The afternoon opened with a curious lull that lasted until 2.30 P.M., when the first of several British efforts was made to renew the offensive on sectors where there had been failure in the morning.
Lieut-Gen. H. S. Home, the commander of XV Corps, had ordered an attack on Fricourt. This village had not been directly assaulted during the morning; it had been hoped that successful advances on either side of it would force the village to fall, but this had not happened. The afternoon attack was to be carried out by a brigade of the 17th (Northern) Division. The handling of this brigade, the 50th, was to have serious repercussions and it would be well to examine the command structure.
XV Corps, under Horne, had two divisions in the line, the 7th on the right and the 21st on the left. The other division in the corps was the 17th (Northern), under Maj.-Gen. T. D. Pilcher, which was officially in reserve. However, the corps commander had ordered Pilcher to detach one of his brigades and hand it over to the 21st Division for the day. Accordingly, the 50th Brigade had gone into the line in the corps centre, opposite Fricourt. Maj.-Gen. Pilcher had no say whatsoever in the handling of the brigade; it was under the command of the 21st Division.
Until midday the only battalion from the brigade to have attacked had been the 10th West Yorks, but it had failed and only Lieut Philip Howe and a few men had returned to the British lines. As a result of the corps commander’s orders that Fricourt should be attacked frontally, the commander of the 21st Division sent orders to attack Fricourt at 2.30 P.M.
Soon after 2 P.M. Philip Howe was surprised to see a large number of men taking over his trench. These were from C and D Companies of the 7th East Yorks, arriving for the proposed attack. Howe greeted the East Yorks c.o., whom he knew well, and gave him a report on the morning’s happenings. He was somewhat disconcerted when the lieutenant-colonel invited him to join in this second attack; within a few hours Howe had come to be regarded as a veteran among these New Army troops, one who had actually been over the top and returned. He had little option but to comply.
At exactly 2.33 P.M. all was ready. The whistles blew and the attack started. It was broad daylight; there had hardly been any artillery bombardment; the Germans were ready. The East Yorks c.o. was first up the ladder, Howe just behind him. To right and left the East Yorks rose and moved forward. One German machine-gun opened fire, traversing along the line of men before they had gone twenty yards. A bullet grazed Philip Howe’s face and the sling of the rifle he was carrying was shot through at each end. It was clearly hopeless to continue and the East Yorks were ordered back to their trench. In three minutes 123 men had been killed or wounded.
As the remaining East Yorks took over his trench, Philip Howe gathered his men together and moved off to report to brigade H.Q. On his way he met another lieutenant-colonel, the c.o. of the 7th Green Howards. This battalion too had just attacked and had lost even more heavily that the East Yorks.
The Green Howards had already suffered one disaster when one company had attacked in error that morning. To avoid a similar occurrence the c.o. had withheld details of the afternoon attack until the last possible moment. This decision caused some of his men to miss their beloved rum. ‘We had a gallon jar of rum in the dug-out with us but we were never allowed to touch it. Our officer said we had to have a tot just before zero. At 2.30 P.M. zero came; a runner came along shouting, “Zero. Over the top.” One chap said, “What about our rum issue, sir?” “No time for that now,” he replied, “I’m taking it with me. We’ll drink our health in Jerry’s front line.” I doubt if he ever got there. We mounted the parapet; some of us got out, some of us didn’t but we were under a murderous attack of machine-gun fire. We were falling like ninepins.’ (Pte A. W. Askew, 7th Green Howards)
The Green Howards c.o. invited Philip Howe and his men to join him for yet another attack. Howe was appalled. He had already escaped death twice; surely no one should be expected to go over the top three times in one day. He pointed out his wounded hand, his grazed face, his exhausted men and was excused.
The afternoon attacks of these two battalions had cost 400 casualties and achieved nothing.
A similar pathetic attempt was made on the extreme left of the front at Gommecourt. The story of this attack by the 46th (North Midland) Division is an excellent illustration of how unrealistic orders were received by the officers in the chain of command between a corps H.Q. and the front line, and what the results of such orders could be.
The corps commander, Lieut-Gen. Snow, had ordered the North Midland Division to attack again at 12.15 P.M. to attempt a link-up with the London Division which was being counter-attacked in the German trenches on the other side of the salient. This attack was postponed first to 1.30 P.M. and then to 3.30 P.M.
