largely intact and responsive to enemy activity.
The shellfire had little physical impact on the German chain of command, but severely disrupted its communication network. Fourteenth Reserve Corps commander Generalleutnant Hermann von Stein’s headquarters at Bapaume was tested by long-range shellfire, but stayed put and in contact with its subordinate divisions via telephone. Two regimental headquarters were destroyed — those of RIR110 and RIR121, the latter’s commanding officer killed — but brigade and divisional headquarters remained operational. Officer losses were few. RIR99 recorded 16 officer casualties during the bombardment, or about 3% of its total losses during that period.226 More worrying were the frequently cut telephone links in the forward battle zone.227 Frontline infantry companies and platoons were all too often isolated from their own battalion and regimental headquarters, and crucially their supporting artillery.228 Runners took too long to convey messages, and emergency flares to call down defensive shellfire often went unseen in the shroud of smoke. Light-signalling equipment was equally ineffective, and risked revealing headquarters’ locations.229 This patchy communication in Stein’s forward battle zone meant he was dependent on infantry units standing firm when the enemy attacked, relying on rehearsed defensive tactics and on his artillery chiming in independently with a defensive barrage.
MUCH DEPENDED ON how effective Haig’s counter-battery fire was in pinpointing and destroying the guns and artillery positions of XIV Reserve Corps. Most commonly these German batteries were located in some valley, ruined building or shot-through wood, or otherwise simply dug into the ground and camouflaged. They were supposed to be spotted by eyes-peeled observers in aircraft or tethered kite balloons, the latter likened to ‘great gorged leeches of the air,’230 ‘yellow dragons in the blue skies’231 or ‘pensive and somewhat inebriated tadpoles.’232 The giveaways were muzzle flashes, piles of shell casings or the wicker baskets that held them, and poorly disguised earthworks. Sound-ranging was nascent, and in any case the ballad of shellfire rendered that technology more or less useless.233 The idea of counter-battery fire was to destroy or neutralise a sufficient number of German artillery batteries to either prevent or reduce their ability to fire a defensive barrage that could break up Haig’s infantry attack.
The problem was that Haig simply did not have big enough guns — 60-pounder guns and howitzers with bores of six inches or greater — for the job. There were only about 441 (24.9%) of these artillery pieces suitable for counter-battery fire across the attack fronts of Fourth and Third Armies.234 Available data suggests these fired roughly 226,300 high-explosive shells on Fourth Army’s front, or an estimated 15% of the 1.5 million released.235 But shellfire from these big, vital weapons was neutered from the outset by being apportioned over seven days, spread across Fourth Army’s 25,000-yard-wide (14.2-mile-wide) sector, diluted throughout XIV Reserve Corps’ depth positions and split by a variety of destructive tasks beyond counter-battery. ‘There were not sufficient guns on the [VIII] Corps front to attend to the hostile batteries,’236 said Captain James McDiarmid, RGA, adding that the ‘importance of efficient Counter Battery Work had not been fully realised.’237 Emphasis on this type of fire varied between corps: XIII Corps gave it greater priority than XV Corps, the others falling somewhere in between. Even then, competing target priorities, wet weather, poor observation and limited ammunition supply meant the volume of this fire could vary from one day to the next, even within a single corps. Fortunately for Stein the planners at Fourth Army headquarters attached less priority to counter-battery work, which was already far too thinly spread, than to wire-cutting and trench destruction.238
