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Vormarsch!
The Breakthrough at Ypres, 1914

Spencer Jones

A Season of Opportunity

The opening phase of the First World War was defined by fast-moving campaigns and ferocious battles. In August 1914, both France and Germany put their carefully crafted pre-war plans into action. The French Plan XVII called for an all-out offensive into the occupied provinces of Alsace-Lorraine. Unfortunately for France, disaster followed as courageous but poorly led French troops fruitlessly attacked well-prepared German fortifications. French casualties were horrendous and the gains nonexistent. Whilst the French Army was bleeding to death on the border, the Germans launched the infamous ‘Schlieffen Plan’. This ambitious operation called for a massive, multi-army offensive that would crash through neutral Belgium and then swing south-west into France like the arc of a giant scythe, outflanking the French armies on the border and racing on to encircle Paris. It was hoped that this bold gambit would defeat France in just six weeks, allowing the Germans to transfer their forces to face the Russian steamroller in the east.

In contrast to the disasters of Plan XVII, the Schlieffen Plan began promisingly. Belgium, trusting that its neutrality would spare it, was poorly prepared for the German invasion. The much-vaunted Belgian fortress system imposed a brief delay on the German advance but proved no match for the specialist siege guns which the invaders were able to deploy. By the final week of August the Germans had cleared much of Belgium and were marching across the border into France. Fierce clashes with the recently arrived British Expeditionary Force (BEF) delayed the advance but did not stop it.

September began with German armies surging south-west towards Paris, forcing British and French forces into the ‘Great Retreat’ that carried them across the river Marne and beyond. Yet at the moment when German victory seemed inevitable, French commander Joseph Joffre sensed an opportunity. His intuitive reading of the battlefront told him that the German offensive was losing steam, that its men were reaching the tipping point of exhaustion and that the nerves of its commanders were fraying. Reorganising the French forces under his control, Joffre prepared for a counterattack that would hurl the Germans back and leave the Schlieffen Plan in tatters. He perceived a perfect target for the counterstroke: the German 1st and 2nd armies had allowed a sizeable gap to develop between them. If Allied forces could drive into that space then the German armies would be isolated from one another and defeated in detail. In coordination with attacks along the rest of the front, Joffre resolved to target the weak spot with some of his best troops. To this end he hurled the small but elite BEF and the French 5th Army into the breach.

The result was the Battle of the Marne, which raged between 6 and 12 September. Joffre’s operational vision was masterful. His counteroffensive surprised the Germans and created panic amongst their General Staff. However, the fog of war and the friction of battle slowed the Allied advance, whilst the tactical prowess of the Germans meant that they evaded encirclement and instead conducted a fighting retreat back to the north bank of the Aisne. Allied victory was strategically decisive – the Germans were forced to retire some sixty miles in six days and Paris was saved – but it did not translate into the complete destruction of the German armies which Joffre had hoped to achieve. Instead, German forces were able to form a strong defensive line which resisted a British assault at the Battle of the Aisne (13–15 September). Exhausted by the efforts of a month of constant fighting, both sides entrenched and considered their options.

The lull was deceptive, for this was a season of opportunity. Joffre was the hero of the hour and the French press began to speak of the ‘miracle of the Marne’. His next challenge was how to drive the Germans from French soil entirely. Recognising that a direct frontal attack on the German lines would be costly and ineffective, Joffre sought fresh options. The northern flank offered tantalising possibilities. Aside from German forces conducting siege operations in Belgium and cavalry screening the siege lines, there were few enemy forces on this front. Furthermore, the Belgian Army was clinging on in the besieged port of Antwerp and desperately requesting support. Joffre envisaged an Allied offensive in the north that would turn the flank of the entrenched Germans to the south, link up with the Belgian Army and liberate Brussels. His vision was shared by the British commander Sir John French, who devised an effective plan to redeploy the BEF from the Aisne to the Flanders front, intending to drive onwards to relieve the siege of Antwerp. The scheme seemed rich with possibilities.

