Had Sir Douglas Haig and his army commanders been raised above the confusion of the battlefield at the end of this first hour and been able to see the progress of their troops and the casualties they had sustained, they would have been bitterly disappointed. Eighty-four battalions had attacked in the first hour, a total of some 66,000 men. Roughly one third, by hard fighting, skill and some luck, had gained all their objectives. Another third had nothing to show for their losses, except small and vulnerable footholds in the German trenches. The final third had been completely repulsed; not a living attacker was inside the German wire, unless as a prisoner of the enemy. Five out of the nine villages due to be taken during the day should have been captured in the first hour. Not one had fallen.
The right wing of Rawlinson’s army had been successful. Attacking from the lower arm of the L-shaped front, three divisions, the 30th, 18th (Eastern) and 7th, had taken nearly all their early objectives. The Manchester and Liverpool battalions of the 30th Division, on the extreme right, had attacked alongside the French; all had gone well and the Lancashire troops were fighting their way towards Montauban, scheduled to be taken later in the morning. On their left the 18th (Eastern), too, had taken all its early objectives, in spite of the delayed firing of the Kasino Point mine which had affected some of its battalions. The 7th Division, Gough’s old command, had captured the German front-line trenches but were held up by the fortified village of Mametz. This was a good, Regular division and its commander had ordered the attack to be halted to allow for a re-bombardment and for fresh troops to take over the lead. Few of the New Army divisions were as flexible.
Gen. Rawlinson’s keenest disappointment would have been in the centre of his front. The reader will remember that it was here that the main road ran towards Pozières and Bapaume; it was behind this sector that the bulk of the cavalry was waiting for a breakthrough. If success was essential anywhere at all, it was here in Rawlinson’s centre.
Five divisions were attacking on this four-and-a-half-mile sector. The two outside ones had made some progress but the centre three astride the vital main road to Bapaume had been bloodily repulsed. The alternate valleys and spurs in No Man’s Land had become death traps, where the men from the 34th, 8th and 32nd Divisions had perished. In the 32nd Division, the Glasgow Commercials had captured part of the Leipzig Salient in a well-planned and executed rush as soon as the artillery had lifted off the German front line, but apart from this only a few small parties like Reginald Bastard’s had gained precarious footholds in the German trenches.*
The vital, initial attack in the centre had foundered completely. One of the reserve divisions, the 19th (Western), had taken up position close to the front line and was ready, if ordered, to renew the attack. Behind these anxious infantry troops the cavalry could only continue waiting.
The fortunes of the most northerly of the five centre divisions deserve to be looked at more closely. The 36th (Ulster) Division, attacking north of Thiepval, had taken the German front line and was well into the Schwaben Redoubt just behind it. This had been no easy advance; the Germans had resisted stubbornly and continuous machine-gun fire had poured into the Ulstermen’s flank from the untaken village of Thiepval on their right. They were also unsupported on their left, so that their advance had created a deep, narrow salient in the German lines. They were still fighting hard and pushing even farther into the enemy lines. If the divisions on either side of them could not get their attacks going again, the Ulstermen could be counterattacked from three sides and risked being pushed right back again or even cut off and wiped out.
North of the Ancre, where Hunter-Weston’s corps was to have formed a flank guard for the main attack, disaster loomed. This powerful corps had attacked with three full divisions, two of which were the precious Regulars, and two battalions from a fourth, on a frontage of under three miles, but it had captured only one German position, the Quadrilateral Redoubt. Here, the remnants of four battalions had gained the German trenches, but along the rest of the corps front there was absolute failure, with the exception of one company still hanging on to the edge of the Hawthorn Ridge mine crater.
At Gommecourt, where the two Territorial divisions from Third Army were making the diversionary attack, a complicated situation was developing. Attacking from the south, the 56th (London) Division had performed brilliantly. Making use of the new trench they had dug in No Man’s Land and a smoke-screen, four battalions had captured the whole of the German front-line system. A fifth battalion had crossed over behind them and, following the plan, was preparing to push out an arm to link up with the other division behind Gommecourt.
North of the salient, however, it was a different story. The 46th (North Midland) Division had attacked with six battalions but they had not done so well. Only small parties had got into the trenches and these had been wiped out or cut off, making it very difficult for this division to retrieve the situation and complete the encirclement of the village.
