5
The Preparations

While the generals and their staff officers worked on the plans for the coming battle, their soldiers also prepared for it. There were so many divisions in the area that it was possible to withdraw them in turn from the line, so that each could rehearse its part in the attack. This was done on a tract of land chosen for its similarity to the sector to be attacked. Tapes marked the position of German trenches and notices indicated the sites of their redoubts and villages. Over and over again the sweating troops formed up, advanced, ‘captured’ German positions and consolidated, all under the watchful eye of staff officers and sometimes generals. ‘We had been out in a little village near Amiens, practising for 1 July. We were inspected by a little, grey old man on a great black horse, with a glittering escort of Lancers, pennants fluttering in the wind.’ (Pte A. V. Conn, 8th Devons) This was an eighteen-year-old boy’s view of the great Haig –‘a little, grey old man’.

‘We had been rehearsing all day and were resting in our tents, hot and tired. Blow me if Rawlinson didn’t poke his head in and tell us we ought to be outside doing something or another.’ (L/Cpl F. Lobel, M.M., 2nd Middlesex)

For the soldiers it was an exciting time; it was the first definite indication that they were to be in the ‘Big Push’, as it was being called. They were impressed by the concentration of troops, especially of artillery, who were moving into the area with their guns in large numbers ready for the opening of the five-day bombardment. They had mixed feelings but generally looked forward to the battle after the long months of trench warfare; they realized there would be casualties but again there was a feeling that the battle would get the war over before Christmas and avoid another winter in the trenches. Some were even more optimistic: ‘I was very pleased when I heard that my battalion would be in the attack. I thought this would be the last battle of the war and I didn’t want to miss it. I remember writing to my mother, telling her I would be home for the August Bank Holiday.’ (Pte E. C. Stanley, 1/8th Royal Warwicks)

It was at about this time that two important items of news reached the troops. The first was reports of a big naval battle at Jutland, in which the British Navy had lost fourteen warships without managing to inflict a real defeat on the Germans. Three days later, on 6 June, news arrived that Lord Kitchener had been drowned when the cruiser, Hampshire, on which he was going to Russia, struck a mine and sank within hours of leaving Scapa Flow. A wave of gloom swept through the men on the Somme; to one soldier ‘It was as bad as having lost a battle’. Kitchener, the founder of the New Army, was not to see it fight its first big battle. The Germans were quick to hear this news. ‘We were in the front line, when all of a sudden a shout from the Jerry trenches told us that Kitchener was drowned and he would go to Hell.’ (Pte J. Sutherland, 1st Edinburgh City Battalion)

Now that so many troops were in the area, the infantry could spend more time out of the trenches. After the rehearsals and training, there were still the usual labouring duties, but there was some time for relaxation. At a football match between two Glasgow battalions, the Commercials and the Boys’ Brigade, a chance long-range German shell landed by the Boys’ Brigade goal and the goalkeeper was killed.

Even Gen. Rawlinson found time to relax, attending an Old Etonian Dinner at Amiens with 167 other Old Boys, among them Lieut-Col. Reginald Bastard. The evening passed very pleasantly, Rawly first making a short speech and then entertaining the company with a song from Carmen.

In addition to the planning and training, there was a vast amount of extra labouring work to be done in preparation for the battle. On the morning of the attack many times the normal number of men would be packed into the trenches and special assembly trenches were needed for them just behind the front line. Each night these were dug and the chalk and soil had to be bagged up and carried to the rear to be dumped away from German eyes. But too much digging in a war area could lead to disturbing discoveries of what a battle meant. One party of diggers was ordered to restore an old trench that had been filled in, only to discover that it was packed with the bodies of French Moroccan troops.

Another problem concerned how the attackers were to cross No Man’s Land where it was particularly wide. The current General Staff instructions were that no attack should start more than 200 yards from the enemy. No special orders were issued, and it was left to individual corps to decide whether the distance was a problem. One that decided to do something about it was VII Corps at Gommecourt, where No Man’s Land was up to 800 yards wide. The 56th (London) Division there solved its problem in fine style. A brigadier-general was given the task of digging a completely new trench half-way across No Man’s Land. In a carefully planned operation, 3,000 infantrymen protected by patrols went out and, after three nights, had dug 2,900 yards of new front-line trench and 1,500 yards of communication trench joining it to the old front line. This operation was completed at a cost of only eight dead and fifty-five wounded. Of course, the Germans could see what had been done but this was all part of the plan to make the preparations at Gommecourt as obvious as possible to draw German attention to the diversion.

Deep down under the ground more digging was in progress. Gen. Rawlinson had decided to use the mines that he had inherited from the French and work was carried out feverishly on the preparation of seven large mines and many smaller ones. These were to be exploded under vital German strong-points just before the infantry attack. The Germans must have been aware of the mining activity but do not appear to have done much counter-mining during this period of preparation. One Tunnelling Company did suspect that Germans were working near their own gallery, so they prepared a small counter-charge: ‘To make the Germans think we were still digging, we tied a hammer to the end of a long rope. We hung the hammer over a bar in the roof and one man kept pulling the rope so that the hammer kept banging on the wall. Our officer was a parson’s son. He took off his cap and knelt down and said, “Please God, help the poor devils down there.” Then he pressed the plunger.’ (Spr C. Nixon, 178th Tunnelling Company)

The tunnellers digging one mine (under a German post known as Kasino Point) had a dangerous moment when they penetrated an enemy dug-out. They were able to conceal the tunnel from the Germans but the incident shows how deep the German dug-outs were.

Behind the trenches, the whole area was a scene of seething activity as this one-time backwater of the war prepared for a major battle. Huge stocks of ammunition, food and fodder for horses were brought up and dumped as near to the front as possible. Water was very scarce, so that wells had to be sunk and miles of water pipe laid. A major problem was lack of communications; the region had only been served by one railway, one main road and a few country lanes.