Yet the Germans were also planning their own offensive. There had been a change within the General Staff. Chief of the General Staff Helmuth von Moltke (known as ‘Moltke the Younger’ to differentiate him from his famous uncle of the same name) had been made the scapegoat for the defeat on the Marne and had been replaced by the ruthless Erich von Falkenhayn. Even though the Schlieffen Plan had failed, Falkenhayn believed that the war could still be won in the west. He proposed adopting a defensive strategy in the east and concentrating fresh forces for a renewed offensive against France. Like Joffre, his eye was drawn to the northern flank. There were good reasons for an attack here. A German victory would turn the Allied flank, crush the last vestiges of Belgian resistance and, most importantly, would allow the Germans to drive on and capture the Channel ports and rupture the BEF’s supply chain.¹ Victory in Flanders thus held the possibility of eliminating both of France’s western allies at a stroke.

Both Joffre and Falkenhayn resolved to launch major offensives in Flanders. Neither side was fully aware of the plans of their opponent. The opening weeks of the campaign resembled a vast meeting engagement. Both sides sought to advance, but the greater weight of German manpower gave them the battlefield advantage. Allied hopes of relieving Antwerp were soon dashed. The city was indefensible and the Belgian Army decided to evacuate the port and retreat west to link up with the Anglo-French armies. However, even with these reinforcements the British and French advance into Flanders could make no progress against numerically superior German forces. By mid-October the tide of the battle had clearly swung in Germany’s favour. Outnumbered and outgunned, the Allies found themselves fighting an increasingly desperate defensive battle to hold onto what territory they possessed.

Dreams of liberating Brussels were soon forgotten and attention was instead focused on the defence of Ypres, the last free city of Belgium. Beyond its symbolic importance to the Belgians, Ypres was a strategically vital communication and transport centre. Good-quality roads ran from Ypres to all nearby towns and cities, including the Channel ports of Calais and Dunkirk. Control of the city was the key to control of the Channel. Both sides were aware of the stakes. The Allies resolved to defend Ypres at all costs whilst the Germans were determined to smash through the Allied lines and capture the city. The Battle of Ypres had begun.

The Battle for Ypres

The terrain around Ypres defined the decisive battle that was to follow. The vast majority of Flanders was flat, wooded terrain, dotted with small farms and villages. However, east of Ypres lay a ridgeline that provided an excellent defensive position in the otherwise level countryside. The soldiers of the British Expeditionary Force found themselves holding this crucial line against the impending German assault. Much of the ridge was covered with woodland and marshy ground which greatly aided its defence. Yet there was one weakness in the position: the ridge was traversed by the broad Menin Road which ran directly to Ypres. Cutting through the broken terrain that covered much of the ridge, it offered a rapid and direct route to the strategic city.

However, standing directly astride the road stood Gheluvelt, a small village with a pre-war population of just over one thousand people. Any drive towards Ypres had to pass through the hamlet. Recognising the strategic importance of the Menin Road, the British had made Gheluvelt the linchpin of their defences.

The village was held by some of the finest troops of the elite British Expeditionary Force. Lieutenant-General Sir Douglas Haig’s well-trained I Corps was charged with defending the sector. He placed his best formation – 1st Division – to cover the road. The front line at Gheluvelt was held by the crack 1st Guards Brigade under the command of Brigadier General Charles FitzClarence VC, a formidable Irishman who had earned the nickname ‘The Demon’ for his energy and aggression.

The soldiers in the line were ‘Old Contemptibles’ who had proved their fighting prowess at the battles of Mons and Le Cateau in August 1914. All the men were volunteers and had thus benefitted from longer, more-complex training than the mass conscript armies of the continental powers. The British had placed special emphasis on marksmanship. The pinnacle of a soldier’s training was the ‘mad minute’ exercise. Lying prone, the rifleman was required to fire fifteen aimed rounds at a target three hundred yards distant within sixty seconds and expected to score hits with at least twelve of his rounds. Passing this exercise was considered the mark of a soldier, but excelling at it was the mark of a good one. As a result experienced riflemen were capable of firing twenty shots per minute or more.² In 1914, British infantry were able to produce such an intense volume of rifle fire that the Germans sometimes mistook it for machine guns. Many German attacks had been brought to a bloody halt by the sharpshooters of the BEF. A German survivor recalled that the accuracy and intensity of British fire ‘bordered on the miraculous’.³