The capture of Gommecourt was not vital. The attack on the salient had already fulfilled one of its aims, that of attracting fire which might otherwise have fallen on to VIII Corps, although Hunter-Weston’s troops had not profited from this sacrifice. The vital issue now was whether the North Midland men could renew their attack and complete the encirclement of the village. If they were to fail, the Londoners would be left stranded in the German trenches.
What had been the cost of this first hour? It is impossible to say exactly but probably half of the 66,000 British soldiers who had attacked were already casualties – 30,000 infantrymen killed or wounded in just sixty minutes!
The commanders at G.H.Q. and at army level were completely unable to influence the opening stages of the battle. The difficulty of obtaining any reliable detailed information on progress made and of sending fresh orders forward made them helpless. Even if communication had been possible, radically different orders would have done more harm than good at this early hour. The most useful thing the c.-in-c. himself could do was to keep out of the way of his army commanders. Gen. Haig intended to visit them in the afternoon when more news would be available. In the meantime, he waited at his advanced H.Q. in Beauquesne. He could hear the gunfire quite plainly and already ambulances were passing through the village to a nearby Casualty Clearing Station. It was a very anxious time for Haig. This was his first battle as c.-in-c. and one for which he had high hopes, but he was not an excitable man and he passed the morning calmly enough.
At Fourth Army, Gen. Rawlinson was up early to watch the opening of the bombardment and by 6.30 A.M. he was at an observation post on some high ground near Albert, four miles behind the front. From this vantage point, which some racing enthusiast had named the Grandstand, he could see shells bursting on the German trenches near Mametz, Fricourt and La Boisselle. He probably stayed there for an hour, waiting until the twin mines at La Boisselle were exploded, signalling the start of the infantry attack. He would then have heard the long bursts of German machine-gun fire faintly in the distance, had it not been for the continuous firing of the British batteries around Albert.
As Rawlinson made his way back to his headquarters at Querrieux, he passed units of the 2nd Indian Cavalry Division who were waiting in fields and woods, being careful not to get in anyone’s way on the roads. After breakfast he went to his office in the château and settled down to receive the reports of his five corps commanders, for he had a direct telephone line to each of them. In adjacent rooms the members of his staff were also up early and working. They, too, were in telephonic touch with their colleagues at the corps H.Q.’S. It was too early yet to receive any detailed reports but, at 7.47 A.M., the officer keeping the Fourth Army Diary made the first entry of the day: ‘Enemy barrage reported feeble.’* The infantry then crossing No Man’s Land would not have agreed.
Even at the corps and divisional H.Q.’S it was too early to assess the situation, or attempt to influence the course of the battle. Many wounded were passing on their way to the rear but their reports could not be relied upon; the old army custom of claiming to be the sole survivor of one’s platoon did not impress anyone at this stage. Others brought back more encouraging stories of captured German trenches and prisoners. Because these latter reports were more what the generals expected, more credence was given to them.
The brigade H.Q.’S had a better idea of what was happening and some were having an anxious time. Two, and sometimes three, battalions had gone over in the first hour and had been seen to fall under the German fire. The time would soon come for the remaining battalions to go over. According to the original plan, these uncommitted battalions had been supposed to cross a safe No Man’s Land, help the leaders consolidate captured German trenches or penetrate farther.
Anxious battalion commanders rang up their brigadier-generals. Was there any change of orders? Must they throw away their battalions in attacks that were already quite clearly hopeless? The brigade commanders were in a dilemma. They realized the attack had broken down on their own front but they had no knowledge of what was happening on either flank and no time to find out. Reference to divisional H.Q. brought little help: ‘You must stick to the plan. You must carry out your orders.’ The brigade commanders had no alternative but to order their remaining battalions forward.
A staff officer has described the atmosphere in such a brigade H.Q. ‘Brigadier-General Gordon fully realized the gravity of the order he was giving when he ordered the 11th Sherwood Foresters to continue their forward movement. There was a tense silence in the dug-out after he had given his decision and General Gordon was never quite the same again.’ (Maj. W. C. Wilson, 70th Infantry Brigade H.Q.)* Lucky those brigadier-generals where the attack went well; they could order their battalions forward without such doubts.