One can imagine the feelings of the divisional commander, Maj.-Gen. Hon. E. J. M. Stuart-Wortley. His division of Territorials had suffered nothing but ill-luck since crossing to France in 1915. Firstly, it had held a dangerous part of the Ypres Salient with many casualties but no chance for glory. Then in October, as part of the Battle of Loos, it had been thrown, in broad daylight, against the notorious Hohen-zollern Redoubt and had lost 3,700 men in ten minutes. Finally the division had come to the Somme, not to take part in the main attack, but in a diversion of doubtful value. Six battalions had attacked during the morning; all had been repulsed. Five of their c.o.’s were dead or wounded; the men had suffered heavily too and the survivors, like Bill Soar, were still lying out in No Man’s Land. Now Stuart-Wortley was being pressed to attack yet again, in what he knew were hopeless conditions.
The major-general could not put off the attack indefinitely. Behind him the corps commander was insisting on a full effort, in front of him brigade commanders were pointing out the hopelessness of the idea. Stuart-Wortley’s answer was a compromise. He would attack again, but only a token effort of two companies, one each from the Sherwood Forester Brigade and the Staffordshire Brigade. The story is taken up by the Sherwood Forester company commander: ‘I was promised an artillery barrage and a smoke screen. I pointed out that most of the mortars that fired the smoke bombs were out of action but I was told the attack must go on. The trenches were so muddy and so crowded with wounded men that I had great difficulty in deploying my four platoons, but eventually they were ready. My own c.o. came up ten minutes before the attack was due to start and watched the smoke screen and bombardment, which were quite inadequate. Just before we were due to go over he ordered me to cancel the attack. I sent runners off, at once, to the four platoons; only three managed to deliver their messages on time. The other platoon attacked but every man except one, the platoon sergeant, was hit.’ (Capt. V. O. Robinson, M.C., 1/6th Sherwood Foresters)
There was also an eye-witness in the Staffordshire Brigade: ‘At about 3 o’clock a runner clambered along amongst the dead and wounded and said we were to attack again. At that moment I had found two others unwounded in my company and thought that I was the only survivor in my platoon. Our clothes were torn and a mass of gluey mud, and our rifles caked and useless. We were attending to the wounded and the idea of cleaning our rifles for another attack never entered our heads. No officer had survived and we made jokes as to who would blow the whistle for the attack, if we could find one on a dead officer. Fortunately the attack was cancelled.’ (Pte G. S. Young, 1/6th North Staffs)
The direct orders of a corps commander, that a division should attack, had been so resisted by officers at different levels that, in the end, only one platoon had attacked. Many lives had been saved but, again, there were to be repercussions.
By mid-afternoon the Ulster Division was in a desperate position. The battalions, which had done so well that morning, had been fighting in the Schwaben Redoubt for over seven hectic hours and were now exhausted, their numbers dwindling under the fire from three sides. ‘One remark was passed by one of the lads that I will always remember. He said, “We should call it a draw and I’ll give our garden in with it.” ’ (Pte F. G. Gardner, 109th Trench Mortar Battery) Ammunition and water were running low, even rifle cartridges were being used to keep the machine-guns firing.
Behind them No Man’s Land was impossible. The Ulster’s Pioneer battalion had tried to dig communication trenches across it but had been unable to work because of the machine-gun fire from the untaken village of Thiepval. The sunken road from which the attacking battalions had assembled for their first attack was to be so full of corpses by nightfall that it was renamed Bloody Road.
Gradually the Germans started to co-ordinate their counterattacks and the Ulstermen were driven in from their farthest gains. The first signs of cracking began to appear: ‘3 P.M., a lot of men from the 8th and 9th Royal Irish Rifles [East and West Belfasts] have broken under Bosch counter-attack from the direction of Grandcourt. We had to stop them at revolver point and turn them back, a desperate show, the air stiff with shrapnel, and terror-stricken men rushing blindly. These men did magnificently earlier in the day, but they had reached the limit of their endurance. At 4 P.M. I received a message from Capt. Willis of our D Company that he was hanging on but hard pressed. He was never heard of again.’ (Lieut-Col. F. O. Bowen, Belfast Young Citizens)* The Ulsters in their first battle had done as much as could be asked of even the most experienced soldiers. They needed help.
The corps commander had already ordered forward his reserve division, the 49th (West Riding). These Yorkshire Territorials had started the day in the shelter of Aveluy Wood, but by 9 A.M. the first battalions had moved on to positions nearer the front, their way taking them over the marshy Ancre valley. ‘We crossed the river on a very rickety bridge. German prisoners were wading through the water, holding on to the sides of the bridge. Some of our fellows were hitting them on the hands and head, knocking them back into the water. I was horrified at the sights – dead men floating in the water, and wounded shouting for help.’ (Pte J. G. Dooley, 1/6th West Yorks) Crossing the Ancre, they soon reached the shelter of Thiepval Wood which went right up to the old British front line and here they remained until mid-afternoon.