On the face of it, Fourth Army’s counter-battery gunners appeared to make progress. Corps artillery war diarists recorded alleged success in their counter-battery work almost daily, but the data and the way in which it was compiled varied considerably.239 By 30 June it was clear from German shellfire that the counter-battery work had not gone to plan. Fourth Army’s five corps variously assessed hostile fire that day as ‘heavy,’ ‘active,’ ‘moderate,’ ‘considerable’ and ‘fairly active.’240 Two days earlier Rawlinson noted the destruction of German guns was not going well.241 It was this that Major William Dobbie, VIII Corps headquarters, referred to when he later said the ‘reports received at first were very rosy and it was not for some time that we realised that something was amiss.’242
RFC reports confirmed Rawlinson’s counter-battery worries. Of the 571 active battery positions and gun emplacements the RFC claimed to have spotted in the period 24–30 June, just 59 (10.3%) were alleged to have been hit by shells.243 Part of the difficulty lay in the artillery’s accuracy. Captain Ware said of every 800 shells his gun fired only a ‘very small number’ landed on target, and the number of misses ‘must have been very large really.’244 The rest of the problem lay in faulty munitions and unreliable measuring of the counter-battery gunners’ effectiveness. During the bombardment the RFC logged at least 1120 hours of flying time in the battle zone by a total of 468 pilots, many flying multiple sorties.245 Unfortunately these sorties were often ineffectual: the foul weather undermined RFC–artillery co-operation,246 severely crimping aerial observation and frequently forcing counter-battery gunners — already encumbered with poor-quality weapons and shells — to fire blind. As the RFC’s official historian wrote years after the war:
Every hour of bad weather that kept aeroplanes away from the front brought respite to some German battery, and the full effect of the lost hours must be borne by the infantry when they advanced to the assault. No one realised this better than the airmen. Pilots flew in and under the low clouds and took advantage of every bright interval to continue their work of helping the artillery to destroy the enemy guns, but the grey days took their toll of flying time, and the effect on the day of attack, although it cannot be estimated, was none the less important.247
Even when the weather allowed, aerial observation did not always function smoothly, at least according to the artillery. RFC observers were often unable to distinguish the shellfire they were directing from that of other guns.248 Artillerymen on the ground were flooded with too many and often vague target locations from their eyes in the sky,249 and at other times were either unable to locate aeroplanes for the work or were plagued by patchy ground-to-air communication.250 Inexperienced and inefficient observers were also a problem.251 Most of these issues would have been resolvable with time, but immediately prior to 1 July there was no slack and they became just further drains on the quality of British counterbattery fire.
German soldiers were ignorant of the RFC’s difficulties but understood the dangers of aviators’ prying eyes.252 Major Max Klaus, RFAR26, described the British airmen as vultures,253 while Leutnantder-Reserve Ernst Moos, Reserve Field Artillery Regiment 27 (RFAR27), thought them a plague.254 ‘These British arimen,’ wrote one German historian of the Somme, ‘observed for their batteries, dropped bombs on troop quarters, harassed artillery batteries and columns of infantry with machine-gun fire, and photographed the German defences down to the smallest detail.’255 Leutnant-der-Reserve Gerster was one of many who lamented the loss of air superiority,256 and when several German tethered balloons were shot down on 25 June he said the situation worsened.257 As the German historian of the Somme noted: ‘The aerial reconnaissance of the XIV Reserve Corps was hereafter almost paralysed. . . . The enemy completely dominated the air.’258 Klaus said that without observation balloons the German gunners were figuratively blindfolded and the ‘air was almost purely English.’259 The only option to conserve lives and guns, said Gerster, was to avoid detection: ‘Soon no infantryman dared to be outside his dugout when an aircraft was circling overhead. With brown, clay and earth-stained tarpaulins they tried to camouflage the dark holes that marked the entrances to dugouts from the keen eyes of observers.’260 Sometimes these efforts were successful;261 other times not.262 Many German soldiers were angry at their own lack of aerial support ahead of the looming battle.