However, although undoubtedly elite, the BEF was very small in comparison to the mass armies of the continent. The stresses of the fighting from August to October had reduced its numbers further and reinforcements were few and far between. The experienced veterans amongst its ranks could not be easily replaced. The BEF had not been created with an attritional war in mind. It had been characterised by one officer as ‘a rapier amongst scythes’: a nimble and sharp weapon that was deadly when wielded with skill, but which could not parry away the heavy blows of its opponents indefinitely. At Mons and Le Cateau the BEF had delivered stinging ripostes to the Germans and then slipped away before the counterstroke landed. Unfortunately, locked into the defence of the vital city of Ypres, the BEF was bound to the spot and given no room to manoeuvre. Faced with relentless German pressure, casualties mounted, ammunition dwindled, and the rapier was close to breaking point. The official historian Brigadier General James Edmonds recalled that on the eve of the German breakthrough, ‘the line that stood between the British Empire and ruin was composed of tired, haggard and unshaven men, unwashed, plastered with mud, many in little more than rags.’⁴

The position at Gheluvelt reflected these problems. On paper, FitzClarence’s Guards Brigade was four thousand men strong, but in reality the brigade had been reduced to less than half that number. With his manpower so heavily reduced, FitzClarence had to commit his entire force to the front, leaving precious few reserves. The only reserve troops that could be spared were just under five hundred battle-weary men of the 2nd Worcestershires. This meant that the British line was hard but brittle. If the Germans achieved a major breakthrough they would have a virtually open road to Ypres, which lay four miles behind the front.

In late October the Germans carefully assembled a specialist force of infantry, cavalry, and artillery to crash through the thin British line. The German spearhead was made up of the experienced 30th Division, 54th Reserve Division, and 3rd Cavalry Division, plus overwhelming artillery support, including the mighty siege guns that had pounded the Belgian fortress system into rubble.⁵ In total the assault force outnumbered the British defenders by a factor of almost four to one. This powerful formation was placed under the command of Max von Fabeck, whom Falkenhayn tasked with breaking through the British line at Gheluvelt and surging onwards towards Ypres.⁶ Falkenhayn himself retained control over immediate German reserves, including lead elements of the elite Prussian Guards Corps. These troops were held in readiness to exploit any breakthrough.

Whereas the British had an advantage in the quality of their rifle fire, the Germans had a clear advantage in their powerful artillery. Plentifully supplied with ammunition, the German gunners were able to keep up an almost constant fire on the British position. As a precursor to an infantry attack, the guns were capable of an unprecedented rate of fire, producing devastating bombardments that ripped apart trenches and their occupants with terrifying ease.

After several days of see-saw combat along the entire Ypres front, Fabeck’s forces had spent 30 October in careful preparation for a decisive offensive. Artillery spotters had crept forward into no man’s land and carefully registered their targets. Infantry had been briefed on the terrain and opposition in front of them. German cavalry had been told to prepare for a rapid advance to exploit any breakthrough.⁷ Fabeck ended his orders for the day with a single word that captured the mood: Vormarsch! (‘Forward!’)

There was an air of destiny about this moment. Kaiser Wilhelm II himself was due to visit Falkenhayn’s headquarters on 31 October. He would be present to witness the great breakthrough that was about to occur.

Breakthrough at Gheluvelt

Cold and dismal rain soaked the British line throughout the small hours of 31 October. Desultory German shelling and the regular crack of sniper rifles ensured that none of the defenders slept easily.

Gheluvelt itself was a hive of activity. The chateau served as a headquarters position and was a communications nerve centre. Telephone lines ran from the chateau to the front line and also to 1st Brigade HQ, which occupied a nearby farm. Signallers and engineers had worked through the night to ensure the lines were functioning and that replacement cable was available for the inevitable breakages caused by shelling. At 5.45 a.m. the communications staff contacted the front line to enquire about activity in the sector. All reported that the front was quiet. The staff at the chateau relaxed somewhat and prepared to forward their report to higher command.

One of the officers stepped outside the chateau to take in the cold autumn air. He checked his watch: 6.00 a.m. He looked up just in time to see the British front line disappear beneath a murderous rain of high-explosive shells.