One of the greatest needs was for stone for the extra roads, railways and railway sidings which had to be built. The local chalk was too soft and suitable material had to be fetched from as far away as Jersey and Cornwall. So precious was the stone that one Casualty Clearing Station, ordered to move to a new location in preparation for the battle, dug up all its pathways and took the stone with it to the new site, all twenty lorry-loads.

Every possible result of the battle was being anticipated: each corps built a large barbed-wire enclosure for the expected enemy prisoners; all the medical services were enlarging their accommodation; and sadly, but logically, mass graves were dug.

The organization for dealing with wounded men was based upon a systematic process of evacuation through various medical units, each of which had a particular service to offer the wounded man before passing him back to the next unit. This process started with the stretcher-bearers bringing in wounded from the battlefield and extended all the way back to the large military and civilian hospitals in England. The farther back a wounded soldier could get, the more considered and skilled the treatment he could expect.

The methods used to evacuate men from one unit to another varied. Motor ambulances were used from divisional units to the Casualty Clearing Stations, a distance of a few miles only, but from there to the base was a greater distance and the normal method used was the Ambulance Train. Properly equipped and staffed with doctors and nurses, these could take a load of 400 wounded men in comfort to the base hospitals. There was an alternative method of evacuation from the Somme Front whereby ambulance barges took the wounded down the River Somme. This was a particularly restful method but, as each barge only carried forty wounded, not of much use in times of stress.

When a major battle was being fought it was essential that this evacuation process ran smoothly. If any stage of it broke down, all those units forward of the failure would fill up and be unable to accept fresh cases or treat properly those they already held. Gen. Rawlinson had seen the effect of just such a breakdown in the evacuation of the wounded to the base at Loos, and was determined that there should be no repetition in his army. He took a close interest in the plans made by his Director of Medical Services, who had estimated that he would need seven Ambulance Trains and three Temporary Ambulance Trains daily.^* Rawlinson believed that this was not enough and to ensure that his requirements would be met he wrote himself, on 14 June, to G.H.Q.:

To Q.M.G., British Armies in France

With reference to evacuation of wounded from Fourth Army area during active operations; I consider it essential that means of evacuation by trains should be provided for at least 10,000 wounded per day, in order to avoid undue overcrowding and discomfort for the wounded in the Casualty Clearing Stations and other medical units.

In order to evacuate this number, 12 ambulance trains and 6 improvised ambulance trains will be required daily by this Army.

I should like to be assured that this number of trains will be available, as I am informed that the total number of ambulance trains in this country is only 30, of which 6 are employed solely at the bases, and that the total number of improvised trains is only 6.

It appears to be necessary that the number of trains available for the Fourth Army should be considerably increased if the delays which I understand occurred during the Loos fighting in September last are to be avoided.

H. Rawlinson

Ambulance Trains and the evacuation of wounded to the base were the responsibility of the Quartermaster General’s department at G.H.Q. In June 1916 the officer occupying this position was Lieut-Gen. R. C. Maxwell, a sixty-four-year-old officer, who had been within five months of retirement when the war had started in 1914. Rawlinson’s letter had been addressed personally to Lieut-Gen. Maxwell (technically of junior rank but twelve years his senior in age), who replied four days later:

(1) It is not anticipated that there will be any difficulty in meeting the needs of the Fourth Army during active operations.

(2) The distribution of the regular ambulance trains during times of pressure is regulated from General Headquarters according to the needs of the moment, and it is not considered advisable to allot them to Armies beforehand.

(3) No limit has been placed on the number of improvised ambulance trains. The number required will be brought into use as and when necessary.

And finally what must have been intended as a snub to Rawlinson:

(4)No reports of any delay in the evacuation of the wounded during the fighting round Loos can be traced in this office.

R. C. Maxwell^*

His letter to G.H.Q. had had some effect however, for, on 20 June, the Quartermaster General issued two detailed memoranda giving extensive instructions ‘Relating to the Regulating of Ambulance Trains in Time of Pressure’ and copies were distributed to all railway and medical units. Rawlinson was more satisfied with this action and his staff made final preparations, secure in the knowledge that there should be no delay in the evacuation of the wounded from the battle area to the base and thence to England.

For once, the see-saw balance of power in the air was in the British favour. The R.F.C. had gathered a force of ten squadrons, 185 planes, against the German strength of 129 on this front. The British pilots were kept busy helping the artillery register their targets ready for the bombardment and keeping German scouting planes away from the British lines. Thanks to the superiority of the R.F.C, no German aircraft was able to observe the British preparations or shoot down their artillery observation balloons. Eventually there were to be fourteen of these, flying in a great arc round Albert, one for each infantry division in the line.

At this time, when the army was in need of every shell it could get, there were difficulties back at home. A shortage of shells had been blamed as one of the reasons for the failures of 1915 but now production was under the vigorous Lloyd George, Minister for Munitions, and output was booming. At the end of May, the government had considered postponing the Whitsun Holiday, so that work in the munition factories should not be interrupted. This idea had met with a hostile reception from some workers but, after Lloyd George had met trade-union leaders in London on 30 May, the Prime Minister, Mr Asquith (‘Squiff’), was able to announce that the Whit Monday Holiday would be postponed and added on to the August Bank Holiday.

On the same day, Mr Arthur Henderson, M.P., an assistant to Lloyd George, addressing a meeting of munitions workers in Leeds, was asked why it was necessary to postpone the holiday. He replied, as evasively as he could, that the government had only asked for a postponement until the end of July, ‘and that that fact should speak volumes’. The official censor allowed his reply to be printed in full in newspapers which were on sale in Holland the next day, so that the Germans were able to pick up the hint that a British offensive was imminent.