With this in mind, Stein ordered restraint among his artillery batteries to preserve their ability to provide essential close defensive support for his infantry. The order probably went out in May or June; the exact date is unknown. Stein realised he needed functional guns to destroy or neutralise enemy infantrymen as they attempted to cross no-man’s-land when their preparatory bombardment and supporting barrage lifted. As Leutnant-der-Reserve Georg Büsing, with RFAR20 at Gommecourt, explained: ‘The artillery commander issued orders to maintain a certain level of restraint, as the British seemed, in the first stage of their preparatory fire, to be trying to tempt us to fire in defence so that they could identify our positions, to induce us to expend a lot of ammunition, to find our batteries by aerial observation.’263 Artilleryofficer Moos agreed, as did Gerster, who noted the order was enforced across 26th Reserve Division’s sector.264 In practice, however, the order was not followed to the letter across XIV Reserve Corps. In general terms it was implemented between Gommecourt and Ovillers, to a lesser extent around La Boisselle and Fricourt, and virtually not at all between Mametz and Montauban, the latter two areas also having the poorest quality gun positions to begin with. Unsurprisingly, those divisions exercising caution in retaliatory artillery fire suffered fewer barrel losses than others.
Fourteenth Reserve Corps’ gun losses during the bombardment are known to some extent. The corps, as noted earlier, had roughly 570 field and heavy guns spread across 147 batteries.265 One of the worst-hit divisions was the 28th in the southern part of the battlefield. Its supporting artillery was reduced by about 10 (30.3%) batteries to just 23 during the 24–30 June bombardment, but among those guns left were many ‘useless’ weapons, implying the rate of attrition might have been considerably higher, perhaps even 40–50%.266 Moreover, these weapons were ‘unable to provide sufficient support,’ either being substandard or temporarily broken.267 Twelfth Infantry Division’s guns behind Montauban and Curlu — about 25 batteries totalling 95–100 barrels — suffered much the same fate, if not worse.268 Between Gommecourt and Serre, 2nd Guards Reserve Division and 52nd Infantry Divisions are thought to have lost few of their combined 50 batteries, totalling 186 guns. Twenty-sixth Reserve Division, which had a nominal 39 batteries totalling 154 guns spread between Serre and Ovillers, possibly lost about 20–30% of its guns, although one artillery group lost half of its 28 barrels.269 In practical terms, XIV Reserve Corps had an estimated 450 nominally active guns at dawn on 1 July, but in actuality that number could have varied between 400 and 500, and those batteries deployed behind Fricourt, Mametz and Montauban had suffered much greater losses than those between Ovillers and Gommecourt.
Below, commander of Second Army, was troubled by his gun losses; his reaction had a lot do with the central role they played in his defensive scheme. ‘The enormous enemy superiority in heavy and long-range batteries, which the Army has so far been unable to counter, is proving very painful. Our artillery would have been adequate to respond to an assault launched after a one-day heavy bombardment of our trenches.’270 Without doubt Below considered his artillery losses heavy, and was concerned — perhaps unduly, with the benefit of hindsight — about whether or not they would be able to lay down a thick curtain of defensive shellfire when the expected British attack came.
HAIG ACKNOWLEDGED none of the problems with the bombardment and instead focused on the positive. He said his men were in splendid spirits and several had told him they had never before been so well instructed and briefed on an upcoming operation.271 ‘The wire has never been so well cut, nor the artillery preparation so thorough.’272 In the two days before battle Haig spoke to his corps commanders — Lieutenant-Generals Henry Horne, William Pulteney, Thomas D’Oyly Snow, Morland and Congreve — who were apparently all brimming with confidence.273 Of those responsible for the northern part of the battlefield, where question marks surrounding the artillery’s effectiveness were greatest, Morland was ‘quietly confident of success’ and Pulteney was ‘quite satisfied with the artillery bombardment and wire cutting.’274 Hunter-Weston — who expected success, but added that this was ‘in the hands of God’275 — was, in Haig’s words, ‘quite satisfied and confident.’276 Pulteney later said he believed the German trenches ‘obliterated.’277 Snow thought all the German soldiers ‘will have been killed by our artillery barrage.’278 Further south, where the shellfire was more effective, Horne was ‘very pleased with the situation’ and ‘in high hopes.’279 Congreve and ‘all about him expressed themselves full of confidence.’280 Everyone was telling Haig what he wanted to hear: everything was going very well, actually, and a positive outcome was to be expected.