News of the heavy losses was beginning to reach those soldiers who had been left behind when their battalions had attacked; some could even see what was happening with their own eyes. The Accrington Pals had left behind some of their signallers to follow when the German trenches had been taken. These men watched the attack from a mound behind the line: ‘We were able to see our comrades move forward in an attempt to cross No Man’s Land, only to be mown down like meadow grass. I felt sick at the sight of this carnage and remember weeping. We did actually see a flag signalling near the village of Serre, but this lasted only a few seconds and the signals were unintelligible.’ (L/Cpl H. Bury, Accrington Pals)
These infantry observers were not the only ones who were powerless. The British artillery was firing to a carefully prepared programme. At zero hour the gunners had lifted their fire from the German front lines and, since then, had gradually been extending the range. But in most places the infantry had not crossed the German trenches and the shells were therefore falling farther and farther away from the area of decisive action. The complicated artillery plan now had little relevance to the infantry battle.
‘I was an artillery Liaison Officer with the 18th West Yorks (2nd Bradford Pals) and was in an Observation Post about 300 yards behind the British front line. As soon as our infantry moved into the open, the Germans placed machine-guns on their parapets and enfiladed the flank of the 93rd Infantry Brigade, causing grievous casualties. The machine-guns and their gunners were clearly visible but all our guns were in the main barrage and were not to be brought back, except by order of VIII Corps H.Q.’ (2nd Lieut T. Reilly, 170th (County Palatine) Brigade R.F.A.) It would have been a simple job for an experienced artillery officer to have destroyed these machine-guns or at least drive the crews back into cover. Helplessly, the gunners watched the carnage.
Farther back, those serving the guns were able to do so mostly without interference by the Germans, who were directing their own artillery only at No Man’s Land and the British trenches. The enemy had given up counter-battery work for the more urgent task of providing close support for their own infantry. Some British gun positions which were immediately behind the front line were hit by German ‘overs’ but most were able to work in safety.
The gunners themselves imagined they were doing their best to support the infantry. As the layers gradually extended the range, the gunners, already exhausted after seven days of loading and firing, were working their guns harder than ever. They were not to know that their shells were falling uselessly beyond the battle area. Some batteries had been ordered to be prepared to follow the advance. Bridges had been built across the trenches and ammunition stocked well forward of them. The horses stood near by as the gunners waited for the orders to harness up and move forward. Those orders rarely came.
For a few the battle was already over, their duties had been completed, but even then they were still in danger. At Gommecourt, some men from the North Midland Division had been in a disused trench throwing smoke grenades into No Man’s Land since dawn. This was partly to thicken the smoke-screen and partly to draw German shells onto an otherwise empty trench. They had indeed been shelled heavily, but they had been lucky and had suffered no casualties. ‘As soon as we had finished, we got out to the rear as fast as we could. When we were clear of the trenches three of us stopped and we sat down for a breather. We were very pleased to be out of it safely. Just then a shell from one of our own guns burst prematurely, right over us, and the man in the middle was killed outright.’ (Cpl J. Ward, 1/4th Lincolns)
If some men had completed their day’s work, many others never got started. L/Cpl Charles Matthews, trapped in his trench, had watched his friends go over the top leaving him alone except for the three mortar gunners who had finished firing and were resting by their mortar. Matthews hoped that soon they would come and release him. It was at this moment that the German barrage fell on the British trenches and a shell burst near the resting mortar gunners. Two were killed outright and the third ran, screaming crazily, down the trench over Matthews, treading on his chest as he went by. Matthews cursed him for his thoughtlessness but, when the gunner had passed, could see that a piece of shell had removed most of the back of the poor man’s head.
The German shelling continued and every four minutes a salvo of shells burst just outside Matthews’s trench. The shelling was so regular that he listened for the ‘plop’ from well behind the German lines as the battery fired, followed several seconds later by the explosions a few yards away. Matthews realized that, if one of the German gun layers elevated his gun a fraction, a shell would burst in his trench and he, too, would share the fate of the mortar gunners. He was determined to move, despite the pain. Using his broken rifle and his one good leg, he started to lever himself upwards. He made some progress but, when half-way up, he could get no farther. His situation was now even more painful, for he could neither free himself nor could he get back to his old position. In this uncomfortable and exposed posture, he had to await further developments.
The units of the medical services, if not yet at full stretch, were rapidly approaching that state, for many wounded were coming back from the trenches. The Field Ambulances dealt with these quickly, often merely checking that the field dressings were secure. The walking wounded were directed down specially signed tracks and motor ambulances took the stretcher cases; all were making for the Casualty Clearing Stations.