A few soldiers were still able to come home on leave, among them a Capt. D. L. Martin, a company commander in the 9th Devons. He took with him a large-scale map of the area his company was to attack: some German trenches in front of Mametz. While on leave, Capt. Martin, an artist, amused himself by making a plasticine model of the battlefield. The longer he looked at the model, the stronger his feeling grew that if and when his company advanced over a small rise by some trees called Mansel Copse, they would come under fire from a German machine-gun position built into the base of a wayside shrine in Mametz. On his return to France he showed the model to his brother officers and told them of his forecast.

Another company commander was Capt. W. P. Nevill of the 8th East Surreys. Nevill was a young officer who liked to stand on the fire-step each evening and shout insults at the Germans. His men were to be in the first wave of the assault near Montauban and he was concerned as to how they would behave, for they had never taken part in an attack before. While he was on leave, Nevill bought four footballs, one for each of his platoons. Back in the trenches, he offered a prize to the first platoon to kick its football up to the German trenches on the day of the attack. One platoon painted the following inscription on its ball:

The Great European Cup
The Final
East Surreys v Bavarians
Kick Off at Zero

Many of the battalion commanders from the 32 nd Division were given a week’s leave in June. The C.O. of the 2nd K.O.Y.L.I, was none too pleased to be asked many times when the ‘Big Push’ was going to start. If everyone in London knew of the attack, what hope was there of keeping it a secret from the enemy?

Probably the busiest soldiers during this period were the artillerymen who were preparing for the five-day bombardment. Lloyd George had promised that, for this battle, the army should have guns standing wheel to wheel and, by the time the bombardment opened, his promise was almost literally fulfilled. There was a gun, howitzer or mortar for every seventeen yards of the enemy front line to be attacked. Compared with the previous best effort, at Loos, there were twice as many guns and six times as many shells. More shells were destined to be fired in one week than in the first twelve months of the war.

All through the first three weeks in June, fresh batteries came up at night into carefully prepared positions. After they had settled in, they registered their targets, helped by their own officers observing from the front-line trench, or by R.F.C. observers in balloons or aeroplanes. Once satisfied that this had been done properly, the batteries lapsed into silence and waited.

The bombardment opened on 24 June, for the infantry attack was still planned for the 29th, and the gunners settled down to a daily routine. Each morning they fired a concentrated barrage for eighty minutes, using every available gun. This was to be cut to sixty-five minutes on the morning of the attack, so that the infantry could ‘go over’ with the Germans still expecting another fifteen minutes’ barrage. For the remainder of the day a continuous, but steadier, barrage was fired. At night half of the guns rested but the barrage was supplemented by heavy machine-guns, which put down specially harrassing fire on the enemy’s rear, hoping to cut off the garrisons in the trenches from supplies and relief.

Despite the extent of the bombardment, there were some imperfections and deficiencies. The task of cutting the barbed wire had been given to the 18-pounders but nearly all the ammunition they were using was shrapnel shells. These descendants of the old grape-shot had a small charge which exploded the shell in the air, scattering steel balls on to the ground below, shot-gun fashion. If the fuse was set a fraction of a second too early, the shrapnel balls missed the wires; if too late, the shell exploded harmlessly in the ground. It required a very high level of skill by the artillery officers to cut wire with shrapnel, but it could be done.

Another drawback was the shortage of both heavy guns and ammunition, vital for the destruction of the deep dug-outs. There were only thirty-four artillery pieces above 9.2-in. calibre and half of these had been loaned by the French.

The final disappointment was that the mass production of shells, and especially of their delicate fuses, had led to a lowering of the quality and many shells failed to explode. One estimate put the proportion of duds as high as one third. This may have been an exaggeration but a soldier, captured by the Germans on a night raid towards the end of the bombardment, has described his journey to the rear: ‘I was told to leave the dug-out and run after the German in front of me whilst another followed behind. I was running for a long time and climbing over huge shells that had not exploded, I must have seen hundreds of them. Duds.’ (Pte F. McLaughlin, 1st Royal Dublin Fusiliers) These drawbacks were not all obvious at the time and the bombardment was on such a scale, compared with previous efforts, that they would not necessarily have been decisive.

After months of suffering from German shell fire, the British troops were tremendously encouraged by the display of their own artillery. In most places the Germans were so quiet that the infantry could walk about above ground for the first time and gaze in wonder on the German positions. ‘The enemy’s trenches look very pretty sometimes in the sunlight, our shells bursting over them in yellow, black or white puffs, many of the trenches covered with a bright yellow weed; while between the heavy white lines of chalk marking the principal trenches, there are frequently large fields of brilliant scarlet poppies.’ (Maj. W. A. Vignoles, Grimsby Chums)^*

The scene at night was spectacular. ‘It was a real sight to see for miles to left and right, all the guns flash as they fired, and with the Very lights, machine-guns and all the other activity, it was something to remember.’ (Gnr H. W. Beaumont, 170th (County Palatine) Brigade R.F.A.)

The firing of the heavy 15-in. howitzers, of which there were a handful manned by the Royal Marine Artillery, was a special treat for the infantry. All day long, there would be a gang of fascinated spectators to watch the elaborate loading of the howitzers. When one of the huge shells was fired, it could be followed in flight for some time, until it dipped at the top of its trajectory. A few seconds later a distant ‘boom’ would tell of its arrival in the German lines.

The sound of the bombardment could be heard quite plainly in England. Some people living on the South Coast thought that a naval battle was being fought; others realized that it foretold the beginning of the Big Push.