‘I was an officer’s servant and had to go with him to a conference where the brigadier (I think) met all our officers. He informed them that we had to be at the row of apple trees in Thiepval village at 4 o’clock. Our colonel tried to point out that this was impossible in the time. The answer was, “Those are the orders.” We moved off, got into the first communication trench and found it full of prisoners. We turfed them out and proceeded towards the front line.’ (Pte E. T. Radband, 1/5th West Yorks)
But the moment the Yorkshire battalions left the shelter of the wood, they were caught by the machine-guns in Thiepval. ‘We went forward in single file, through a gap in what had once been a hedge; only one man could get through at a time. The Germans had a machine-gun trained on the gap and when it came to my turn I paused. The machine-gun stopped and, thinking his belt had run out, or he had jammed, I moved through, but what I saw when I got to the other side shook me to pieces. There was a trench running parallel with the hedge which was full to the top with the men who had gone before me. They were all either dead or dying.’ (Pte J. Wilson, 1/6th West Yorks)
No Man’s Land was still clearly impossible to cross and the West Yorks were told to stop trying. The Ulsters would have to hang on until dark.
Not all the British efforts during the afternoon were failures. The task of capturing the village of Mametz had been given to the 7th Division, Gough’s old command.* Although officially classed as a Regular division, six of its battalions were from the New Army – four of Manchester Pals and the 8th and 9th Devons. During the morning, the men of the division had captured all their early objectives and had reached the outskirts of Mametz, but here bitter opposition had stopped them. Two further attacks had been mounted, each preceded by an artillery bombardment, but still the Germans denied Mametz to the 7th Division.
The fighting hereabouts was fierce, hand-to-hand combat. ‘I went over the top at 2.30 P.M. in the second wave with our bombers. Just as I was about to jump into the German trench, a Jerry made a lunge at me with his bayonet, but I stepped back a little and he just took a small piece out of my thigh. Instead of a rifle I had a knobkerrie, which the bombers used for trench fighting. I hit out at him and sank it deep into his forehead. In the scuffle his helmet came off and I saw that he was a bald-headed old man. I have never forgotten that bald head and I don’t suppose I ever will. Poor old devil!’ (Pte J. Kirkham, 5th Manchester Pals)
At 3 P.M. yet another half-hour bombardment was ordered. Again the 7th Division men attacked and this time, after another bitter fight, the village was theirs. One British soldier was particularly pleased with this victory. ‘I had been wounded in the morning attack and captured by the Germans, who took me to a dressing station in a very deep dug-out. It was lit by electric light and was full of wounded Germans waiting for treatment, but preference was given to me and I was bandaged up right away, put on a wire netting bed and given some bread and cheese and a bottle of pop. In the afternoon our artillery started another heavy bombardment. The lights went out twice and the whole place shook. Soon afterwards, the Germans rushed out along the tunnels and I was left alone. A few minutes later a sergeant-major from the Manchesters came down the steps.’ (Pte A. Wilson, 1st South Staffs)
And so Mametz fell, the second village of the day to do so. As at Montauban, the Manchesters had a hand in the capture, their 6th Pals being one of the battalions making the final assault.
The capture of Mametz extended the earlier success on the British right wing to a frontage of three miles, for the 18th (Eastern) Division had also taken all its objectives between Mametz and Montauban.* The scenes that had followed the taking of Montauban were repeated. The old No Man’s Land became safe to cross, the captured trenches were cleared and German guns and transport could be seen fleeing in the open valley beyond the new front line. ‘Straight in front we could see Longueval village across a valley which was unscarred, not like the ground we had captured farther back and the trench area we had lived in. The trees in the distance had full foliage, such a change from the blackened and scarred stumps we had left behind. The air seemed sweeter, not that stinking smell of cordite and fumes from the shells of the battlefield in the rear.’ (Cpl J. Norton, 8th Norfolks)
Some men wondered how quickly the success could be exploited: ‘It was then very quiet, with only an occasional long-range shell from Gerry coming over. From my own point of view, I should have thought a small force of cavalry could have followed up and inflicted enormous damage to the German lines of communications. Quite a number of same were lying in reserve.’ (Pte N. H. Norton, 8th Norfolks)
As the French had also taken all their first phase objectives during the morning on a three-mile sector between Montau-ban and the River Somme, the whole German front-line system had been captured on a six-mile front. Many men, having seen the complete defeat of the Germans, were asking the same question as Pte Norton of the Norfolks. ‘Where was the cavalry?’
There had been ten hours of daylight remaining after the capture of Montauban. The only action there during the afternoon was at 12.30 P.M. when, after an artillery bombardment, a company of the 4th Liverpool Pals had dashed out from their recently captured trenches to the remains of a brickworks, the Briqueterie, an important German position opposite the junction between the British and French sectors. So swift was the Liverpools’ rush that they caught the Germans underground. Their prisoners formed an impressive list: the commander and adjutant of a German infantry regiment, seven other officers, over 100 men and several machine-guns.