Haig was not entirely without reservations. He apparently sent Charteris to Hunter-Weston’s headquarters not long before battle with authority to cancel VIII Corps’ attack. ‘It had little chance of complete success and there was a certainty of many casualties. But even partial success might mean much to other parts of the line,’ wrote Charteris.281 He decided to let VIII Corps proceed, and his rationale — cruel as it seems with knowledge of subsequent events — provided the ever-profligate Hunter-Weston with a bespoke excuse. Charteris’s claim must be treated with caution. Eighth Corps’ job had always been to provide flank support for Fourth Army and, while Haig might have considered limiting part of its operation, cancellation of its role so close to battle, as Charteris suggests, seems highly improbable.
Haig and Rawlinson were nevertheless cautiously confident on the eve of battle. ‘I feel that everything possible for us to do to achieve success has been done,’ wrote Haig on 30 June. ‘Whether or not we are successful lies in the Power above. But I do feel that in my plans I have been helped by a Power that is not my own. So I am easy in my mind and ready to do my best whatever happens tomorrow.’282 By ‘success,’ Haig was referring to a breakthrough battle and deployment of Reserve Army. He continued: ‘With God’s help, I feel hopeful for tomorrow.’283 Rawlinson, too, was generally pleased with Fourth Army’s preparations, but his operational hopes were considerably more measured than Haig’s. On the eve of battle he confided in his private diary:
What the actual results will be no one can say, but I feel pretty confident of success myself though only after heavy fighting. That the Bosche will break, and that a debacle will supervene, I do not believe; but should this be the case I am quite ready to take full advantage of it. The weather has greatly improved and all looks hopeful but the issues are in the hands of the Bon Dieu God.284
Haig and Rawlinson were rightly anxious going into their first major battle as C-in-C and army commander respectively, but it was altogether more troubling that their operational expectations were still very much polarised after seven days’ shellfire and just hours before the infantry went in.
FAR BEYOND POZIÈRES Ridge senior German commanders were also assessing the state of their defensive positions. General-der-Infanterie Erich von Falkenhayn, Chief of General Staff, Supreme Army Command, was still chiefly focused on the offensives in Verdun and Galicia. He acknowledged Second Army’s positions astride the Somme had been flayed, but attached less strategic value to these and thus remained sparing with reinforcements of men, guns and aeroplanes.285 By contrast, an increasingly worried Below had predicted a major combined Anglo-French attack either side of the river, and was troubled that the bombardment resembled the ‘tactics of wearing down and attrition.’286 The ‘enormous enemy superiority in heavy and long-range batteries, which the Army has so far been unable to counter, is proving very painful,’ he said, noting the loss of men and materiel, and damage to his defensive positions.287 Six months later he would appraise the shellfire, referring to 28th Reserve Division at Fricourt–Mametz, 12th Infantry Division at Montauban and XVII Army Corps further south.288 With hindsight, and in reference to these areas, he would write of insufficient artillery, the loss of air superiority, a failure to properly distribute infantry in depth, inadequately constructed defence-in-depth positions, and the general damage caused by days of shellfire.289 His concerns about the artillery and aeroplane shortages predated the bombardment by weeks, but on the other points his position in late-June 1916 was less clear. At the time Below well knew his army was reliant on stretched resources in defending the Somme battlefield, but there is nothing to suggest he realised how vulnerable XIV Reserve Corps’ left flank was to a concerted Anglo-French attack.
