You do not know what Flanders means. Flanders means endless endurance. Flanders means blood and scraps of human bodies. Flanders means heroic courage and faithfulness unto death!
Unknown German soldier1
20–25 September 1917
The day of the assault had finally arrived, and with it–almost inevitably–wet weather. At La Lovie, General Gough (whose Fifth Army had now been relegated to covering Plumer’s left flank) was so disturbed by the rain that around midnight he got in touch with Plumer and suggested postponing the attack. After consulting his corps commanders, who gave a mixed response, the Second Army commander decided to go ahead.2 It was a tortuous decision. To order the attack in uncertain weather was bad enough, but the alternative was even less edifying. Orders countermanding the operation would have to be sent out immediately, while other plans were drafted. The front-line units could not remain in the trenches indefinitely, and would probably need relief within a day or two, raising the prospect that any surprise would be lost. In the back of Plumer’s mind was undoubtedly the worst possible outcome: a confused, partial attack, with some units standing down, but others–perhaps because they had not received confirmation–going ahead as originally planned. That was unthinkable. It was all or nothing.
It was in the early hours of 20 September that German front-line commanders began to have their worst fears confirmed. Shortly before 3 a.m.–over two hours before Zero Hour–a bedraggled Australian officer was brought into the headquarters of 121st German Division south of Zonnebeke. He had been captured while moving into position with his company, somewhere along the outpost line of 2nd Australian Division. He became separated from his men and ran into a German patrol, who quickly seized him and shunted him off to the nearest headquarters. Although he tried to destroy his papers, his interrogators found operation orders on him confirming that two Australian divisions were about to launch an assault astride the Ypres–Menin road. Within minutes a general warning order was sent out via wireless and divisional artillery batteries were told to lay down ‘annihilating’ fire on the Australian positions.3
It was now a race against the clock to see who would react first and whether there was enough time for the German defenders to pre-empt the incoming assault. Although 2nd Australian Division came under bombardment several minutes before Zero Hour–presumably because of the intelligence leak–it was not heavy enough to dislocate the impending attack. In those places where German shells were falling, at least one unit went ‘over the top’ early in order to avoid the shellfire.4 And then at 5.40 a.m. the tension, which had been gradually building across the front, was rudely broken by the storm of shellfire that lashed down upon the tortured battlefield. Archibald Gordon MacGregor, a signals officer with 27 Brigade (9th Scottish Division), remembered the opening of the barrage being ‘awe-inspiring’, with guns lined up ‘axle to axle’ along the frontage of their sector. It was, he wrote, ‘a stunning pandemonium’.5 There was one gun or howitzer for every five yards of front, producing an intensity of fire that was at least double what had supported Gough’s assault on 31 July.6 The Battle of Menin Road (as it would subsequently be christened) unfolded, for the most part, as Plumer had planned. The wall of shellfire escorted the attacking divisions on to their objectives and kept the Germans at arm’s length; a shield of fire through which nothing could pass.
Behind the smoke and dust of the creeping barrage, the attack was getting underway. The northern flank was secured by Fifth Army, with five divisions going ‘over the top’ from V, XVIII and XIV Corps. Given the difficulties of crossing what had been such a blasted, flooded wasteland, the attack was remarkably successful. There was bitter fighting around Hill 35 and a section of the Wilhelm Line known as ‘Pheasant Trench’ (where the tanks were largely ineffective), but the speed and swiftness of the advance seem to have taken the defenders by surprise.7 In 9th Division, the South African Brigade captured Borry Farm and Potsdam House, two heavily defended locations that had held up the British advance in this area for the best part of two months. ‘The hostile infantry showed very little fight in the open’, it was reported, ‘but where they held blockhouses they used machine guns until they found themselves surrounded… The prisoners were in all cases greatly demoralised by our heavy artillery fire.’8 An examination of Germans captured that morning revealed that while many had been warned to expect an attack, no specific instructions had been given. Furthermore, the assault ‘surprised them by its quickness and they were able to offer little resistance’.9
The stunning effect of Plumer’s mass of artillery was particularly evident in the main assault by I ANZAC Corps, with 1st and 2nd Australian Divisions attacking side by side. In 7/Battalion (2nd Division) Lieutenant Alexander Hollyhoke went forward with his men, following what he called ‘a wall of dust and fumes, intermingled with shell bursts’ as the creeping barrage chewed up the ground in front of them. Far from being overawed by the spectacle, Hollyhoke’s men took it in their stride, lighting pipes or cigarettes and ‘advancing steadily behind the barrage with a cheerful smile on their faces’.
Here and there a dead German was seen–killed by the barrage or a shot from the advancing troops. Prisoners, cowed and broken, began to come in in groups, or crouched in shell holes until sent to the rear. Short sharp fights were often carried out by small parties of troops around ‘pill boxes’ or concrete German blockhouses left intact or only slightly damaged by shell fire. A bomb or two in the entrance generally reduced the occupants to surrender. During the whole advance there was the continual swish, swish, of shells overhead–some high, some low–some indeed too low. With shells bursting around, many indeed were narrow escapes. Most men were hit at times by flying pieces of high explosive or shrapnel. Unless a man was badly hit all went eagerly on.10
Hollyhoke’s men did what they were there to do: take the furthest objective (the Green Line), ‘mop up’ their sectors, and then consolidate. The barrage then halted for two hours to give them enough time to dig a new line and establish communication with the rear.