When the 7th and 18th Divisions had extended the Montauban capture in the late afternoon, there were five daylight hours left. The German defence had obviously collapsed and the British had both ample infantry reserves and part of a cavalry division, the 2nd Indian, immediately behind the front. Lieut-Gen. Congreve was the corps commander with the best opportunity to exploit the success; his neighbour, Horne, was still preoccupied with the obstinate Fricourt. Congreve went up into the new front line. He saw his victorious infantry, he saw the open ground void of Germans, he saw the silent woods – Bernafay, only 200 yards from the Liverpool Pals in the Briqueterie, Trônes and, away to the left, Mametz Wood.
Congreve was a real fighter who had won the Victoria Cross in the Boer War. He hurried back to his H.Q., rang up Rawlinson at Fourth Army and sought permission to advance again; he had his own infantry and he could use the Indian cavalry regiments. The answer that Congreve received from Rawlinson was to become one of the controversial aspects of the day’s battle.
Leaving the scene of success on the right let us look at what was happening in those places where small, isolated bands of British soldiers were still holding out in the German trenches. There had been several such places in the morning but, by midday, only two remained – the Quadrilateral Redoubt and the Leipzig Salient where Sgt Turnbull of the Glasgow Commercials won his posthumous Victoria Cross. The British troops in these redoubts must have wondered, as the day wore on, what would happen to them. The Germans had drawn a tight net around their lost positions and every attempt by the British to exploit their gains had failed. If the Germans were to make really determined efforts to recover their losses, it was doubtful if the British could hold on until darkness gave them either the chance to escape or brought them reinforcements.
Fighting raged around the Leipzig all day but in the Quadrilateral the afternoon was mainly peaceful. ‘It became very quiet, so first I had a sleep and then I wandered around, talking to some of the men. There were only eleven from our battalion and we simply hung around waiting for something to happen.’ (Pte E. C. Stanley, 1/8th Royal Warwicks) A seventeen-year-old soldier had helped to beat off a German bombing party. ‘This was the first time I had killed anybody and when things quietened down I went and looked at a German I knew I had shot. I remember thinking that he looked old enough to have a family and I felt very sorry.’ (Pte G. T. Rudge, 2nd Essex)
Towards the end of the afternoon C.S.M. Percy Chappell looked out over No Man’s Land towards the British lines and was amazed to see a familiar figure walking calmly towards the Quadrilateral. It was his friend the Somersets regimental sergeant major who arrived swinging a walking stick as calm as could be – he was even wearing a soft service cap – but the news he brought to Percy Chappell was bad. Their c.o. had been killed and so had Brig.-Gen. Prowse. Chappell was particularly saddened by this last loss. Before the war Prowse had served in the Somersets and for some time had been Chappell’s company commander. The R.S.M. promised to send fresh supplies of ammunition to the men in the Quadrilateral and returned safely the way he had come.
In the captured German trenches at Gommecourt, the London Division still appeared to be in a strong position in the early afternoon. Despite their disappointment at the failure of the North Midland Division to link up with them behind the village, the Londoners still held most of their early gains. But the local German commander soon realized that the North Midland Division had failed and that the Londoners represented the only real threat to him, so he was able to concentrate all his reserves against them. As in so many places, German fire completely dominated No Man’s Land. During the morning a company of the Kensingtons and a machine-gun section from the London Scottish had managed to cross, though with heavy loss, and reinforce the early attackers, but these were the last to do so. During the morning and early afternoon the Germans mounted three carefully prepared, full-scale counter-attacks, each preceded by a short but intense bombardment. With every hour that passed German strength grew but that of the Londoners only became weaker.
Gradually the battalions in the German trenches began to disintegrate. The battalion commanders had not been allowed to go across with their men and control of the battle fell to the company commanders who frequently became casualties. The first sign of a break-up came at 1 P.M. when small parties of lightly wounded men began to leave the captured trenches. There was never a divisional order sent to the force that they should retire but, as individual groups ran out of ammunition or were forced back, the officers in charge decided to withdraw before it was too late. Sometimes the decision was taken by a lieutenant-colonel watching from the British trenches: ‘Another runner and myself were given a sealed message to be delivered to a captain in the German trenches. As I left, I passed the c.o. and the adjutant standing on top of a dug-out, watching the battle through binoculars, just as though it were Ascot Races. We had to go about 800 yards along a sunken road and the air was screaming with bullets. About half-way across, the other man was hit in the wrist so I bandaged his wound and he went back. I carried on, but then I heard a shell coming. I threw myself full length and buried my head in the earth. After the explosion I was surprised to find myself in one piece; I stretched out a hand and could touch the crater. Eventually I reached the German trenches but could not find the captain; I found out later that he had been captured. A sergeant took my message and I returned the way I had come, faster than sound.’ (Rfmn A. Hollis, 1st London Rifle Brigade)
By 4 P.M. the Londoners had been so forced back that they held only the German front-line trench. They shared out their ammunition and prepared to fight on. During the next few hours the line they held gradually dwindled but, incredibly, at 9 P.M. there was still one party of five officers and seventy men holding out. Then came the end. A few brave men volunteered to form a rearguard. The last few bombs and bullets were given to them, and the rest escaped as best they could. Just before dusk, the last German counter-attack was delivered. It was all over.