To the background of the rumbling of the bombardment, the generals were making their final plans but small strains began to appear under the great pressure of the impending attack. These were particularly apparent in the relationships between the three generals involved in the main attack – Haig, the c.-in-c., and Rawlinson and Gough, the commanders of his Fourth and Reserve Armies. Haig again wrote to Rawlinson just before the bombardment opened, urging him to reduce it from five to three days to give the Germans less warning of the attack, but Rawlinson was still certain he was right and again Haig declined to give a direct order.

Meanwhile, Lieut-Gen. Gough’s command was crumbling away. It began to disintegrate on 21 June, when the infantry corps allotted to him by the c.-in-c. was taken away and placed in G.H.Q. reserve. Then, on the following day, his cavalry divisions were placed under Fourth Army control. Although he continued to call himself the commander of the Reserve Army, Gough had, in fact, been relegated to the status of a corps commander under Rawlinson, and the only troops he had under his command were the cavalry that Haig was hoping would be used but that Rawlinson was convinced would not.

As late as 27 June, two days before the proposed attack, Gough complained to Haig that he was certain of neither his position, nor his objectives, under Rawlinson. Haig simply reiterated the plan: Gough was to push through any gap that might be made, seize Bapaume and turn northwards towards Arras. Gough explained that he had no infantry to work with his cavalry and that his advance would depend upon Rawlinson’s goodwill, Gough not being in a position to demand the foot soldiers. Haig sent his Chief of Staff round the various H.Q.’S trying to establish an acceptable procedure and, eventually, a loose plan was worked out depending upon the progress of the battle. It was hardly satisfactory that, two days before their Big Push, the generals had still not settled their command system.

To the uncertainties and doubts of his subordinate infantry commanders, Rawlinson showed an attitude of absolute confidence. It is interesting that the two objections put to him by Haig, those of the long artillery preparation and the absence of any rushing tactics, were again raised. The recommended tactic at this stage of the war was that attacking infantry should approach to within 100 yards of enemy trenches, ready to rush in when the barrage lifted. At a Fourth Army corps commanders’ conference it was suggested to Rawlinson that the infantry might go in even closer, to within forty yards in fact. Rawlinson refused to approve this, saying that nothing would exist at the conclusion of the bombardment. So dogmatic was he in his optimism and so thoroughly did it spread to his corps and divisional commanders that objections coming back from the men at the front were met with confident assertions at all levels.

To Gen. Sir Henry Rawlinson, more than to any other, this battle would belong. It was his plan that had been adopted, it was his will that had been imposed upon all those around him.

If the generals’ work was nearly done, that of the infantry was growing apace. One of their tasks, as soon as the bombardment had opened, was the continuous raiding of German trenches. These raids were meant to see how much damage was being done by the bombardment; to identify German units; and to ensure that the Germans kept their front-line trenches manned during the bombardment. Each night the artillery fire would lift off the German trenches for a short time and every division in the line would make at least one raid. It was dangerous work, hated by the soldiers: ‘It was a frightening experience, a matter of dodging from one shell hole to the next and, very often, finding that your companion in the shell hole was a partially decomposed body of a German or British soldier. I took part in a number of these excursions and I remember that our reward for the ones who came back was an extra tot of rum.’ (Pte J. S. Kidd, 1st Edinburgh City Battalion)

Results from these raids varied. The 11th Borders sent over seventy-five men and came back with twenty German prisoners; these were not regarded as a very valuable catch as ‘They were a poor lot of Saxons’, but the Borders had lost half of their raiding party as casualties. Another raid (probably by the Ulster Division) brought back twelve prisoners, from trenches opposite Thiepval Wood. This time the raiders had no casualties and their prisoners were reported to G.H.Q. as ‘cowed and glad to surrender’.

The 30th Division reported that two of their patrols had entered the German trenches and found the front line heavily damaged and empty. They had worked along the trench in both directions and even found the dug-outs empty; it was only on trying to reach the German support trench that any enemy was discovered. But not all the raids went so smoothly. In two nights, Hunter-Weston’s corps attempted nine raids, but every one was beaten off by the Germans, some with heavy loss.

Near La Boisselle, the 3rd Tyneside Irish made two successful raids. They had prepared home-made bombs – a full can of petrol with a grenade attached – and, when they entered the German trenches, these fearsome missiles were thrown down the entrances to thirteen dug-outs. On the return of one of these raiding parties, the officer in charge found that one of his men was missing. He went back and searched No Man’s Land but stayed out too long. A German rifleman spotted him in the growing light, a shot rang out and the officer was dead. His body was recovered the following night.^*

The news of hungry and demoralized German prisoners and empty, flattened trenches encouraged the generals to think that the bombardment was achieving its object. The worse news, of raids being bloodily repulsed and wire defences not destroyed, was discounted as being exaggerated and unreliable.

The Germans were also raiding. The 12th Northumberland Fusiliers were holding the trenches near Fricourt when, just after dusk, the Germans put down a barrage, firstly on the wire and then on three sides of a short stretch of trench. ‘After that, nothing seemed to happen, but when I stepped down from the fire-step, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Standing behind me was a German, armed with a revolver and grenade, but he surrendered at once, asked for a cigarette and seemed very pleased to be taken prisoner.’ (L/Cpl H. Fellows, 12th Northumberland Fusiliers)

Another device used to harass the Germans was poison gas. This was released whenever the wind blew towards the German trenches. But it was a fickle weapon. When German shells burst open the gas cylinders or the wind blew sideways, the wrong people might be gassed.