Here the nurses and orderlies made the men comfortable, examined their wounds and classified them. The lightly wounded were, again, given a minimum of treatment; a cup of tea and the realization that they had a coveted Blighty wound, soon restored the spirits of these men. Those more seriously wounded were marked for the operating tents; already the surgeons were hard at work trying to save the lives, or limbs, of the worst cases. These lay in rows, patiently awaiting their turn. Those who died were taken outside to await burial; their stretchers were urgently needed.
The Casualty Clearing Stations were filling more rapidly than had been expected, but sufficient ambulance trains had been asked for and should be available nearby. Already there were enough cases awaiting evacuation to the base to be calling the trains forward.
For those many wounded out in No Man’s Land there was little that could be done for the moment. Many stretcher-bearers following the attacking troops over the top had themselves become casualties; the remainder could not work in the open and were more often struggling through the congested British trenches. Thousands of wounded men in No Man’s Land had taken cover in shell holes or lay out in the hot sun. A few in the shell holes received some treatment when their friends applied field dressings, but those badly wounded and out in the open got no help, and many bled slowly to death. It was still only 8.30 A.M.
On the other side of No Man’s Land the attack had come as no surprise to the Germans. Their commanders had suspected for some time that the British would attempt to relieve the pressure on the French at Verdun. There had been no major effort by the British since Loos, over eight months earlier, and none since Gen. Haig had become their new c.-in-c. in December 1915. What the Germans did not know, at first that is, was the exact date and place of the coming offensive. By a series of unconnected incidents, however, they had been able to learn both of these vital pieces of information.
One of the first indications given to them was when the speech to the munitions workers, about the postponement of the Whitsun Holiday, had been reported in the British newspapers. Within a few hours, these were on sale in Holland and the German intelligence service took note of the hint that there would shortly be a British offensive. Soon after this, German observers at the front had noticed the increased activity on the Somme, as the British there prepared for the battle. Even before the bombardment opened, suspicion fell upon the Somme as the most likely place for the coming attack, although it was not thought that the French would be involved. The Germans were sure that the French, having lost so heavily at Verdun, had not sufficient strength remaining to join with the British in an attack.
So, by mid-June, the Germans knew roughly the ‘when’ and roughly the ‘where’. Their agents abroad tried to obtain more specific information and the neutral Press was full of speculation, fired partly by the rumours sweeping London; but neither agents nor rumour could tell the Germans the exact ‘when’ or ‘where’.
The German commanders were not unanimous in their forecasts. The commander of their Second Army, against which the blow would actually fall, was quite sure that he was to be attacked, but his superior, Falkenhayn, the German c.-in.-c., thought that the attack would be against the Sixth Army farther north and, as a result of this, no extra troops were sent to the German Second Army on the Somme. Before condemning Falkenhayn for this omission, it should be remembered that, while all this was happening, he was also fighting a major battle at Verdun.
When Rawlinson’s bombardment opened, on 24 June, the Germans on the Somme could be even more certain that they were about to be attacked. The intense shell fire and the heavy concentration of British observation balloons flying on such a short front indicated to them the exact limits of the sectors to be attacked, although they still did not think that the French would be involved. The British diversions farther north were partially successful and Falkenhayn, thinking the British Fourth Army’s preparations were so obvious that these were the diversionary moves, continued to think that the attack on the Somme would not materialize and still sent no reserves there. The Germans would have to hold the attack with the troops they had in the line on the Somme and the few local reserves. They were outnumbered by seven to one.
As the last day of June passed by, the German generals studied the latest reports and their soldiers waited in their dug-outs; all wanted to know the answer to the one final question. When? They were to be supplied with this vital piece of information by none other than a British staff officer. When Rawlinson’s eve-of-battle message had been sent over the telephone to a forward unit in the 34th Division at 2.45 A.M., a German listening post at the Glory Hole had picked up the last part of it. It was sufficient to tell the Germans that the attack would begin that morning, and the message was passed on to all their nearby units.
It is possible that they learned by other means, too. ‘During the night of 30 June/1 July, a small English patrol was sent out to inspect our wire and they were captured. Times were rough; the revolver was the best interpreter. It went from mouth to mouth that these prisoners had revealed the time of the attack to the minute.’ (Unteroffizier Paul Scheytt, 109th Reserve Regiment)
Herr Scheytt’s story is not recorded elsewhere, as far as is known, but there is no reason why it should not be true. A copy of the intercepted telephone message was found in a captured German dug-out at Ovillers a few days later. It is certain that Germans from as far apart as Gommecourt and Montauban, the limits of the front attacked by the British, were told, that night, that the British would attack in the morning.