The London Division had carried out every task demanded of it. It had captured the complete German front-line system; it had reached out to the back of Gommecourt. But now it had lost everything. These Territorial soldiers had fought with the utmost gallantry and had suffered grievously. This one story typifies their spirit: ‘My company sergeant major, Matt Hamilton, was only nineteen, one of the best men I ever met. He was shot through the knee within a few yards of leaving our own trench but he apparently crawled all the way over No Man’s Land and three German trenches, because he finally arrived at our objective where he was hit again and killed.’ (Maj. C. J. Low, D.S.O., 1st London Scottish)
From the seven battalions that had attacked, over 1,700 men were dead; some 200, mainly wounded, were prisoners of war and 2,300 were wounded, most of them still lying out in No Man’s Land. One battalion, the London Scottish, had suffered 616 casualties from the 871 men taking part in the attack. Another, the Queen’s Westminster Rifles, had sent twenty-eight officers into action. Every one had become a casualty. Such was the cost of an operation that had only been a diversion.
Despite fierce local fighting, the greater part of the battle front saw no major action during the afternoon. Sunset was not until late evening so, between the breakdown of the first attack and the coming of darkness, the thousands of men out in No Man’s Land had to endure up to fourteen hours of waiting. The luckier ones had been able to take shelter in shell holes and had long since settled down for the day. The bigger holes often accommodated several men, sometimes friends, sometimes complete strangers. The members of these little communities did not always get on well together: ‘I was wounded twice in the leg and managed to get into a shell hole. It already contained five men, two of whom were dead. The others were all right, but they weren’t pleased to see me. They didn’t want to make room for me, so I had to spend the day between two corpses. The other men were signallers from my own battalion and I told them off for neglecting their duty; they had not been hurt. I told them I would have shot them if only I had a rifle. Later in the day they left for the British trenches, but they never offered to take me.’ (Sgt A. Ingall, 2nd Lincolns)*
The hot sun continued throughout the afternoon and the biggest problem for most men was thirst: ‘Late in the afternoon I slithered into a shell hole and, having lost an enormous quantity of blood, I was really thirsty. In the shell hole I found a bottle of Vichy water and a loaded revolver, which had probably been discarded by an officer. I tried to prize the metal top off the bottle but, with only one hand in use, I failed. There was only one way out, either blow the neck off with a revolver shot or clout it with the butt. I chose the latter, but I must have hit it too hard as the bottle broke into smithereens and I didn’t get one drop.’ (Pte T. C. Clynes, 1st London Scottish)
In spite of the proximity of the Germans and the danger of their position, some of the men in No Man’s Land found relief in sleep. After a night without rest and the violence of the morning, the long hot hours under the sun had brought a drowsiness which some, especially the younger ones, could not resist and they slept the sleep of the exhausted, sometimes within a few yards of German-held trenches.
It was a far more nerve-racking experience for those men who could not reach the shelter of the shell holes. ‘After our attack had failed, I lay down in a bit of dead ground, flat on my stomach with my haversack sticking up. A German sniper spent the day smashing it to pieces, each shot just missing my head. The Germans later bombarded the area and I was covered with fumes and smoke until the whole of my uniform was canary yellow.’ (Cpl D. E. Cattell, Sheffield City Battalion)
Most men stayed where they were until nightfall but some were prepared to risk the journey back to their own trenches. Bugler Bill Soar, in his bed of reeds, was so close to the Germans that he felt he had to move. Discarding all his equipment and abandoning his rifle he ran to the nearest shell hole. After spending a considerable time waiting in it he made another dash of a few yards. A long wait followed each move as he tried to outwit the watching Germans. Several times his moves brought a burst of fire but on each occasion he was able to jump into a new hole in time. Soar was distressed to find that many of the shell holes contained dead or badly wounded men from his battalion. By dusk he was still only part of the way across No Man’s Land.