The German artillery spotters had done their work well. Their guns had been carefully ranged and the fire plans had been worked out in unprecedented detail. Hundreds of artillery pieces launched a bombardment that possessed devastating synergy. Mighty 15-cm siege howitzers opened the attack, hurling high-explosive shells that plunged into the British trenches and blew them apart. A survivor recalled that the shells ‘made the earth rock as in an earthquake’.⁸ With their defences destroyed by the howitzers, the British had little shelter from the fire of field guns. These lighter pieces swept the ground with a storm of shrapnel, inflicting scores of casualties on the defenders. Longer-ranged weapons zeroed in on the rear areas, placing a curtain of fire that prevented both evacuation of the wounded and reinforcement of the front. The British defences were simply torn apart by this weight of metal. Trenches were reduced to a ‘broken and bloody shambles’; machine-gun pits were demolished, communications collapsed and the surviving defenders were left deafened and stunned.⁹ No one on the British side was certain how long the bombardment lasted. A veteran remembered: ‘Time seemed to stand still; an hour was a day under this torture.’¹⁰

After what seemed like an age, the German bombardment lifted from the front and began to search the rear areas of the British position. Grey-clad infantry began their advance against the shattered line. Bitter experience had taught the attackers not to underestimate their opponents, but surely no one could have survived such a barrage?

The zip and whine of rifle rounds answered the question. The German front line shuddered as a fusillade ripped through its ranks. This was to be no walk-over. British troops still lived amongst the ruins of the trenches. Rallying around surviving officers and veteran NCOs, the ‘Old Contemptibles’ prepared to face the German onslaught. Ferocious close-range fighting followed as the Germans advanced on the desperate defenders. The artillery had caused such destruction that it was difficult to talk of a front line. The shell-cratered landscape was wreathed in smoke and cordite fumes added to the sense of dislocation.

However, the attackers soon sensed that there was something different about this engagement. Although still accurate, British fire was not as rapid as usual. There were distinct lulls in the shooting that allowed the Germans to crawl or dash to better positions. The defenders were hampered by a poorly made batch of ammunition that had been delivered to the front line the previous day. The magazines were misshapen and did not feed the bullets through correctly. British soldiers cursed their ammunition as their breeches jammed on the faulty rounds. Many were forced to load one bullet at a time as if using weapons from an earlier era. Others seized the rifles of fallen Germans and made use of them until the ammunition ran out. There were even some accounts of soldiers hurling rocks in sheer desperation.¹¹

Despite this crippling disadvantage the British line put up a tremendous fight. But for all their heroics, the task was ultimately hopeless. The Germans were too many and the British were too few. Enterprising attackers infiltrated through gaps in the shell-cratered line and outflanked the defenders. Others pushed further into the British position, cutting off any possibility of retreat and blocking reinforcements. Surrounded, many British soldiers fought to the last man and were overwhelmed at the point of the bayonet. To take a single example, by the end of the day’s fighting the 1st Queen’s (Royal West Sussex Regiment) mustered just two officers and thirteen men from a paper strength of one thousand soldiers.¹²

The British line, splintered and broken, finally gave way under the remorseless pressure. German attackers pressed forward past khaki-clad bodies and wrecked artillery pieces, and found, to their surprise, that there appeared to be no forces of any substance behind the front. British stragglers and rear area troops exchanged fire with the Germans but were without leadership and fell back when pressed. Gheluvelt had been reduced to a burning ruin by the bombardment and was virtually undefended. A handful of British troops clung on in the grounds of the chateau to the east of the town, firing from windows and doorways at the triumphant German infantry. However, the village itself was soon in German hands. The road to Ypres itself was all but open.

News of the breakthrough spread slowly. The telephone system had collapsed under the bombardment. Runners carrying hastily scribbled messages disappeared into the fire and smoke and were never seen again. In the race for information the Germans were a step ahead. A smoke-stained messenger arrived at Fabeck’s headquarters to inform him that Gheluvelt was in German hands and the road to Ypres lay open. Fabeck immediately ordered the 3rd Cavalry Division to follow up the successful attack and exploit the confusion in the British defences. Sensing that a decisive breakthrough was possible, Fabeck requested support from the Prussian Guards Corps. He received a positive reply signed by the Kaiser himself. The military and cultural elite of the German Army would strike the blow that would crush the hated English once and for all.