When the British blew the Hawthorn Ridge mine at 7.20 A.M., they gave the Germans the final confirmation. The noise and vibration of this huge explosion, just ten minutes before the British attack, told the German soldiers that their long ordeal under the Trommelfeuer was over. The time had come for them to fight back.
‘We ran out of food that night and I was sent to get some. At the field kitchen I was told, “Tell your comrades the English will attack tomorrow morning.” It took me seven hours to fetch the food and when I got back I couldn’t find my dug-out because the ground was so torn up. Then I saw one of my friends signalling to me.
‘I told my comrades, “We must be prepared; the English will attack soon.” We got our machine-gun ready on the top step of the dug-out and we put all our equipment on; then we waited. We all expected to die. We thought of God. We prayed. Then someone shouted, “They’re coming! They’re coming!” We rushed up and got our machine-gun in position. We could see the English soldiers pouring out at us, thousands and thousands of them. We opened fire.’ (Grenadier Emil Kury, 109th Reserve Regiment)
The tension which had been building up among the German front-line defenders during the terrible days while they had been under bombardment was now released in action. When they realized that the British had not followed immediately upon the heels of the bombardment, but had allowed them time to man their trenches, the German soldiers’ relief was enormous. They were not to be trapped in their dug-outs but, instead, were presented with targets that exceeded their wildest expectations as the waves of British infantry plodded stupidly into their machine-gun and rifle sights.
‘We had lain for seven days under the drum-fire, in a mood of blind fury because we felt so defenceless; so that, when the moment of attack came, we felt good. At last we could get our own back. None of us thought we would be killed or wounded. Now we’d pay them back in their own kind.
‘We heard the mines go up; then it was deathly quiet for a few moments. The English came walking, as though they were going to the theatre or as though they were on a parade ground. We felt they were mad. Our orders were given in complete calm and every man took careful aim to avoid wasting ammunition.’ (Unteroffizier Paul Scheytt, 109th Reserve Regiment)
The Germans were amazed by the attack formation used by the leading British troops. ‘The behaviour of the Highlanders seemed to us rather strange, for these came forward very slowly, either because of their heavy loads, or was it madness, without taking the least cover.’ (Schneyer, 170th Regiment)*
The German infantry sent up coloured rockets, which were the pre-arranged signal to the artillery; immediately this brought down the heavy defensive barrage. With this combination of shell and bullet, the slaughter of the British infantry began. ‘When the English started advancing we were very worried; they looked as though they must overrun our trenches. We were very surprised to see them walking, we had never seen that before. I could see them everywhere; there were hundreds. The officers were in front. I noticed one of them walking calmly, carrying a walking stick. When we started firing, we just had to load and reload. They went down in their hundreds. You didn’t have to aim, we just fired into them. If only they had run, they would have overwhelmed us.’ (Musketier Karl Blenk, 169th Regiment)†
So exhilarated were they with their release from the bombardment and with the complete mastery they had over No Man’s Land, that the more exuberant of the Germans could not restrain themselves from jumping onto the parapets of their trenches, shouting with glee and taunting the defeated British. ‘I scrambled up the back of the trench, took up my position with my rifle on a small rise and opened fire blindly into the crowd of English soldiers who were coming across No Man’s Land. There were so many of them, they were like trees in a wood. We kept them out of our part of the line but they broke through on our left. I was standing up, firing, and my officer shouted to me, “Come down”, but in my excitement I told him, “But they’re not shooting”, and the officer said, “You fool, can’t you hear the bullets whistling?” ’ (Soldat Wilhelm Lange, 99th Reserve Regiment)‡ This reckless and foolhardy behaviour was to have tragic consequences.
So the first hour of the battle had ended in heavy loss and bitter disappointment for the British, and some relief for the Germans. But the day was still young. Was there no chance that the British could redeem their early failure? So far, they had committed less than half of their available strength to the battle. In addition to the remnants of eighty-four battalions still on the battlefield, forty-three more fresh battalions were due to renew the attack during the morning and behind them there were waiting a further seventy, if the British generals decided to use them. In addition to these reserves of infantry there was the powerful force of artillery, still intact. Now that the Germans had come out of their dug-outs and were having to fight, these British guns could be the decisive factor, if properly handled. The Germans had fought well in this first hour, but could their defence hold for the remainder of the day?