The early sniping by the British soldiers marooned in No Man’s Land gradually died down, discouraged by the German retaliation, but it never stopped completely. Here and there, a brave soldier kept up the fire as long as he had ammunition. A sergeant of the Glasgow Boys’ Brigade Battalion found himself with a Lewis gun in a position from which he could fire into a German trench. Using first his own ammunition and then getting more from dead carriers, he fired off a total of twenty-four drums of bullets at the enemy during the day. Albert McMillan was another who was determined not to accept defeat. Whenever he thought it safe, he peered over the edge of his shell hole and exchanged shots with the Germans. It was a risky procedure; several German bullets ‘pinged’ off his steel helmet when he was slow in ducking back again.
For most of the day the Germans continued searching No Man’s Land with their fire to finish off the wounded whenever they could spot a movement. The upturned rifles placed near the wounded during the morning attack were sometimes the cause of their doom. The Germans watched for any sign of movement besides these rifles and fired as soon as a body stirred. Outside Serre a bored German rifleman had another pastime: ‘From my shell hole I could see a dead man [probably from the Accrington Pals] propped up against the German wire in a sitting position. He was sniped at during the day until his head was completely shot away.’ (Lieut R. A. Heptonstall, 1st Barnsley Pals)
The British soldiers who were pinned down in Sausage Valley had to endure heavy shell fire for long stretches of the day. ‘A very large shell fell some little distance on my left. With all the bits and pieces flying up was a body. The legs had been blown off right up to the crutch. I have never seen a body lifted so high. It sailed up and towards me. I can still see the dead-pan look on his face under the tin hat, which was still held on by the chin strap. He kept coming and landed with a bonk a few yards to my left.
‘Then, during the afternoon, Jerry started shelling No Man’s Land in a zig-zag fashion to kill the rest of us off. As each shell landed they gave a burst of machine-gun fire over where it fell, to catch anyone who should jump up. As they worked towards me I knew when my shell was coming. Sure enough it came and landed a few yards behind me. Over came the bullets as well but I kept perfectly still.’ (Pte W. J. Senescall, The Cambridge Battalion)
Only a few yards away many men had taken shelter in the huge Lochnager mine crater but, even here, they were not free from danger. ‘Shells from both sides were falling into the crater, the Germans’ exploding on one side and ours on the other. We didn’t know where to go to get away from them. Then an aeroplane flew over, very low, and one of our chaps took the shirt off a dead man and waved it. The plane flew off and soon afterwards the British shelling stopped. That pilot was a brave man.’ (Pte W. T. Parkin, Grimsby Chums)
But another occupant of the crater, a wounded officer, has a slightly different version. ‘For some unknown reason, our artillery started shelling us. Our planes were sailing close overhead and, though I shone a mirror up, they took no notice. In the end I sent an orderly to Colonel Howard to ask for permission to use a red flare, which he gave. As soon as we lit it our planes went straight off home and our batteries shut up, but of course the Boche redoubled his efforts, though we escaped without further casualties.
‘I found my flow of language very useful several times; especially when the fit men wanted to bolt for it and leave a good hundred wounded who couldn’t walk. I asked them what the — — they thought they were doing and they all meekly went back, much to my surprise.’ (2nd Lieut J. H. Turnbull, Grimsby Chums)*
Although the fighting had died down on some sectors during the afternoon, the conditions in many of the British trenches were still chaotic. Continuous German shelling had smashed the trench system still further and caused more casualties. The lightly wounded were able to take themselves to the rear but thousands of the more seriously wounded still remained mixed in with the dead. There were some frightful scenes: ‘Back in the trench I came upon one of our platoon, laid on his back with a huge baulk of timber across his legs. When I got to him, I saw that one of his legs had been severed but the heavy timber, as it laid across his legs, was acting as a tourniquet and had stopped the bleeding. I ran down the trench to get hold of stretcher-bearers but ran slap bang into an officer of the Bradford Pals who stopped me and demanded to know where I was going. I told him about Jim with his leg off and that I was seeking help. “Never mind him. Get a rifle and fall in with my men.” Abandoned rifles and equipment were lying about everywhere, I picked one up, gave it a wipe, and followed on – but the first opportunity I had, I “lost” him and made my way back to what was left of our own H.Q. Jim was found that night and was carried out, attended to and sent home to Blighty – he is still alive today.’ (Pte A. V. Pearson, Leeds Pals)
It could take two stretcher-bearers over an hour to take one wounded man to a Dressing Station and many had become casualties themselves. Those who remained had been struggling all day and were exhausted. Two Leeds Pals bearers took a well-earned break: ‘Well, we were just about all in, still at it till close on night, having no rest. On our way back to the trenches, we came across a case marked “Headquarters Mess”, so we took good care of it. Inside was a tin of bacon, coffee, biscuits, etc., so we had a good feed. It was a Godsend.’ (L/Cpl T. H. Place, Leeds Pals)