There were no such reserves available to the British. At the front, Charles FitzClarence worked desperately to rally stragglers and re-establish some form of defence. ‘The Demon’ had earned a reputation as a superb horseman in the Boer War and he needed all his skill as he galloped down forest tracks and across the bullet-ridden battlefield. He was ‘the soul of the defence’.¹³ Surviving officers and men responded to his rallying call, even though all were exhausted and many were wounded. FitzClarence had sent messengers back to higher command informing of them of the crisis at the front, but as the man on the spot he had no time to wait for further instructions. He was organising the 2nd Worcestershires, the sole British reserve battalion, when disaster struck. A single bullet – probably a stray shot – hit FitzClarence in the chest and killed him instantly.¹⁴

The death of FitzClarence meant that Major Edward Hankey, the commanding officer of the 2nd Worcestershires, was left without orders. After the war he admitted that he ‘knew nothing of the general situation’.¹⁵ However, it was clear that his battalion was in the midst of a full-scale military disaster. Hankey remembered that ‘Parties from various regiments in the 1st Division [majority of whom were severely wounded men, and all of whom were completely exhausted by the constant bombardments and massed attacks on their line] having been driven in by overwhelming odds retired actually through the ranks of the Battalion, even warning them that it was impossible to go on, and that it was murder etc. to attempt it.’¹⁶

By this point enterprising German troops were beginning to infiltrate around the flanks of the Worcestershires. Wounded survivors stumbling past the thin khaki line warned that a mass of German reinforcements were advancing along the Menin Road. Reluctantly, Hankey gave the order to withdraw, sending runners to the rear to try and establish contact with divisional command. Falling back, the Worcestershires had to pass abandoned equipment, disabled artillery pieces and a stream of retreating men. One officer remembered that ‘the area behind Gheluvelt presented a scene that to the onlooker seemed to exhibit every element of disaster.’¹⁷ German artillery harried the fugitives remorselessly and the air was thick with grey smoke from shrapnel bursts.

The situation was critical and the British urgently needed a firm hand to impose some form of order. None was to be found. FitzClarence lay dead, the other brigade commanders were caught up in localised combat, and the telephone lines had collapsed. In a desperate attempt to formulate a response, the commanders of 1st and 2nd divisions, Samuel Lomax and Charles Monro, held a crisis conference at Hooge Chateau behind the lines. The concentration of staff cars parked in the grounds outside attracted the notice of a German reconnaissance aircraft. Within half an hour a salvo of German high-explosive shells smashed into the farm buildings. Lomax was mortally wounded, Monro was knocked unconscious and remained seriously concussed for several hours, and the majority of the assembled staff officers were killed.¹⁸ At the moment of crisis the British chain of command had simply ceased to exist.

By now news of the disaster had reached BEF commander Sir John French. In his memoirs he described this moment as ‘the worst’ of his entire life, writing that ‘the last barrier between the Germans and the Channel seaboard was broken down, and I viewed the situation with the utmost gravity.’¹⁹ His perception was accurate. At a fraught meeting with Sir Douglas Haig the two planned how to halt the German onslaught. There were defensible lines to the west but the army needed to be rallied before it could even consider holding them. Having discussed the situation, French left in a staff car, racing at breakneck speed to seek aid from Allied forces, leaving Haig to face the immediate crisis. Haig’s two divisional commanders had become casualties and he had no reliable means of communicating with the surviving brigadiers. With bloodied and broken troops retreating past his headquarters, he resolved that desperate times required desperate measures. He would ride out to the front and take personal charge of the battle.

Many witnesses recall seeing Haig riding down the Menin Road followed by his staff officers. Haig was not a naturally charismatic leader but he carried a gravitas that gave men confidence. The fugitives on the road began to slow, and then stop. These were professional veterans and only needed an example of leadership to make them stand their ground. It seemed as if Haig would provide that precious guidance and stave off disaster. But fortune did not favour the brave on this black day.

The Germans had been shelling the Menin Road throughout the battle. The sharp crack of shrapnel bursts was so regular as to become monotonous. But now a different sound had joined the roar of the artillery. The ominous whomp and whoosh of heavy howitzer shells signalled that the Germans had turned their biggest guns on the retreating troops. Known as ‘Jack Johnsons’ after the famous American boxer, the high-explosive shells detonated with dreadful concussive force, flinging huge plumes of dirt into the sky and sending men diving for shelter.

Haig did not have the luxury of seeking cover. He had to set an example for his men and that required enduring the bombardment with silent and unflinching courage. No one would doubt Haig’s valour during his ride to the front, but it cost him his life. One moment he was sitting astride his horse in the centre of the road, giving instructions and rallying men around him. Seconds later he had disappeared in an eruption of earth, flame, and blood as a howitzer shell slammed directly into his position.

