8

The Somme Steamroller

Stuart Mitchell

The tide of the First World War turned at 7.30 a.m. on 1 July 1916. Over one and a half thousand artillery pieces lifted their fire onto the next line and nineteen divisions of British and French infantry rushed towards the German positions. This was the first day of the Battle of the Somme and would prove to be the British Army’s greatest victory since the war began.

Four Months Earlier …
17 March 1916: Chateau de Querrieu, Querrieu, France

General Sir Henry Rawlinson was sick with influenza. He had only moved the headquarters of his 4th Army to the lofty, lush surroundings of Chateau de Querrieu on 24 February and now he had been forced to depart for two weeks to the south of France. In the meantime his able Chief of Staff Brigadier General Archibald Montgomery set to work formulating the plan for what would be the largest attack in the history of the British Army.

Rawlinson, or ‘Rawly’ as he was known, was a tall, slender, upright man. The thin, moustached face and warm – sometimes toothy – smile masked a ruthless, devious streak. His unbridled ambition had led some to dub him ‘the Cad’, but he was serious and analytical about his profession. His military education had taken him from the fields of Sandhurst to the kopjes of South Africa; he attended the Staff College at Camberley and toured the battlefields of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870–1. He understood the principles and realities of modern war, the value of combined arms, the importance of ‘moral’ fortitude and the danger of modern firepower, especially machine guns and quick-firing artillery. It was no surprise that at the outbreak of the Great War he rose rapidly through the ranks, from a War Office staff position to command of IV Corps, all in a matter of months. In January 1916 he took charge of the newly created 4th Army, and by the end of February he had been entrusted with command of the planned assault on the Somme. Before the sickness took hold he had thoroughly inspected the front line and outlined his intentions to Montgomery. The offensive would have to take the form of a calculated bite-and-hold attack. This method had two intertwined elements. First came the ‘bite’: overwhelming artillery fire would neutralise a limited portion of the German defences, allowing the British infantry to seize and consolidate the position. The second element was the ‘hold’: when the Germans launched their inevitable counterattacks, they would be met by dug-in British infantry and devastating artillery fire. In theory, bite-and-hold allowed the British to capture a position relatively cheaply, and then inflict stinging casualties on the Germans when they counterattacked across open ground.

Despite demanding caution in planning, Rawly was optimistic: ‘It is capital country in which to undertake an offensive when we get a sufficiency of artillery, for the observation is excellent and with plenty of guns and ammunition we ought to be able to avoid the heavy losses which the infantry have always suffered on previous occasions.’¹

Refreshed and rejuvenated, Rawlinson returned at the end of March. He found Montgomery’s plan to his liking. The idea was to launch a limited attack on the German line, encompassing a wide frontage between Serre and Mametz, after a prolonged bombardment of four or five days. Once this line was taken, and the German counterattacks repelled, the artillery would be brought forward and the second line would be assaulted in the north between Serre and Combles within a matter of days, using the same bite-and-hold techniques. Step by cautious step, 4th Army would blast holes in the enemy defences and repel all attempts to strike back. The process of attrition would favour the British, for they would use firepower as an answer to manpower. The Germans would lack this luxury, and every repulsed counterattack would cost them in blood. Over time the German infantry would be bled white until finally it would be unable to resist. After this calculated, methodical destruction was wrought and the Germans had cracked, the British would swing south and roll up the line. Territory was no longer an end in itself but merely a means of causing as many German casualties as possible. It was to be a battle of pure, remorseless attrition.

Meanwhile …
British General Headquarters, Montreuil-sur-Mer, France

Douglas Haig was under pressure. The BEF’s commander-in-chief had to contend with politicians in Westminster still reluctant to give the commitments needed to win a continental war. He also faced problems with his French allies, who were under immense strain after the German assault on the fortress town of Verdun began on 21 February. Amidst all this he had to oversee and coordinate the preparations for a combined attack in line with the agreements made at the Chantilly conferences in December 1915 and February 1916. Haig was not yet confident this force was up to the task. He confided in his diary: ‘I have not got an Army in France really, but a collection of divisions untrained for the field.’² In spite of these problems, the German attack against Verdun distracted attention from the British section of the line, and provided Haig with an opportunity to strike a serious, unexpected blow when the time was right. Haig was cautiously optimistic about his chances.