Some soldiers in the trenches who were in a position to help had been expressly forbidden to aid the wounded, but to attend to their own duties. They had to watch the agony of these men for most of the day: ‘The worst sights were in our own trenches where some of the badly wounded had managed to crawl. We were not allowed to help any of them, but kept our machine-gun mounted on the parapet in case of a counter-attack. The wounded were trying to patch each other up with their field dressings. A chaplain tore his dog collar off in front of me and, with curses, said, “It is a mockery to wear it.” ’ (Pte C. A. Turner, 97th Brigade Machine Gun Company)
Conditions had improved a little for L/Cpl Charles Matthews. Soon after midday, the German shells that had been dropping near him all morning ceased. An hour later he was startled when a duck-board was suddenly thrown across the trench above him and two stretcher-bearers crossed with a wounded man. Matthews shouted out to them and asked them to come back for him and they promised to do so. Another eternity of time passed and Matthews felt the bearers had forgotten him but, true to their promise, they eventually returned. His helpers’ faces fell when they saw his blood-soaked tunic and began cutting it away, fearing he had a severe body wound. They were very pleased when Matthews told them the blood was not his, that his leg was crushed and that no dressings were needed. With their new load they laboured over the churned-up ground. With every lurch causing Matthews severe pain, he was very thankful when, after half an hour, he was left at a Dressing Station in the village square at Carnoy. It was eight hours since he had been injured by the mine debris.
There was one body of men who were still attending to their own grim duty – the Military Police. Their orders were to stop any fit man leaving the trenches without permission and to ensure that, when an attack had been ordered, no one remained behind. ‘After I had been wounded, I came back to our trench and saw two very young soldiers. They were terrified and had been too scared to follow their mates over the top. Soon after I had left them I met two “Red Caps” with revolvers who wanted to know where I was going. I showed them my wound and they let me pass. I had only gone a few yards when I heard two pistol shots from close by. I feel sure that these two unfortunate boys had been “executed for cowardice”.’ (Pte J. Kirkham, 5th Manchester Pals)
All day the battalions of the 19th (Western) Division had remained in the trenches of the Tara–Usna Line, just outside Albert. As the initial attack on this sector had failed completely, there was obviously no chance that they could undertake their original task – the exploitation of the gap, the advance with the cavalry on Bapaume. Instead, just after midday, four Lancashire battalions – the 7th King’s Own, the 7th Loyal North Lancs, the 7th South Lancs and the 7th East Lancs – received fresh orders. They were to attack the German front line at 5 P.M. after a thirty-minute bombardment. All afternoon the nervous Lancashire men waited. After only half an hour’s barrage they were to attack where a complete division had failed after a week-long bombardment.
The battalions of the 19th Division were to be joined in this attack by those reserve battalions of the 8th Division which had missed the morning’s fighting. ‘In consequence of the proposed new offensive I was instructed urgently to send out a patrol to discover if the German line opposite our right company was held, and by whom. Accordingly, as soon as arrangements could be made, 2nd Lieut Fraser with one sergeant and five privates from D Company stole forward. This was the smallest number of men we could employ, compatible with carrying out the order; they were told to go very carefully, returning at once if seriously fired on… Later, the patrol reported back in our trenches having been heavily fired at; Fraser was missing, believed killed, to my profound sorrow.
‘Shortly before the hour of the meditated attack we were informed of its cancellation owing to the possibility that some of our troops might still be holding out in the German trenches… By now, however, I was almost past caring, personally, whether we attacked or not.’ (Maj. J.L.Jack, 2nd Scottish Rifles)*
The four Lancashire battalions were ordered to turn back and march to the rear. With lighter hearts, the soldiers turned their back on the battlefield. When Lieut Henry Webber with the battalion transport met the 7th South Lancs that evening, he was greeted by smiling friends. The gulf between the horrors of the battlefield and the peace of the rear could be immense. ‘The attack was cancelled only minutes before it was due to start and we went out to some high ground behind Albert where we had refreshment and, illustrating the incongruities of war, were addressed by a visiting bishop and entertained by the divisional band.’ (Pte C. B. Mawbey, 7th Loyal North Lancs)†
All through the afternoon and into the evening the fine midsummer weather had continued. Not a drop of rain had fallen since the drizzle of dawn, not a cloud had marred the sky since the early morning mist. The shadows lengthened and the sun prepared to set on this terrible day.