It was a similar story across I ANZAC Corps. Places that had been fought over for months had now fallen, including the shattered remnants of Glencorse Wood and a small copse known as Nonne Boschen. Although some resistance was encountered at Black Watch Corner (at the southwestern tip of Polygon Wood), elsewhere Australian troops were able to subdue enemy pillboxes and pick their way through what remained of the German defences. ‘The enemy did not show the resistance that was expected, and in no case did he hold out in pockets in rear of our advancing lines’, a report later noted.11 In 2nd Division it was concluded that there were a number of reasons why the attack had been so successful, including extensive training; the physical fitness of the men; thorough reconnaissance; the ‘systematic establishment of battle dumps’ and lines of approach at the front; the depth of the artillery and machine-gun barrage; and the urgency with which the attacking battalions went forward: ‘the men followed the artillery barrage so closely and rushed each position so quickly that the enemy had not time, in most cases, to open fire.’ Moreover, because many of the Germans in shell holes and trenches had been ‘dazed’ by the artillery fire, they could put up only ‘feeble’ resistance.12
Further to the south, the attack of X Corps, striking on to the Gheluvelt Plateau, proceeded on schedule, despite hard fighting. ‘Heavy rain had fallen during the night making movement over the cratered ground very difficult’, recorded the war diary of 39th Division. ‘At dawn a steady drizzle was still coming down whilst a thick mist and low clouds, combined with a strong wind, made observation and aerial reconnaissance almost impossible.’ When the troops went over the top, they were met with heavy gunfire from a number of concrete blockhouses and machine-gun emplacements. These had to be taken out ‘by a series of determined rushes covered by Lewis Gun and Rifle Grenade fire’. By 6 a.m. the division was on the Red Line (the western edge of Bulgar Wood), and a little over two hours later the supporting units had ‘leapfrogged’ on to their second objective (having cleared most of the wood) and were busy digging in.13 Elsewhere, 23rd Division encountered heavy resistance getting through Inverness Copse and a string of undamaged German bunkers along the Menin Road. Although casualties were heavy, ‘so thoroughly did each man know his individual task that formations and direction still continued to be well maintained and each section made independently for its own objective on the Blue Line’. Consolidation continued, in spite of sniper fire, for the rest of the day.14
It was on this sector that two of the most outstanding feats of bravery during the entire battle took place. William Burman, a twenty-year-old NCO with 16/Rifle Brigade (39th Division), won the Victoria Cross during the advance across no-man’s-land. Burman’s Company Commander was astonished at what happened:
Sergeant Burman is the finest fellow that ever lived, standing only 5ft 4in, but with the heart of a lion, knowing no fear. When we had gone halfway to our objective, a machine-gun opened fire at us from 30 yd range in a shell-hole position, and my poor fellows were falling down everywhere. Sgt Burman went on all alone in face of what appeared to be certain death, killed the three gunners and captured the gun, saving, by his gallant deed, the lives of his chums behind and allowing the company to continue to advance. He carried the gun all the way to the final objective, and turned it on the retiring enemy, and his courage and fortitude throughout were amazing to see.15
The second VC was won by Corporal Ernest Egerton of 16/Sherwood Foresters, who took out an enemy strongpoint almost singlehandedly in what his commanding officer called ‘the most reckless piece of gallantry I ever saw’. In the confusion of the advance, a German pillbox had been missed, but Egerton–who was mourning the death of his elder brother, killed in August–ran forward seeking revenge. ‘I first shot the man who was firing the gun’, he remembered; ‘then I shot the second, who was waiting with another belt of cartridges, and I also shot the third man who was a bomber.’ With that the German garrison, stunned by the ferocity of the attack, shuffled out, their hands in the air.16 Elsewhere, 41st Division had cleared its first objective by 7.47 a.m. (pushing on to the Albrecht Line); had secured the Blue Line by 10.15 a.m. (crossing over the Basseevillebeek stream); and by eleven o’clock observers had spotted British troops on the Tower Hamlets Ridge.17 Now the most crucial part of the battle began: the German response.
The Eingreif divisions had been assembled and readied to go forward by 8 a.m., but they were unable to intervene as planned. The almost complete collapse of communication at the front meant that it was impossible to gain a detailed picture of what was going on. Moreover, pilots of the RFC had been in the skies above the Salient as soon as it was light and proved highly effective at interfering with German plans. More than 28,000 rounds of ammunition were fired and over sixty bombs were dropped on ground targets that day, including columns of infantry marching to the front, artillery batteries and machine-gun nests. Unlike 16 August, when bad weather had effectively prevented aerial observers from pinpointing German reserves, British aircraft were able to provide vital information on the movement of the Eingreif divisions, which were so crucial to the second phase of the battle. Air reports notified British artillery of at least eight counter-attacks, including at Zonnebeke at 8.30 a.m., Polygon Wood at 10.20 a.m. and east of Zandvoorde at 2–2.30 p.m.18 Using ‘zone calls’, the aircraft were able to direct devastating shellfire on to their targets and, according to the German Official History, ‘cripple the momentum of the reserves’.19
It was only in the afternoon that the full-scale counter-attacks, which were so critical to Germany’s defensive tactics, were able to make any headway. From about two o’clock, ominous reports of ‘enemy concentrations’ began coming into British divisional and corps headquarters. Elements of three reserve divisions, 16th Bavarian, 236th and 234th, were marching to the front from the direction of Menin, Moorslede and Westroosebeke. This had been anticipated by Second Army intelligence and artillery barrages were immediately ordered on the likely deployment areas with every available medium and heavy gun, while long-range machine-gun fire added to the maelstrom of steel that came down. By 5 p.m. the Eingreif divisions had arrived on the battlefield, but could do little to dent the storm of fire in front of them. When they moved forward into the open, they were torn apart, with whole sections being brutally wiped from the battlefield under an enormous weight of firepower.20 ‘They managed to push back the British at different points and retake some important terrain features,’ noted the German Official History, ‘but in general, the attacks against already secured opponents had only limited success.’21