The Rawlinson–Montgomery plan left Haig conflicted. On the one hand he knew that the plan to ‘kill Germans’ was fundamentally ‘correct’ but it took little account of the needs of the French army. Inter-Allied relations were fragile and dangerous.³ Any British action had to relieve the pressure on its ally and every day of fighting at Verdun curtailed French commitment a little more. French plans for the Somme dwindled from a grandiose assault using three armies to crush the German defences, into a single army operating in a subsidiary capacity to the British. The French commander-in-chief, General Joseph Joffre, maintained the hope that under sustained, violent assault the entire Western Front might shatter. His optimism fuelled Haig. The 4th Army must be more ambitious. Three or four kilometres of ground and a heap of dead Germans were not enough: ‘I think we can do better than this by aiming at getting as large a combined force of French and British across the Somme and fighting the Enemy in the open!’⁴ Haig wanted the first and second line assaulted on the same day. He wanted a short bombardment. Thus began a tortuous process of planning, Rawlinson compromising with Haig, and Haig compromising with Joffre.

Back at Chateau de Querrieu …
April 1916

Rawlinson knew what was coming. He knew Haig had grander ideas: ‘I daresay I shall have a tussle with him over the limited objective for I hear he is inclined to favour the unlimited with the chance of breaking the German line.’⁵ When Haig’s comments came back pushing for deeper objectives, a wider front, and a short bombardment, his expectations were fulfilled. The idea of taking the first and second lines in one bound was ‘alluring’, but Rawlinson knew from bitter experience that to stand any chance of success he must concentrate his artillery on a single line, pulverise the German positions and give his infantry the best cover possible. This put him in a tricky position. One did not simply ignore ‘the chief’, but he knew anything more ambitious than the first line risked abject failure.

The terse thought bluntly shot through Rawlinson’s head: ‘I owe this man. He saved my career.’ Haig had shielded him from dismissal the previous year, when Rawlinson’s devious streak had got the better of him: in a moment of scandalous weakness, Rawlinson had pinned the blame for his own failings at the Battle of Neuve Chapelle on his poor subordinate Joey Davies, commanding 8th Division. But that was over a year ago. He had to focus on the here and now; he had to convince his superior that bite-and-hold was the best method. They had always had a strong working relationship and Rawlinson knew what the British Army’s manual, Field Service Regulations Part I, said of planning: the commander could set the object of the attack but the method of attaining it was up to him.⁶ Rawlinson simply did not have the means to achieve the goals Haig set him, so he restated his rationale behind the first plan. The German second line was too far away to assault before enemy reserves arrived; it was sited on a reverse slope, making observation and wire-cutting extremely difficult; and the green troops of the New Armies would find it hard to maintain coordination at such distances. Rawlinson knew this would not be enough, so he offered a fig-leaf compromise: he would extend the line of attack down to Maricourt and include the town of Montauban in the initial objectives. This would link the attack up with the French and aid their assault north of the Somme. Cavalry would be assigned to the assault corps and would be held in readiness to exploit any sudden disintegration of the German defences. The guns would also be brought forward immediately to support a rapid advance on the second line if the enemy was found to be in disarray. Despite this, on the final issue of bombardment there could be no such rapprochement. Rawlinson knew he did not have the guns, the ammunition, or the gunners skilled enough to deliver a short hurricane bombardment of sufficient intensity to cut the wire and neutralise the defenders. In any case, what surprise and ‘moral’ impact that could be gained would surely be sacrificed by the French, who planned a long bombardment. Rawlinson stood firm on his plans. Time would tell if he was justified.

May–June 1916: GHQ, Montreuil-sur-Mer

Haig began to wonder whether he should have left Edmund Allenby, 3rd Army’s intimidating commander, in charge of the operation. After all, he originally held that section of the line before he was forced to send a British Army to relieve the French 10th Army outside Arras. It was too late now to change. Clemenceau, the French prime minister, met with Haig on 4 May 1916 and impressed upon him the dangers of a premature offensive, for defeat risked inflicting irreparable harm on French civilian morale. Yet there was also time pressure, for the bloodletting at Verdun continued unchecked. The French could not be expected to continue to shoulder the burden of the fighting. The British must play their part.

Joseph Joffre doubted that the British would be willing to take their share of the war. He was not alone. His fears were shared by his Army Group commander, Ferdinand Foch, who felt a French commitment was the only way to ensure the British would be drawn into a major battle. He would attack and it would be methodical, limited, and crushing, and they would do this arm-in-arm with the British.

The strain of Verdun was showing. Mutual suspicions flared. But Haig kept a cool head. He saw the wisdom in conducting an attack in line with his allies and using similar methods. Speed and surprise remained important, but with the French demanding action and the plans set down across the line for a limited attack, Haig accepted that Rawlinson should be allowed to use his bite-and-hold approach.