With Haig dead the British disaster was complete. Junior officers and NCOs were powerless to stop the retreat. German artillery pounded the survivors as they stumbled westwards towards Ypres. Closing in behind them were triumphant German soldiers, led by the fresh 3rd Cavalry Division. The road to Ypres was open and no one and nothing was left to oppose the German advance.

The British defeat was almost total. The breakthrough at Gheluvelt fatally destabilised the entire British line. Concurrent with the drive on Ypres, German forces widened the breach, turning north and south to outflank and destroy the British positions there. The rupture rapidly grew from a small hole to a devastating chasm. Within hours the entire BEF was reduced to a disordered retreat. German cavalry and lorry-borne jaeger infantry mounted a relentless pursuit of the routed army. Lead elements raced ahead, seizing bridges and capturing hundreds of British soldiers. By mid-afternoon the cavalry had reached Ypres itself. Regiments of the Prussian Guard arrived to secure the position in the early evening and the city was firmly in German hands by the end of the day.

The scale of German victory should not be underestimated. The BEF had ceased to exist as a cohesive force. A huge gap had been ripped in the Allied lines that exposed the flanks of the Belgians to the north and the French to the south. The road and rail network of Ypres was now under German control and the Prussian Guard Corps was poised to exploit the advantage.

Falkenhayn was a calculating man, not given to hyperbole, but his headquarters was thick with the euphoria of victory on the evening of 31 October. He raised a toast in honour of the Kaiser and delivered a simple assessment of the day to his monarch: ‘Your Majesty, the English army has been destroyed.’²⁰

Retreat and Pursuit

Sir John French was a ‘soldier’s general’ who cared deeply about his men and had a keen sense of their morale. In early September, alarmed at the exhaustion of his soldiers after the Great Retreat, he had proposed to the British government that the BEF be withdrawn from the line for rest and refit.²¹ On that occasion he had been brusquely overruled. This time, recognising that ministers in London would not understand the crisis at the front, he chose to act first and inform the government later. Despite the bitter protestations of the French and Belgians, Sir John withdrew the shattered remnants of the British from the line and retreated towards Boulogne. His intentions were twofold. Locating his army near the Channel ports would allow timely reinforcement from Britain, but perhaps more pertinently it would also allow swift evacuation if the Allied line collapsed. Sir John was a pragmatic commander. If the Allies were defeated, Britain would need all its soldiers to protect its own shores. There was no purpose in allowing what remained of the regular army to be uselessly sacrificed in France.

The French took a decidedly different view of the British ‘betrayal’.²² The twin blows of the breakthrough at Gheluvelt and the withdrawal of the BEF left them facing an operational crisis. A major gap had appeared in the line but redeploying troops to fill it was tremendously difficult due to the loss of the transportation hub at Ypres. The situation was especially critical for Belgian troops to the north, who were now in grave danger of being encircled and trapped against the coast. Withdrawal was the only option available to the Allied armies. The loss of British forces made it imperative that the front was shortened to prevent further German breakthroughs. On 1 November, Joffre gave the order to fall back.

The situation required rapid movement of the kind that had characterised the Great Retreat of August. However, the circumstances were very different. Flanders was known for its autumnal rains and the first week of November was sodden with precipitation. This turned the lesser roads of the area to mud and hampered the movement of heavy equipment. Many retreating soldiers, already exhausted after a month of fierce fighting, found themselves at the end of their endurance. The blow to morale fell heavily on the Belgians who were abandoning the last free city of their country to the invaders. The French Army also felt the mental strain as they retreated further into their own country, joining throngs of civilian refugees who crowded the roads. A British journalist remembered that ‘The whole countryside was a mass of burning villages … Hundreds of mangled wounded lay unattended on the roads.’²³

The Germans were less affected by the weather. Control of Ypres allowed them to make use of the well-developed road network of the area, which benefitted from paving and drainage. Falkenhayn took full advantage and launched a vigorous pursuit. The British, who had marched away first, were largely beyond his reach. However, exhausted French and dispirited Belgian formations were constantly harried by cavalry and jaegers. The elite Prussian Guards were at the forefront of the pursuit. German morale soared as they advanced ever deeper into France.