While the bombardment was being fired an officer from a gas unit was killed in No Man’s Land near Serre. He was said to be the son of a well-known politician and the battalion holding the line, the Hull Commercials, was ordered to recover the body. Two attempts failed, with the Hull men suffering casualties. Their C.O. was ordered to try again but refused. He was promptly relieved of his command.^†

In spite of the build-up of men and the extensive preparations being made on the Somme front, G.H.Q. still tried to mislead the enemy as to the exact time and place of the attack. Haig had ordered his other armies as far north as Belgium to do all they could to confuse the Germans. New trenches and dummy gun emplacements were dug; sudden artillery barrages were put down and the guns tried to blow away stretches of the German wire. So that the increase in night raids on the Somme should not draw attention to that front, other sectors had to do the same. Night after night, all along the front, the hated raids continued. These may have misled the Germans, but they were very costly; in one raid on the Maroc sector, near Loos, two battalions (Royal Sussex and King’s Royal Rifle Corps) lost fifteen officers and 385 men in the raid and the retaliatory German barrage.

For some troops, however, there was a bonus. Leave had been cut almost to nothing in the Fourth Army and, to keep leave boats and trains running at the usual rate in June, Australian troops in the base depots were given extra leave to England.

The cavalry had been kept out of the way until the last day before the offensive, 28 June, but, as that day approached, they started to move up by easy stages, only at night and by carefully selected side roads, so as not to block the overstrained transport system. There were three full divisions of cavalry, containing some of the most romantic names in the British Army – Dragoon Guards, Hussars, Lancers, Life Guards, Royal Horse Guards and, in the 2nd Indian Cavalry Division, the Poona Horse, Hodson’s Horse and the Deccan Horse with a full brigade of Canadian cavalry attached. Every trooper was armed with a sabre or lance, in addition to his rifle, and all were expecting action at last. ‘Just before the battle we were told by our c.o., “Undoubtedly there will be a gap and, when you go through, I guarantee you will not be more than five days without fresh rations.” ’ (L/Cpl G. J. R. Wraight, 3rd Dragoon Guards)

Gough had once been the commander of the 7th Division, which had seen much hard fighting under him and had called itself ‘Gough’s Mobile Army’. The men on the Somme knew vaguely of Gough’s presence and of his force of cavalry and infantry preparing for a breakthrough. The phrase ‘Gough’s Mobile Army’ was revived and there was much talk of it amongst the troops. There were stories that when the cavalry galloped through the gap they would be accompanied by infantry carried in lorries and buses.

The infantry were being given last-minute orders and advice, although they were still not told the day or time of the attack. The leading battalions were to advance in a series of waves which had to enter No Man’s Land at one-minute intervals and move forward at a steady pace of no more than 100 yards in every two minutes (less than two miles per hour), and the men were forbidden to cheer or shout, in case the enemy heard them coming. If faced by resistance, they were not to run until within twenty yards of the enemy, so as not to become exhausted. It was to be like a vast, complicated parade ground movement, carried out in slow motion. ‘Assurance was given that the time honoured system of short rushes would, in this instance, be unnecessary.’ (Cpl J. H. Tansley, 9th Yorks and Lancs)

‘We were instructed not to attend to any wounded men but, in such cases, to take his rifle and place it vertically with the bayonet sticking in the ground in order to attract the attention of the R.A.M.C. We also received orders that no quarter was to be shown to the enemy and no prisoners taken.’ (Pte R. Love, Glasgow Commercials)

This advice about prisoners was repeated in at least three different divisions but never by written order, always verbally. A brigadier-general in the 34th Division told the Cambridge Battalion,^* ‘You may take prisoners but I don’t want to see them’, and another, in the 18th Division, told the 6th Royal Berks that it would be difficult to get food through to the attacking troops and the fewer prisoners taken, the more food there would be for the Berkshires. At the other extreme, the 1st Bradford Pals (and many others) were told that any man who refused to go over the top would be shot on the spot by Military Police.

Battalion commanders had to decide which of their officers and men were to take part in the attack. In previous battles battalions had gone into action with the whole of their fighting strength and, if they had suffered heavy casualties, had found difficulty in rebuilding the battalion. Although the attack was expected to be a walk-over, battalions were ordered, on this occasion, to leave ten per cent of their fighting strength behind with the transport. In the event of a catastrophe, these would form the nucleus in rebuilding the battalions.

This process of deciding who was to go into action and who was to remain behind, potentially a life-or-death decision, went on in every battalion. ‘I had just joined the battalion on a draft but, because I could write shorthand, the adjutant put me in the office. Then a lance corporal came and gave me 120 extra rounds of ammunition “You’ll want these for the attack.” Next they gave me a couple of grenades and finally a shovel. I didn’t know whether I was to stay in the Orderly Room or take part in the attack. When I asked, the adjutant said, “On no account is that man to be allowed to go. He is the only man round here who can write shorthand!” ’ (Pte T. A. Senior, 9th Yorks and Lancs)

The infantrymen were also being issued with their full loads of equipment and were only just beginning to realize the full weight of the burdens they would have to carry. Training had invariably been done without the full packs carried in action. A typical man from the first wave, in addition to all his packs, carried a rifle and bayonet, two gas helmets, 220 rounds of rifle ammunition, two grenades (which he was to give to the trained bombers to throw), two empty sandbags, a spade, a pair of wire-cutters, a flare and a variety of smaller items. The basic minimum load was about seventy pounds and most men had more than this.

The men in the rear waves were given even heavier burdens, such as duck-boards to be used for trench bridges, rolls of barbed wire and bundles of stakes for the barbed wire. ‘My total load was about eighty pounds and my personal weight at that time was only eight stone.’ (Pte E. G. Hall, 1/6th West Yorks)

Some of the loads given to men showed great originality, if some optimism:

A long pole with a pennant attached; this was to be erected at a certain point as a marker for the artillery.