Haig knew what it would mean if he got this decision wrong: ‘I am responsible and must bear the blame, not General Joffre!’ he told Clemenceau. Alliance concerns dominated, and by the end of the month he spelt it out to William Robertson, Chief of the Imperial General Staff at the War Office, ‘we must march to support the French.’⁷ Haig still felt that a breakthrough of the German lines was possible but accepted, as Joffre had, that this would only come after a succession of significant blows. Meanwhile, Rawlinson’s 4th Army was put to work organising the artillery plans, preparing the ground, and setting the tactical plans.

Tactical Choices …
May 1916: Chateau de Querrieu, Querrieu, France

These troops were green and Rawlinson knew it. The large expansion of the army had meant that officers and commanders were generally inexperienced in their roles. It was his duty to help in whatever way he could and so he began drawing up his Tactical Notes: a short pamphlet giving practical guidance to his subordinates. By May the memorandum was ready to be sent to his formations. Rawlinson spelt out the importance of setting objectives that took account of the effective range of the artillery and the physical endurance of the men. In combat he urged his infantry to use a steady pace all the way to their objectives and attack simultaneously along the length of the line. Rawlinson knew that selectively breaking from this doctrine might turn the tide of battle, and thus he approved of lightly equipped elements rushing forward to tackle certain enemy features. That was not the end of it. The memorandum also recommended that units take a parallel position to the target objective to help keep direction; consolidating captured positions using strongpoints with supports linked by robust communications with the rear; and the employment of Stokes mortars and Lewis light machine guns to suppress troublesome enemy small-arms fire. Much advice that might have been dangerously irrelevant in a broad breakthrough attack was pertinent to men tasked with a genuine bite-and-hold attack. The Tactical Notes were the product of Rawlinson’s reflection on the conduct of limited attacks, where coordination, order, and cohesion trumped speed and surprise. Effective consolidation and the use of the infantry’s firepower was the key to inflicting serious losses to the German counterattacks.

Yet in Rawlinson’s notes lay the seeds of controversy and disappointment. His desire for structure and order, driven by a pessimistic view of the fitness, capabilities, and robustness of the new citizen army, pushed him to advise his subordinates that ‘each body of troops must be given a definite objective to attack and consolidate.’ This short, innocuous sentence, indicative of the rigidly defined approach, would cast a shadow across the achievements of 4th Army long after the guns had fallen silent.⁸ In the postwar world Winston Churchill and David Lloyd George became the chief prosecutors in the courtroom of public opinion. Politicians led a crusade to separate themselves from the bloody costs of victory, while Haig and Rawlinson were condemned as the timid generals guilty of letting a great victory slip from the nation’s grasp. But all of that was yet to come.

Flogged by Hail of Leaden Balls …
24 June–1 July 1916: Serre to Maricourt, the Somme, France

On 24 June a wall of flame, steel, and shot engulfed the German positions between Serre and Maricourt. For the next seven days the British guns brutally and methodically undertook their violent work. The 4th Army’s 182 heavy guns and 245 heavy howitzers attended to the systematic obliteration of the skeletal remains of once-idyllic French villages. Beaumont Hamel, Thiepval, Ovillers, La Boiselle, Fricourt, and Mametz were reduced to ruins and scattered brickwork. Field howitzers and trench mortars of all sizes launched their deadly projectiles into the German lines, splintering, smashing, and collapsing whole sections and their supporting revetments. Meanwhile the field guns launched clouds of shrapnel into the thick banks of barbed wire, shifting and slicing significant gaps. Elsewhere, quick firing 18-pounders raked the communication routes with a hailstorm of projectiles day after day and night after night. The bombardment was devastating and altered the landscape beyond recognition. All that remained after the war was a desolate, pock-marked strip of land scarred by war, with its detritus scattered all around. The haunting image of the barren, cratered hill upon which Beaumont Hamel once stood was typical of the entire twenty-thousand-yard front.

The British infantry were in good spirits. ‘Oh there is no doubt about it, Germany is finished,’ one Scotsman wrote home. Others remarked upon the ‘days of terror for the enemy’ living under the ‘tumult of rage’ coming from the guns.⁹ Official reports took a terse tone, only noting that the fire was having a ‘good effect. The enemy trenches much knocked about. Remaining wire was all cleared. Hostile enemy artillery was observed registering his own trenches.’¹⁰

The infantry were not mere bystanders to this bombardment. Every night, patrols and raids were conducted to assess the damage; they probed the line looking for strongpoints and areas that remained untouched by the persistent shelling. Areas where the German defences were stiff were reported to the artillery for further attention. But broadly, the enemy defence was feeble and laboured, as would be expected of troops forced to endure incessant bombardment, and whose supply and communications had been severed. Nightly, British infantry would patrol no man’s land and sweep rear areas with machine-gun fire. The constant pressure made no man’s land a no-go area for the Germans. All the while, overhead, the buzz of British and French aeroplanes constantly reminded the defenders that they were materially outmatched.