The Allies had enormous difficulty breaking free from the German pursuit. Joffre had hoped to avoid a repeat of the large-scale loss of French territory that had occurred in August. However, despite some courageous rearguard actions and local counterattacks, his troops were simply too tired and too demoralised to break contact with their tormentors. Thousands of Allied soldiers were captured or simply went missing on the harrowing retreat. Joffre’s original plan for a relatively short withdrawal gave way to a much larger retreat to the south-west. The withdrawal to the south left Calais isolated and the town was soon cut off and besieged. The port was defended by a ragtag mixture of French territorials, Belgian stragglers, and Royal Marines. However, the garrison was dependent on a tenuous naval supply line that became a magnet for U-boats. Furthermore, the defenders could do nothing against the German siege guns which were systematically pounding the port. After a fortnight of increasingly desperate resistance, the survivors were evacuated by the Royal Navy under the cover of darkness.

By mid-November, with the recuperating British at Boulogne on the left, the new Allied line ran in a south-easterly direction to Bethune. Everything to the north of this line fell into German hands. The new Allied position was dreadfully weak. The Flanders front had stretched approximately sixty kilometres from the Channel coast to Ypres; the Boulogne–Bethune front was closer to a hundred kilometres and was held by considerably fewer troops due to the disastrous losses suffered on the retreat. The British forces at Boulogne had had time to dig in and the French had worked feverishly to fortify their positions around Bethune, but the bulk of the line in-between only existed on paper. Some areas of the front were held by nothing more than cavalry screens or desperately overstretched French territorial units.

Whilst the Allies struggled to form their line, the Germans were experiencing problems of their own. The rapid advance into north-eastern France and the lunge for Calais had caused the army to outrun its logistic network. German troops were elated at their success but physically exhausted by the pace of operations. Furthermore, the winter of 1914 was one of the coldest on record. Falkenhayn had no choice but to wait while his staff set up logistical bases in the newly conquered territory. Nevertheless, it was clear that Germany had won a great victory. Mobility had been restored to the front, the Allied armies had been smashed, and the Channel ports were in German hands.

1915: Consequences

1915 was a bleak year for the western Allies. The Belgian Army had been effectively destroyed by the defeat at Ypres. The force had always relied upon its courage to make up for its limited training, but the bitter retreat from its homeland shattered its morale. It had suffered high casualties and had been forced to abandon most of its equipment and stores. The surviving divisions, reduced to mere skeleton formations by their losses, were further weakened by spiralling desertion rates as exhausted soldiers sought a way to return home to Belgium. In December 1914, commander-in-chief King Albert I informed his allies that his force existed only on paper and announced his intention to withdraw it from the fighting, retaining it only as ‘an army in being’. It would play no further part in the war.

Meanwhile, across the English Channel the British were faced with a strategic nightmare. The destruction of the regular BEF and the loss of Calais caused panic in Whitehall. Lord Kitchener, the Secretary of State for War, had held back British forces from France in August 1914 due to fears of a surprise German invasion. Faced with far greater dangers in January 1915, he was forced to retain a large portion of British forces on the south coast in anticipation of a German cross-channel attack. Territorial divisions were rushed out to Boulogne to reconstitute the BEF, but these formations suffered from limited training and inadequate equipment. Their inexperience would cost them dearly in the battles of 1915.

The need to secure the coast and reinforce Boulogne meant that schemes to take the offensive against the Ottoman Empire were abandoned. There was no prospect of sending out British divisions to a peripheral theatre when there was a grave threat lurking across the Channel. Similarly, the Royal Navy insisted on retaining its full strength in home waters, which eliminated the possibility of a naval attack on the Dardanelles. The Middle East became the preserve of the Indian Army, which, lacking the resources to prosecute a vigorous offensive, was forced to concentrate on the defence of Egypt and the Suez Canal. The passivity of the British had the baleful effect of disappointing pro-Allied neutrals such as Italy and Greece, whilst simultaneously bolstering Turkish morale. Growing Ottoman confidence resulted in a series of ambitious offensives in 1915. Although these only achieved limited military success the damage to Britain’s imperial prestige was severe.