Triangular pieces of tin were attached to the back of leading troops so that the sun’s reflection could be seen by observers in the rear.

Carrier pigeons.

Two wine bottles full of water – a sensible idea.

Two signallers in the Tyneside Irish were given bags full of small pieces of paper. They were to follow the leading troops, laying a trail, so that other signallers could lay telephone wire after them.

The supreme confidence of Gen. Rawlinson that he would be able to take the German first line easily, having been impressed first upon his corps commanders, now began to find its way down to the ordinary soldiers. Battalions were paraded and addressed by senior officers, usually brigadier-generals. These are a selection of the reassuring speeches made to them. To the Newcastle Commercials:

You will be able to go over the top with a walking stick, you will not need rifles. When you get to Thiepval you will find the Germans all dead, not even a rat will have survived.

To the 11th Sherwood Foresters:

You will meet nothing but dead and wounded Germans. You will advance to Mouquet Farm and be there by 11 A.M. The field kitchens will follow you and give you a good meal.

To the 1st London Rifle Brigade (in Part Two Orders):

Success is assured and casualties are expected to be ten per cent.

To the 8th K.O.Y.L.I.:

When you go over the top, you can slope arms, light up your pipes and cigarettes, and march all the way to Pozières before meeting any live Germans.^*

It all sounded very easy and the noise in the background of hundreds of their guns, firing night and day into the German lines, added reassurance.

Other speeches were on different themes. When Lieut-Col. Reginald Bastard’s battalion was paraded, the brigade commander told them that he wanted the Lincolns to win many more medals. An unknown voice from the back shouted, ‘It’s all right for you, you won’t be there.’ As indignant N.C.O.S ran up and down looking for the culprit, the brigadier-general called back, ‘No, I won’t, but you will be.’ This brought laughter from all ranks.

Occasionally the talks were less optimistic. ‘Just before the battle our divisional commander took a group of us N.C.O.S and showed us our objective in the distance. He said, “I am willing to sacrifice the whole of the 101st Brigade to take that.” ’ (L/Cpl A. Turner, Grimsby Chums) This was Maj.-Gen. Ingouville-Williams. His men would have to force the German defences astride the main road from Albert to Bapaume; Inky Bill’s determination was very clear.

While the generals were giving their pep talks, the five-day bombardment was entering its final stage. After three or four days of continuous shelling, most of the targets should have been destroyed. Of these targets the wire, a vital one for the infantry, was the only one where the damage could easily be assessed. Each night small patrols went out into No Man’s Land and inspected the effect of the shelling. The reports were inconsistent: in some places the wire was well cut; in others there were a few gaps; but in several places the wire was still intact. One party, at least, found the Germans had come out of the trenches during a lull in the shelling and were calmly repairing the damage to the wire.

Renewed efforts were made on some sectors. The artillery was diverted from other targets for a fresh bombardment of the wire and the infantry went out at night with special explosive devices to destroy what was left standing. But these attempts were dangerous and only small gaps could be made, even when the raids were successful.

On those sectors where there were doubts about the wire, the infantry were most unhappy; at the same time as they were being told that the attack would be a walk-over, they could see, from their own trenches, that the German wire remained a barrier. One officer who was particularly worried was Lieut-Col. E. T. F. Sandys, commanding the 2nd Middlesex. His battalion had the doubtful distinction of having to cross a greater width of No Man’s Land than any other involved in the attack. Its objective was the German trenches at the head of Mash Valley, 750 yards away from the Middlesex trenches. Sandys was an efficient and popular c.o. but he was very highly strung and had convinced himself that his battalion was to be launched against uncut wire and Germans who had survived the shelling.

During the bombardment the 2nd Royal Berks, which was in the same brigade as Sandys’ battalion, raided the German trenches. Making a silent approach, they were surprised to hear the sound of singing coming from the deep dug-outs in the German trenches. Doubtless Sandys heard this discouraging news. He spent many daylight hours in an artillery observation post staring at the wire nearly half a mile away, but it was difficult to see clearly. At night he could not sleep but walked aimlessly around the camp where his men were bivouacked. He was so consumed with anxiety and felt the responsibility of his position so keenly that he complained to his brigade commander, and possibly even higher, but to no avail.

The Middlesex officers knew of their colonel’s misery but did not share it. They could hear the guns firing day and night and they shared the widespread belief that the attack would be an easy success.

Infantry commanders like Lieut-Col. Sandys who raised objections were not well received, being told that they were exaggerating or that they were windy. Maybe a Fourth Army order had hardened the attitude; Rawlinson had warned, ‘All criticism by subordinates ... of orders received from superior authority will, in the end, recoil on the heads of the critics.’

Rawlinson’s subordinates faithfully passed his optimism on to those further down the chain of command. A Brigade Major in the 31st Division records: ‘The corps commander [Hunter-Weston] was extremely optimistic, telling everyone that the wire had been blown away, although we could see it standing strong and well, that there would be no German trenches and all we had to do was to walk into Serre.’^*

How did the Germans react to the increased activity, the bombardment, the raids? The first emotion was surprise. ‘When the British shelling started, one of our grenadiers put on his best uniform, went to the company commander and asked indignantly, “Who has started this silly shooting? In God’s name, someone is going to get hurt.” ’ (Unteroffizier Paul Scheytt, 109th Reserve Regiment)

As the bombardment settled down, the German infantry took refuge in their deep dug-outs. While a hail of shells was falling on the trenches above, gradually destroying their carefully prepared defences or blowing away the barbed wire, most of the Germans were quite safe. They kept their rifles and machine-guns oiled and stacked boxes of ammunition and grenades by the stairways.