The German Frontsoldaten suffered terribly under the thunderous bombardment. The trommelfeuer (drum-fire) was unrelenting, pummelling the hapless defenders who were deprived of rest, support, and resources. One soldier spoke of the ‘hail of leaden balls [that] whistled through the air and the leaves of the trees and flogged into what was left of the village of Beaumont Hamel.’ By the end of the bombardment one surviving German recalled how ‘it seemed like our end had come.’ Their wire was flattened, the trenches reduced to ‘shallow hollows’ and their deep dugouts, which offered the only protection in this fire-swept wasteland, had their exits blown in. For the unlucky few whose dugouts did not have multiple exit points their havens became their tombs. On 26 and 27 June the British released poison gas, and while the overall effect was limited it served to compound the misery of the German soldier.¹¹

The bombardment was due to end on 29 June, but poor weather hampered observation and delayed the assault by two days. The density and intensity of the fire, its relentless thumping of the German lines and the deprivation it caused left the front-line garrisons tired, hungry, and concussed. Yet they were not a broken force. Despite the overwhelming material superiority of the Allies, the desire for revenge was awoken: ‘You made a good job of it, you British! Seven days and nights you rapped and hammered on our door! Now your reception was going to match your turbulent longing to enter!’ Seven days had passed, one and a half million shells had been fired and now it was the moment of truth: would Rawlinson’s limited approach be vindicated?

Into Battle!
1 July 1916, 7.30 a.m. Onwards …

In the north the attack began well. The left and centre divisions (31st and 4th) of Hunter-Weston’s VIII Corps soon seized the German front-line trenches. The bombardment had flattened the defensive positions and progress was swift. The left flank was covered by a thick barrage of smoke and shrapnel. But the ‘bite’ was only the first part of the battle. VIII Corps was up against strong, well-trained German regiments – 66th on the flank to the north, 161st opposing the 31st Division, and 121st against the 4th Division – who responded with immediate counterattacks. These hit the British before they had chance to consolidate their gains. The battle degenerated into localised fighting centring on strongpoints like the town of Serre, and the heavily fortified Quadrilateral Redoubt, known to the Germans as the Heidenkopf.

Although there was no tactical prescription – some battalions had attacked in waves and others in column – the two divisions of VIII Corps maintained cohesion and were able to repel the determined German counterattacks and push onwards towards their final objectives. By the end of the day, the 31st Division held the first two lines of trenches and had established themselves along the north and western perimeter of Serre. The village itself remained in German hands, as did Pendant Copse. Unfortunately, the counterattacks had taken much of the impetus out of their assault, and German artillery fire made reinforcement difficult. To their right the 4th Division had overcome the vicious resistance at the Quadrilateral Redoubt and pushed on to the Redan Ridge. Their progress was then stalled by the failure to take Serre and Beaumont Hamel to the south, and the formidable Munich Trench, running from the southern edge of Serre, remained in German hands.

The story of VIII Corps’ right division, the 29th, was more tragic. Attacking along a valley overlooked by German observation posts, the British launched themselves against the enemy positions surrounding Beaumont Hamel. To ease their passage, 4th Army had approved the detonation of a bomb that been placed under Hawthorn Redoubt by mining companies. At 7.20 a.m. this was blown. The eruption flung debris skywards, cleaving a huge hole in the ridge. As the assault progressed, both sides occupied opposing lips of the crater. Bullets thudded into the broken earth as each side furiously tried to win the fire-fight. Artillery and trench mortar shells thudded into the shattered terrain, churning the already broken ground. All attempts to evict the defenders from their makeshift positions ended in bloody failure and the attack was halted. Further down the line ‘Y Ravine’ posed a problem; concealed German positions that had avoided detection during the bombardment took a heavy toll on the attacking 87th Brigade and the British attack stalled, unable to progress beyond the captured front line.

The trenches around Y Ravine remained in British hands, but over the coming days bloody localised bombing battles erupted as the infantry sought to make further inroads. These small, piecemeal close-quarter battles took their toll on the 87th Brigade and their relieving 88th Brigade, but, fighting downhill, gains were gradually made. For the VIII Corps the day was a mixed affair: initial optimism was soon replaced by sombre disappointment as German counterattacks, concentrated defensive barrages, and fire from remaining strongpoints took their toll. The Germans had held onto Beaumont Hamel and Serre, but lost some important positions. However, while their hold on VIII Corps’ front had been significantly weakened, it was far from broken.