With its western allies crippled, France was left alone to face the German onslaught. Still reeling from the bloodletting at Ypres, with the line overstretched and the defences at Bethune outflanked, the French struggled to hold off the renewed German attacks that were unleashed along the front between January and June 1915. The symbolic fortress of Verdun was cut off and besieged, with the German siege lines beating back all French attempts to relieve the beleaguered garrison. Elsewhere, the Second Battle of the Aisne ended in a German victory and allowed the attackers to advance on Paris once more. Meanwhile, the paper-thin Boulogne–Bethune line was driven in during a dramatic fortnight in May 1915. The heroism of the French soldiers could not make up for the dire operational and strategic position which the army faced. The French fought stubbornly and even won a handful of local victories, but there was to be no ‘miracle’ in 1915 as there had been a year earlier.

Facing defeat on all fronts, Britain and France looked desperately towards Russia to redress the balance. Falkenhayn’s victory at Ypres meant that the Western Front had priority for German reinforcements, leaving only a handful of divisions in the east to stiffen the spine of the Austro-Hungarian Army. Lumbering Russian offensives crashed into these relatively weak Austro-German lines and made steady, albeit costly, progress. But the Russian steamroller was a slow and unreliable machine at the best of times, and the inability of the Allies to supply Russia’s faltering economy due to the Ottomans’ closure of the Black Sea route greatly diminished Russian offensive capability.

In June 1915, with the Western Front crumbling and the government in disarray, France made unofficial approaches to Germany regarding a potential armistice. Holding a dominant position, Germany made clear that it expected France to accept the humiliating terms contained within the so-called ‘September Memorandum’. These demanded the annexation of huge chunks of territory from France – including the Channel ports – and included a provision to leave it economically crippled. Belgian independence would be completely extinguished as the country was to be formally annexed into the German Empire.

The latter half of 1915 would be defined by a mixture of ferocious combat and equally savage politicking. Whilst Allied armies fought and died at the front, politicians who favoured peace clashed spectacularly with those who argued for continued resistance. The victors would reshape Europe in 1916.

The Reality

Historically, the Battle of Ypres was a decisive German defeat. Falkenhayn launched a series of costly frontal attacks against the Allies in a vain attempt to break through to the Channel ports. The assaults gained some ground but only at a high cost in lives, and by the middle of November the Germans had been fought to a standstill.

The defeat at Ypres meant that the pre-war German strategy to win a swift victory in the west before turning against Russia had collapsed. In a reversal of pre-war planning, the General Staff decided to adopt a defensive posture on the Western Front and concentrate on defeating Russia. The strategic consequences of this decision were profound, as the failure to defeat Britain and France in 1914 locked Germany into a two-front war that steadily eroded its military position.

However, things could have been different had Falkenhayn realised how close he had come to breaking the British line at Gheluvelt. The repulse of the German attack of the 31 October was a remarkable feat of arms. German forces had smashed through the British line and captured Gheluvelt by midday. Whilst trying to formulate a response to the disaster, British commanders Lomax (CO, 1st Division) and Monro (CO, 2nd Division) were hit by German shelling as described in the scenario, thus breaking the chain of command at a critical time.

At this point, Charles FitzClarence seized the initiative. Acting without orders, he commandeered the last British reserves – the 2nd Worcestershires, a unit over which he had no formal authority – and launched them into a counterattack against the Germans occupying the village. The attack took the Germans completely by surprise and routed them from Gheluvelt. Although the Battle of Ypres continued until 22 November, the fight for Gheluvelt was Germany’s best opportunity to break through the British line.

This scenario makes several changes to the history. In reality, the first German attack on 31 October was repulsed and a second bombardment was ordered, which allowed the follow-up to break through. To allow a swifter German advance I have made reference to a batch of faulty ammunition: this batch was actually delivered on 29 October and proved a serious detriment to the British riflemen on that day. In the story, any hope of a British counterattack is snuffed out with the death of FitzClarence; he was actually killed by a stray bullet on 12 November 1914. The death of Douglas Haig is entirely my own invention, although historically Haig did ride down the Menin Road towards the front on 31 October and was at risk of being hit by German shellfire. I have also given the Germans some formidable forces for exploitation in the form of the Prussian Guards Corps. Historically, the Guards were still arriving around Ypres on 31 October and would not be ready for action until the second week of November.

It is unlikely that Sir John French would have withdrawn in the manner described in the story, but it is not impossible given his desire to do so in September 1914. The consequences for the French would have been disastrous. The French Army suffered appalling losses between August and October 1914. Severe losses in November – plus the defeat of its Belgian and British allies – would have left France in a dire strategic position in early 1915.