In the trenches lonely sentries had to remain on duty watching for the first sign of a British raid or the main attack. ‘Behind our trench we had a mirror mounted on a post, so that we could see over No Man’s Land. During the bombardment we had one sentry on duty in the trench all the time, watching the mirror. The ground was shaking as though the end of the world was coming and the mirror was quivering but it never broke.’ (Soldat Wilhelm Lange, 99th Reserve Regiment) Some dug-outs had long periscopes which came out above the ground so that the look-outs could keep watch in safety.

The constant shelling made movement along the trenches almost impossible. Even behind the lines it was dangerous. ‘Three days before the battle started I was fetching something from Miraumont to Grandcourt when an English aeroplane chased me for about ten minutes. I escaped by dodging among the willow trees along the Ancre.’ (Feldwebel Felix Kircher, 26th Field Artillery Regiment)

Steadily the shelling took its toll. Electricity cables and water pipes were broken, emergency food and water supplies had to be opened. The entrances to the dug-outs became blocked and required constant work to keep them clear, an essential but dangerous task. Occasionally one of the heavy shells collapsed a dug-out, crushing and killing the occupants, but this was a very rare occurrence. On some sectors, particularly in the south near the Somme, the Germans evacuated the whole of their front-line trench, hoping to have sufficient warning of the attack to reoccupy it in time.

The reduced rate of the British shelling during the night gave some opportunity for essential movement. Ration carriers from the rear risked their lives to bring water and hot food to the forward dug-outs, but the British were firing on all likely approaches intentionally to stop this traffic. The food and water often did not get through.

The Germans had a daily beer ration and one party from a Baden regiment, isolated in a dug-out near Mametz, insisted that someone had to go back to fetch a fresh barrel. The youngest soldier was chosen and had a terrifying journey as he rolled the barrel over the torn-up ground, in darkness, with shells bursting all around; but the Badeners got their beer.

Routine reliefs of front-line battalions had to be put off; it was decided not to risk 1,500 men in the open trenches while two battalions changed places. A Bavarian battalion in the trenches at Montauban waited night after night, its relief long overdue.

Although the Germans were comparatively safe in their dug-outs, the bombardment was a terrible ordeal for them. The long months when the Somme was a quiet sector had not prepared them for five days and nights of constant shelling. They could only wait; sometimes in darkness or candlelight where their electricity supply had failed; very short of water in conditions where tension and fear added to their thirst. The wounded could not always be evacuated; the dead, un-buried, soon started to rot and stink in the heat. The days of Trommelfeuer (drumfire) continued and the Germans realized that this was no casual bombardment. At some time in the future, the shelling would stop and then, if they were not blown sky high by underground mines, they would have to scramble up the damaged stairways, man what was left of their trenches and fight for their lives.

‘We could see sixteen English balloons and thought “That’s the English for you; we cannot do anything about those.” The English artillery – the English army – the masses of English aeroplanes over our heads always. We are finished, we shall all be wounded or dead.’ (Grenadier Emil Kury, 109th Reserve Regiment)

Farther back, the German artillery could do little to help their suffering front-line troops. There were many batteries in the area, all carefully concealed, but every time one of them opened fire, a hail of British shells fell upon it, directed by the British aeroplanes that were everywhere.

The German gunners in turn were nearly blind; their own planes were driven off by the R.F.C. and their observation balloons destroyed as soon as they appeared in the sky. Even the German observation posts on the ground were vulnerable: ‘I was the leader of a small observation troop. Our task was to watch the movements behind the English front by day and, by night, the flash of the English guns in order to fix their positions.

‘We had three observation posts: the church tower at Pozières, the Hill 153, called Feste Staufen [by the English, Stuff Redoubt] and one near Serre. The church tower was the best; we could see about ten kilometres behind the English lines, the airfields, the gun positions and the movements of the infantry. But the English artillery hit the tower and, literally in the last second, we slid down the ropes of the bells and were saved.’ (Feldwebel Felix Kircher, 26th Field Artillery Regiment)

However, the observers had done their work well in the past few weeks. Thanks to their advantage of higher ground, the Germans knew to the metre the position of every British trench, most of their gun positions and every feature in No Man’s Land. When the time came they would rely on this knowledge to put down defensive barrages in answer to prearranged signals from their front-line soldiers. So the German gunners held their fire, and the British assumed that they had located and destroyed most of the German batteries.

Except for the doubts about the wire, the five-day bombardment appeared to be going well for the British, as did all the last-minute preparations. But the weather was a source of anxiety. A series of heavy summer storms had broken out on 26 and 27 June and it was still raining heavily in the early hours of the 28th, only twenty-four hours away from zero hour. During the morning the weather cleared and the sun came out, but it would be some time before the roads and trenches dried out. Those considering a postponement were in a difficult position; some of the assault battalions were already in their trenches, others were on the way and it was doubtful whether there was enough ammunition available to maintain the bombardment at the previous rate. On the other hand, the infantry attack might be seriously impeded if the battlefield had been flooded. There were other factors – a longer bombardment would certainly help the wire-cutting programme, but some of the divisions had not had the bad weather and these were ready to attack on time.

At 11 A.M. on 28 June, just under twenty-one hours before the infantry attack, the decision was taken: there would be a postponement of forty-eight hours. The new time and date for the attack was decided – 7.50 A.M. on 1 July. Bad weather had decided that history would have an easily remembered date for a famous battle.

The staff immediately started on the enormous task of adjustment. Orders went out to the artillery that they must make their shells last another two days: immediately, their rate of fire slackened. The timetable of movements for nearly 200 infantry battalions and all the supporting units had to be amended. Battalions already packed tight in the front-line trench were marched out again; the larger number, which had not yet gone into the trenches, were stopped in their last-minute preparations and made to wait a further two days. The postponement was handled with the minimum amount of disorganization and was, for once, a triumph for the much abused staff.