Things went better for X Corps. On the left of their line the 36th (Ulster) Division had advanced early and taken position in no man’s land whilst the bombardment was still in progress. Once the guns had lifted, the division stormed the positions north and south of the Ancre. German shellfire made communications difficult but within a few hours the Ulstermen had taken all of their objectives and established themselves in the formidable Schwaben Redoubt. The concentrated British artillery bombardment had obliterated any German resistance and, while some enfilade fire was taken from the north around Beaucourt and Thiepval in the south, the division remained cohesive enough to hold their gains. A battery of French artillery equipped with quick-firing 75-mm guns further bolstered the density of the 36th Division’s artillery and did much that day to protect the flank of the division.¹²

To their right, 32nd Division faced the fortified town of Thiepval and the adjacent Leipzig spur. German machine guns with overlapping fields of fire made any approach extremely dangerous. The 32nd Division had made an extensive reconnaissance of the town: buildings were counted and of the sixty-six identified, thirteen were picked out for significant attention from the artillery. Those with deep cellars were subjected to the heaviest shelling. During the preliminary bombardment the buildings that remained were flattened in a hail of howitzer and trench mortar fire. This careful preparation greatly facilitated the advance of the division. The two leading brigades adopted a similar approach to the 36th (Ulster) Division and waited out the barrage in no man’s land. The idea originally stemmed from the 97th Brigade’s wily commander, James Jardine, who had witnessed the Japanese ‘hug’ the barrage and storm the Russian entrenchments in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904–5.

The results were initially spectacular. On the left the 96th Brigade, facing the north-western edge of the village, swept through the trenches and drove onwards, taking advantage of the defenders’ disorder. The subsequent waves struggled to mop up some of the German front-line dugouts, whose garrisons emerged after the first assault had passed, but these defenders had suffered heavy losses and were no match for the reinforcements now flowing into their lines. Prisoners streamed back towards the British positions, in some places suffering casualties where their own patchy counter-barrage fell. As the rear of Thiepval was reached, the supporting battalions of the 14th Brigade were committed and each trench, ruin, and cellar was fought over with bomb and bayonet until the village was in British hands.

On the right the 97th Brigade assaulted the Leipzig spur. The maze of trenches along this jutting ridge line was crowned by two strongpoints: the Wundwerk, ‘Wonder Work’ to the British, in the rear and the Leipzig Redoubt at the tip. Before the assault the two leading battalions crept forward until they were a mere fifty yards from the bombardment; once the guns lifted, the Scotsmen stormed the position. The khaki-clad figures of the 16th and 17th Highland Light Infantry smashed into the German lines, overwhelming the dazed defenders. Some immediately surrendered, others fired distress flares and scampered rearwards; a few remained motionless in their dugouts, cowed by the ferocity of what they had experienced over the last seven days. The Scots ploughed on while ‘moppers-up’ poured in behind to take their place. The deep dugouts may have held firm against the mightiest of shells but they offered no protection against explosives rolled down the steps. Phosphorous grenades burned men out of their catatonia – another horror of industrial war.

The leading units took the first and support lines before the 97th Brigade’s supporting battalion was committed to the fray. By end of the day the village and accompanying spur had been taken. The achievements of the 36th (Ulster) Division, and the flanking fire provided against the village, greatly aided the progress of the 96th Brigade, while the 97th Brigade’s innovative tactics gave the attack a rapid tempo leaving the defenders impotent. Nevertheless, casualties were heavy especially for the families of Salford and Glasgow, whose Lancashire Fusiliers and Highland Infantry Battalions had led the charge. For many the news of the achievements would offer little consolation for the loss of a father, husband, brother, or son.

Sir William Pulteney’s III Corps attacked with two divisions, the 8th and 34th. Advancing against Ovillers and La Boiselle, they made slow but steady progress. The 8th Division was over-extended and committed all three brigades to the attack, leaving itself no local reserve. Nevertheless, despite the broad front, the attack was limited to taking Ovillers and the trench line protecting the Nab valley. The defences here were less formidable than further north, but the width between the British lines and the German positions meant that much more was riding on the success of the bombardment in neutralising the defensive positions. When the attack opened, the men advanced over the obliterated front lines pushing up the Nab valley. The speed and rushes of the X Corps could not be repeated by the 8th Division, who were attacking along a bend in the line. In particular, the 70th Brigade had the unenviable task of having to make a left wheel to attack the Nordwerk strongpoint in the German reserve trench. The slower pace of the advance helped keep cohesion but meant that the infantry had to spend longer in the open. Fortunately, the Royal Artillery carried out splendid work on this front, concentrating fire on the German reserves and Nordwerk positions and subduing the defenders, allowing the 8th Division to achieve their goals. German counterattacks were frequent, but the observation provided by the captured Leipzig spur allowed the artillery to engage them as they amassed in the valley below. Elsewhere, the 34th Division employed two mines in this heavily cratered area; both were blown at 7.28 a.m., allowing the troops to take advantage of the disorder. Hard fighting took place in this narrow front, but by the end of the day the salient at La Boiselle was in British hands.