Stein and the other tactical-level commanders were far from bullish in their outlooks. Stein was silent on the period 24–30 June in his fauxbreezy memoir,290 but probably shared Below’s worries. His post-war writings suggest he was concerned by the damage to his defences and British aerial supremacy, but was confident that his men would hold their positions.291 At Gommecourt, Generalleutnants Richard Freiherr von Süsskind-Schwendi and Karl von Borries, commanders respectively of 2nd Guards Reserve and 52nd Infantry Divisions, were prepared for a defensive battle and realised the looming attack on the salient would be an attempted British diversion from operations further south. An out-oftime Generalleutnant Ferdinand von Hahn was rightly bothered by the quality and depth of his 28th Reserve Division’s just-inherited defences, more so around Fricourt–Mametz than at La Boisselle, and was almost certainly troubled by his severe gun losses in the former. Generalleutnant Martin Châles de Beaulieu, 12th Infantry Division, was so worried about the state of his front-line infantry at Montauban that he foolishly revolved in last-minute replacements, but appears to have been less concerned by gun losses and his pulverised trenches. Soden was by far the most confident of the divisional commanders: he simply expected his 26th would hold its ground between Serre and Ovillers by repulsing any attack.292 He wrote in a divisional order of the day dated 26 June:
The effort and work in the course of the last two years that were made in the extension of our positions, may already have to endure a powerful test in the next few days. Now it requires everyone to be firm, to courageously persist, to do your duty, to shun no sacrifice and no exertion, so that the enemy is refused victory. And everyone must be conscious that it is necessary that we hold the bloody embattled ground and that no Englishman or Frenchman who penetrates into our lines might remain unpunished. I know that I am united in these convictions with the entire division and I look forward to the coming events with full confidence.293
Stein must have known his generals’ views, but he never commented on them, or on his failure to construct corps-wide defences of uniform depth and strength. Instead, after the war, he reverted to stating the obvious: ‘After extensive preparations the enemy believed he had made the [German] positions defenceless and could step forward over them unhindered.’294
COLUMNS OF equipment-laden British soldiers trudged along trafficclogged roads late on 30 June and into the early hours of 1 July before filing through the crowded trench maze towards their jumping-off lines. ‘All the valleys were filled with troops moving softly up to the assembly trenches, their winding ranks looking like grey-green snakes at a distance,’ wrote Lieutenant Kelly.295 Many had penned a few words in case they died on 1 July, perhaps a last note to somebody back home or a will bequeathing their few worldly possessions. ‘I am writing a letter home, Sir, it will be my last,’ a grim-faced Ulsterman told Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Crozier, 9th Royal Irish Rifles, the night before battle.296 Equipment had been checked and rechecked. Water bottles were full, bayonets sharpened, rifles cleaned and oiled, ammunition pouches rammed and haversacks bulging with rations. Some strapped an entrenching tool across their chest as a crude form of body armour; others struggled under the added dead weight of trench mortars, machine guns, stretchers, wooden ladders for scaling parapets and 101 other apparently essential items. Each man knew exactly the part he had to play; jittery platoon commanders briefed their men once more. But, now, just hours from battle, there was no sign of any overt optimism.
‘No one got, or tried to get much sleep, but there was no sign of nervousness or apprehension; we just talked . . . through the night,’ wrote Lieutenant Heath, the trench mortar officer.297 Another officer said he ‘sat in a shelter with some of my men and tried to keep up their spirits by playing my tin whistle to them. But it was a long night.’298 Second-Lieutenant Liveing, the 1/12th Londons (Rangers) officer, pondered whether the next day he would be lying out ‘stiff and cold in that land beyond the trees.’299 Second-Lieutenant Laporte, the artillery subaltern, was in the trenches opposite La Boisselle. As night faded into the dawn of 1 July he watched a string of Northumberland Fusiliers squeeze past knots of soldiers in a narrow communication trench behind Tara and Usna hills:
In single file they went steadily by, silently save for the sound of equipment knocking against the trench and of their feet on the soft earth, burdened with rifles, belts of ammunition, bombs, picks, shovels, iron rations, water-bottles, haversacks, gas-bags and tin helmets. . . . At intervals there were halts as they were held up ahead. Hardly a word was spoken. Some by slight nervous movements showed signs of strain, but most were steady-eyed enough. Then they were gone.300