For most men the next two days were to be a miserable time; they were all keyed up and had been ready for the battle on 29 June, now they had to wait an extra two days. There was not much for them to do, time passed slowly and tempers grew short. ‘Rumours came back from the front line that the German wire was not all cut and many of our chaps were a bit jumpy. While we were sharpening our bayonets an argument broke out and one of my pals, the Sanitary Corporal who was being left behind, joined in. Someone said, “You shut up! You don’t have to go in.” He felt so bad that he went to his company commander and got permission to come in with us. He was killed.’ (Pte H. C. Bloor, Accrington Pals)

‘Our bank books were taken in and we were paid all our credit, which was substantial. Some of us had hundreds of francs, which immediately gave the impression to many of us that most were not coming back. The result was that the estaminets got most of it.’ (Pte R. T. Tait, Durham Pals)

Some men could stand the strain no longer. ‘A shot went off some yards away; a fellow had shot himself right through the knee. He had pluck, I think. It was a strange sight to see him being carried away on a stretcher under arrest, with a man at each side of him with fixed bayonets. I often wonder what happened to him.’ (Pte W. J. Senescall, The Cambridge Battalion)

Probably the only soldiers to be really pleased with the new date were the Ulstermen; 1 July was the anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne and there could be no surer omen of success.^*

One who took advantage of the postponement was William Noel Hodgson, one of the war poets. At Cambridge, Hodgson had been a contemporary of Rupert Brooke. Now he was Bombing Officer of the 9th Devons and had already won a Military Cross for bravery in 1915. As he waited in the trenches near Mansel Copse where Capt. Martin of the same battalion had forecast the Devons would be caught by German machine-gun fire, Hodgson wrote another poem: ‘Before Action’. Maybe Capt. Martin’s prophecy caused Hodgson to be uneasy, for his last verse reads:

I, that on my familiar hill

Saw with uncomprehending eyes

A hundred of Thy sunsets spill

Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice,

Ere the sun swings his noonday sword

Must say goodbye to all of this!

By all delights that I shall miss,

Help me to die, O Lord.

The King brothers made the most of the postponement. Dick had heard that his wife had given birth to their fifth child. It was a little girl and in the spirit of the day she was named Gladys Hope Verdun. Dick was due for leave and was looking forward to seeing the new baby, but most leave had been stopped for the battle. On their last full day before going into the trenches Dick King and his brother, Frank, obtained permission to visit the third brother in the next village. The two K.O.Y.L.I.s walked over and a grand family reunion was held in an estaminet, much food and wine being consumed. When darkness fell, Frank said it was time to be going but Dick refused. ‘This is the last time we shall all be together. I’m making the most of it.’ Dick stayed until dawn and only reached his battalion in time for reveille.

30 June dawned, once again the last day before the attack. The bombardment, thought by many to be over-long when planned for five days, now entered its seventh. The yellow weeds and red poppies that had once made the German trenches so pretty had long since been swept away. Now a white dust floated permanently above their trenches from the pulverized chalk. Above the German front-line villages, this dust was brick red from the shattered buildings being raked over and over by the shelling.

Those British soldiers who had been left to hold their front line were stupefied by the thousands of shells passing over their heads and bursting a few hundred yards away. Some had endured 150 hours of the uproar and there were several cases of shell shock There was even pity among them for ‘poor old Gerry, copping it’. But, more than anything, they were impressed by this massive demonstration of their army’s power. For Rawlinson and the front-line soldier alike, it was difficult to imagine anything surviving that fire. In the week that the bombardment lasted, 1,437 British guns had fired 1,508,652 shells into the German lines, at a cost to the British taxpayer of approximately £6 million.

As 30 June slowly dragged on, the last preparations were made. Even at this late hour there were changes to be made; sick men had hung on hoping to be fit on the big day and had to be ordered to the rear, their places being taken by reinforcements. One of these late-comers was Albert McMillan. He had joined the Public Schools Battalion in the last few days of June and, as they were short of men, he was detailed for the battle, although he had never been into a trench in his life. In spite of, or because of, his inexperience he was delighted to be joining in the attack.

The strain was telling on some of the older officers who had become C.O.’S of New Army battalions, and several had to report sick. This caused some comment among the men who felt they had been left in the lurch just when they needed their commanders most. At least three battalions – the 2nd Tyneside Scottish, the Sheffield City Battalion and the 8th K.O.Y.L.I. – lost their colonels for various reasons. In the 8th K.O.Y.L.I., it was left to a captain to lead the battalion into action on the following day.

The 2nd Lincolns were all ready for the battle so a concert party was arranged in a field next to the River Ancre outside Albert. A cockney soldier, an officer’s batman, led a singsong and 800 men joined in lusty renderings of such favourites as ‘Burlington Bertie’, ‘Give Me Your Smile’ and ‘If You Were the Only Girl in the World’. When it was over, Reginald Bastard, standing on a small rise near the stream, talked quietly to his battalion. He concluded, ‘I wonder how many of us will be here tomorrow night.’

As the time approached for the men to move off for the trenches, they made their final preparations, packed their kit and made up their loads. Percy Chappell had been soaked through in one of the rainstorms and could find no dry underwear or shirt. The only spare dry clothes he had were a pair of pyjamas, so he put these on under his uniform. As he did so he wondered what the Germans would say if he was taken prisoner.

Another soldier packed with optimism: ‘We understood that, when our division had captured Pozières, the 19th (Western) Division would pass through us and capture the important town of Bapaume. I had a pair of boots which needed attention and I packed these in my haversack, expecting to be able to get them repaired in Bapaume.’ (Cpl S. F. Hill, 34th Signal Company)