To the south of La Boiselle sat the villages of Fricourt and Mametz. The plan here was for XV Corps’ two divisions, 21st and 7th, to progress either side of Fricourt, converging on the German third line of trenches. The right brigade of the 7th Division would fight alongside the XIII Corps’ 18th Division and take Mametz. The bombardment was particularly effective on this front. Mines were used on the strongpoints in front of Fricourt and the 21st Division took their objectives to the north of the village. But the surviving German defenders reaped a heavy toll on the division and the frontal attack by the 50th Brigade (attached from 17th Division) blundered into the assault in piecemeal fashion. Enemy soldiers could be seen standing brazenly above the parapet, pouring fire into the oncoming Tommies. Machine guns raked the lines, causing considerable losses to the leading companies. Still the Yorkshiremen came, pressing forward with courage and tenacity. It was not enough and the men of this brigade were massacred.

The 7th Division’s 22nd Brigade fared better. The German positions were far weaker on this front and in some places the defensive works had not been completed before the bombardment started. Although the brigade suffered heavily from German fire from Fricourt, they managed to push forward methodically, infiltrating the German trench line, driving beyond the village and threatening its flank. The German garrison was left with no choice but to evacuate towards Fricourt Wood. They left behind them a scene of devastation, German and British bodies were strewn among the shattered brickwork and trench lines. The attackers had fought well. The pursuing British infantry established a contiguous line of defence encompassing Fricourt, Fricourt Wood, and the German reserve trenches. The success at Fricourt was down to a combination of positioning, bombardment, and circumstance.

The right of the 7th Division progressed in an equally satisfactory manner. Mametz offered stern resistance but the relentless pummelling it had taken from the predatory bombardment had fatally weakened its defenders. Advancing under a novel curtain of artillery shells, a creeping barrage, the 7th Division swept across no man’s land. Their objectives were taken with few losses. Both 21st and 7th Division ‘joined hands’ along their final objective. The attackers had accomplished their task and heavy losses had been inflicted on the Germans. Moreover, the two divisions maintained enough strength to repel all counterattacks.

The greatest success of the day came on the XIII Corps’ front where the 18th Division and 30th Division captured Pommiers Redoubt and the town of Montauban. As with other successes, the way was paved by the gunners, who had shattered the German defences with a maelstrom of shells. The metronomic clatter of artillery provided the percussion accompaniment to a soundtrack whose high notes were hit by the rattle of distant machine guns. In a final crescendo the attacking infantry swept aside the stunned and disorganised defenders, and all objectives were quickly taken.

The success of the British advance in this sector presented a tantalising opportunity. On the left Fricourt, Mametz, and Montauban had fallen, whilst to the right the French were progressing apace. All German counterattacks were hurled back in disarray. The German defences were in danger of collapsing on a wide front and Joffre’s dream of shattering the Western Front with one great blow was on the brink of becoming reality. Patrols pushed out over the next two days penetrated two miles through the fractured German lines.

In the coming years Rawlinson and Haig would be vilified for their rigidity in planning. David Lloyd George, the Secretary of State for War during the battle, bemoaned his generals’ lack of impetus:

A general must have vision, imagination and initiative – he must show untiring assiduity, must exercise constant oversight and command of great battles, must possess the driving force to carry the activity through to the very end and see that no blow goes unstruck. Haig and Rawlinson showed no such flair for conducting the great fight, on the Somme they were content to use only a broadsword when a rapier was required.¹³

Lloyd George had a point, Rawlinson’s approach did prevent the British from seizing this opportunity, despite the plan accommodating a rapid follow-up. His cautious, rigidly defined objectives allowed little scope to immediately push beyond the gains of 1 July. A determined drive with fresh reserves would have certainly taken a significant chunk of the German second line in the south, and possibly threatened the incomplete defences beyond. But no offensive could restore mobility in one blow and across the whole line the 4th Army was disorganised. The fog of war had descended rapidly and while patrols hinted at localised possibilities for a rapid advance the commanders knew the German reinforcements would be speeding their way from quieter sections of the line. Communications were intermittent and there were still doubts about the successes in the north and centre. It would be three days before the dust settled and Rawlinson realised the severity of the blow that he had struck against the German Army.