Pte Paddy Kennedy had taken part in the capture of Montauban in mid-morning, but then he had been sent back to the old British front line to fetch a load of grenades. As he picked his way over the torn-up ground of No Man’s Land he was very upset to see so many wounded men lying out in the hot sun, calling out for help, but under strict orders to return quickly with his grenades, he dared not linger. On his return he was sent to join men from the 1st Manchester Pals, who were manning Montauban Alley. He still had no idea where his own battalion was and was content to stay with his fellow-Mancunians. All afternoon he had waited there, playing with his new-found pet kitten or looking out over the wide empty valley. It was so peaceful he felt that the war might be over.
There were many men like Kennedy who had now spent several hours in the new front line which stretched from Montauban to Mametz. The Germans seemed to have disappeared; there was hardly any shelling. But, in spite of all the fine talk before the battle of breakthroughs and cavalry, nothing had happened. The men who had been so successful earlier in the day were baffled and profoundly disappointed. They were convinced that a great chance was being allowed to slip away.
The refusal by the British to move on their right had also deterred the French from advancing farther. A British officer on liaison duty remembers: ‘The French had taken all their objectives north of the Somme and could easily have gone farther; they could have taken Péronne if they had wanted. I knew the British right wing had done well too and I was almost biting my nails down to the palms with frustration.’ (Capt. E. L. Spears, French Sixth Army H.Q.) Péronne was six miles away and was to the French what Bapaume was to the British.
Gen. Rawlinson had expected the Germans to counter-attack their lost positions but, on the right wing, they were still so off balance that the few, pathetic attempts they did make were easily frustrated.
Paddy Kennedy was involved in one such attack. At 9.30 P.M. a party of Germans crept up in the gloom to within a few yards of Montauban Alley and shattered the evening calm with a grenade attack. Paddy panicked, fumbling in his pouches to get at his ammunition, but his neighbour, an old soldier with Boer War medal ribbons, advised him to put down his rifle, get out all his ammunition, lay the clips out carefully and, only then, to open fire. Within a few minutes the little fight was over, the Germans beaten off.
The Germans were having more success with their counter-attacks on another sector, however. During the afternoon the Ulstermen near Thiepval had been forced back until all they held was the German front-line trench and the Schwaben Redoubt just beyond it. All afternoon the Germans had pounded away at the exhausted Ulsters with artillery, with machine-guns and with at least three more infantry assaults. ‘We could see the muzzles of some light field guns firing at us over open sights, the barrels parallel to the ground. They were pumping out shells as fast as they could. It was awful; there was hardly any escape from them.’ (Pte J. Devennie, Derry Volunteers) The Ulsters had beaten off every attack but each had left them with more dead, fewer defenders and less ammunition.
By evening they were in a desperate position. Nearly every officer who had attacked was a casualty; their ammunition was almost gone; no reinforcements had been able to reach them. Late in the evening came yet another German attack – delivered from three sides. It was the end for the Ulsters. A major gave the order to give up the redoubt and return to the former German front line for a last stand. But the Germans too had had enough and the Ulsters’ withdrawal was carried out safely and in good order.
Ironically, as they retired, the Ulsters met the reinforcements they had been looking for since midday. Eight full companies of the West Riding Territorials had at last managed to cross No Man’s Land in the gloom. The Schwaben Redoubt must have already established an evil reputation. ‘As I was coming out I met the relieving troops moving up. I have never seen such a look of terror on the faces of human beings.’ (L/Cpl J. A. Henderson, Belfast Young Citizens) But the reinforcements were too late to save the redoubt; the Germans had it back again now.*
The 36th (Ulster) Division, which had taken the Schwaben Redoubt, which had been the only division to reach the second German main trench system, had lost nearly all its gains. At no time during fourteen hours of fighting had it received any help from the divisions on either side. It handed over its only remaining capture, 800 yards of the old enemy front line, to the West Yorks and retired grimly to the British lines. Over 2,000 men from the old province of Ulster died by Thiepval, 2,700 more were wounded and 165 were taken prisoner. They had paid the price of their own success. It was to be over three months before British troops took the Schwaben Redoubt again.
At long last the sun set on the battlefield.† The moment has been remembered by two men; one’s attack had been successful, the other’s had failed. ‘The sun went down that first evening back over our old trenches, in gold which turned to blood, and it seemed symbolic. We had kept our nerve and at the end of the day were where we were supposed to be and that seemed triumph enough to be going on with.’ (Pte H. L. Wide, 9th Devons)
‘At long last, evening came and the light began to fade. I ventured a look forward and there was Gerry out of his trench, moving among the fallen. Now, I thought, I am going to Berlin too soon. That decided me; I jumped up and ran as best I could, for I was stiff. I kept treading on wounded and they called out to me for help. Gerry let me have a few more shots as I ran, but the light had now gone. Anyway, he couldn’t hit me that day in daylight, could he?’ (Pte W. J. Senescall, The Cambridge Battalion)