In the north the VIII Corps had been stopped just outside of Serre, while Beaumont Hamel remained stubbornly in German hands. The Corps found itself dangerously exposed in a salient and localised battles raged to improve their position. The neighbouring X Corps to the south fared better. The 36th Division swept forward astride the Ancre, taking important strongpoints and pushing outposts out beyond the final objective. The 32nd Division took the fortified town of Thiepval and the prominent Leipzig spur. Thanks in part to the efforts of the X Corps, William Pulteney’s III Corps escaped comparatively lightly. The Germans were pushed out of the Nordwerk strongpoint, while Ovillers and La Boiselle both fell. XV Corps on the right flank of III Corps ejected the enemy from Fricourt and the eponymous wood beyond but the belligerent defence of the town took a grave toll. The 21st Division suffered 3,994 casualties, the worst of any British division that day. The greatest laurels rested with the XIII Corps whose rapid assault smashed the defences around Montauban and destabilised the front ahead of them for two miles. The neighbouring French had played their part but much credit has to go to the 18th and 30th divisions, whose well-executed and meticulous assault ensured success in this portion of the line.

At the close of the first day on the Somme the British casualties totalled 26,609, of which 5,424 were killed. In return the Germans lost 32,109 across the combined British and French fronts, which amounted to nearly a third of the German strength in this sector. When the French gains are also considered, 1 July was a devastating blow and truly was ‘the muddy grave of the German field army’.¹⁴ They had lost key tactical positions and almost all of their first-line system from Beaumont Hamel to Fay in the French sector, with only Serre and Beaumont Hamel remaining in German hands.

Aftermath

Truly 1 July 1916 was a defining moment of the First World War. The German Army had been dealt a vicious blow. The pressure of fighting the British on the Somme and the French at Verdun was unbearable. The German Chief of the General Staff, Erich von Falkenhayn, reacted swiftly. On 2 July all planned offensive action at Verdun was halted and divisions were diverted to the Somme sector. Meanwhile back in Germany political support was growing for Paul von Hindenburg to replace Falkenhayn.

In the days that followed the guns were brought forward to new positions in the old British front line. Patrols were pushed out by the advanced divisions but key tactical points remained unoccupied, later to be bitterly contested. Places that would become the site of notorious bloodletting in the days that followed – Bernafay Wood, Trones Wood, Delville Wood, Contalmaison, and Longueval – may have fallen with little cost in those precious forty-eight hours after the initial assault. A more experienced army may have seized the initiative and captured them without instructions; as it was, the battalion, brigade, divisional, and corps commanders all proved reluctant to stray from the parameters of Rawlinson’s battle plan. As the shaken German divisions were reinforced, replaced, or regrouped, the Somme front began to stabilise. Consolidation and preparation for the next attack proved to be far more prolonged and bloody than Haig, Rawlinson, or Montgomery had expected.

The second great ‘bite’ came on 14 July. This was another tremendous hammer blow, albeit this time on a far smaller scale. In one swift night attack the German second-line positions south of Pozières along the Bazentin Ridge were swept away. High Wood remained a formidable obstacle halting the swift conquest of Flers and Martinpuich, while Pozières itself loomed like a spectre over the British gains. Furthermore, this methodical operation was followed by another bitter struggle to consolidate the gains and capture surviving strongpoints. The fighting cost thousands of lives on both sides of the wire. This was the limitation of ‘bite and hold’. It was not a universal panacea to the problems of trench warfare. Rawlinson’s rigid planning undoubtedly saved lives in the assault, but the costly localised battles that raged on in woods and ruined villages exacted a heavy toll on the British Army.

The British achieved their greatest success with the first two offensives on 1 July and 14 July. There were further ‘bites’, but the army’s teeth were becoming worn and each successive advance achieved a little less and suffered a little more. Rawlinson has been rightly criticised for failing to recognise the unflinching grip the law of diminishing returns had upon the Western Front. The difficulty of maintaining supply over a shell-ravaged battlefield, the baleful effect of wear on gun barrels which caused a reduction in artillery support, and the sheer speed with which the German Army was able to fortify new positions all contributed to the loss of offensive impetus. August, September, and October were bloody months. The battles for the heavily entrenched villages of Grandcourt, Warlencourt, Le Sars, and Gueudecourt scorched their names into the national psyche.

The fact that the final line came to rest along the axis of Puisieux, Irles, Gueudecourt, and Le Transloy was a testament to the limitations of Rawlinson’s method. As the battle became bogged down it was ever harder to make significant gains. Each operational pause to bring guns, munitions, men, and supplies forward gave the Germans enough time to prepare new and formidable defensive positions.

Credit should also be given to the German Army, which did not stay static in its defensive approach. After each successive British blow the Germans adapted their tactics accordingly. By the end of the battle the German method placed little emphasis on holding the front line, relying instead on deep interlocking defensive positions and carefully concealed artillery that would hold its fire until it could inflict maximum damage on the attackers. The speed, intensity, and effectiveness of German counterattacks increased, and they proved capable of inflicting significant casualties on surprised British infantry. These experiences towards the end of the Somme, brought on in part by the need to swiftly improvise defences, were a precursor of what would become standard German practice in 1917. When the battle was closed down in October, the German army, although battered and bloody, could nevertheless claim some credit for having fought the British to a standstill.

Yet for all the criticism that has been heaped upon the generals for embracing caution and attrition so unflinchingly, the first day of the Battle of the Somme was the vicious opening blow in a campaign that would wrest the strategic initiative firmly away from the Central Powers. The campaign led to a marked decline in the quality and morale of German troops and, despite tactical improvements, they would never quite recover. A testament to the Somme’s importance was given by Basil Liddell Hart who, in his best-selling The Real War recognised 1 July as a moment of triumph for the ‘steady, meticulous and limited approach to battle. No position of strength can be rendered so strong that it could resist well-coordinated artillery and infantry attack.’¹⁵

It created a military crisis for the German Army. On 18 July, four days after the second British attack, with consistent French pressure in the south and a major counteroffensive in Verdun, Falkenhayn was removed. Paul von Hindenburg was installed in his place and immediately ordered construction on a new heavily fortified position – the Siegfriedstellung – that would allow the Germans to withdraw from the Somme and shorten the Western Front by twenty-five miles. Although the immediate crisis passed, the cumulative damage was considerable. With troops being funnelled into Verdun and the Somme, the Eastern Front became a further source of serious concern, and only Russian political instability rescued the Germans from major losses. The following year they faced further crises, when a combination of Plumer’s methodical and effective offensive around Ypres and 3rd Army’s surprise tank attack at Cambrai broke the stalemate of the Western Front. Despite revolutionary fervour bubbling over in Russia, the provisional government did enough to tie down German forces in the East. Attrition had worked, the cumulative losses of the Somme, Verdun, Third Ypres, and Cambrai had shattered the manpower and morale of the German Army in the West. On 25 December 1917 an armistice was declared.

The Reality

In reality, 1 July was not a great triumph of arms, although the planning process certainly established the potential for it to be a success. It is easy to criticise after the event and ridicule the incompetence that led to certain decisions being taken, but it has to be remembered that in 1916 there was no consensus on what it would take to win the war and there was no established formula for success in battle.

This scenario explores what may have happened had Rawlinson’s ‘bite-and-hold’ method been implemented. Rawlinson’s limited approach may have led to greater initial success, fewer casualties, and it could well have averted the greatest single day of bloodshed in the British Army’s history. This should not be underestimated or downplayed. But ‘bite and hold’ was not a panacea to the problems of the Western Front. Given the technology, logistics, and organisational strength of the German Army it is almost inconceivable that the battle would have brought an end to the war in 1916. The BEF simply did not have the means to fight a war at the speed and tempo needed to overcome a modern European army like the Germans had at that time. A more successful attack in July 1916 may have accelerated the learning process for the British Army but there would be a lot further to go before it could culminate in success for the Entente.

In reality the Somme struck a heavy blow to German morale, but it was not terminal and it recovered fairly quickly; in this alternative reality something similar would have been the case. The involvement of British ‘pals’ battalions in the battle proved pivotal in creating a powerful local heritage and commemoration; this too would have remained although there may have been a greater variety of dates on the village memorials to the lost. Perhaps the most profound impact of the Somme has been upon the reputations of the generals who commanded it. In France Joffre, Foch, and Fayolle have been saved from the stigma reserved for Haig, and to a lesser extent, Rawlinson. The fact they were fighting a war of national survival with a self-evident military objective contrasts with the murky, disputed reasoning for Britain’s entry into the conflict. This would always have led to questions being asked of why and how the war was fought. Haig and Rawlinson may have shortened the war considerably by their actions in 1916 and 1917 but it is difficult to see how they would have escaped the snide, scathing, sometimes-satirical finger-pointing of later decades. Thankfully, in that alternative world there were also historians whose revisions might have challenged such simplistic notions.