Our bombardment had been going on for eight days – a bombardment so intense, that it seemed impossible for any human being to live under the terrible fire.
We had moved up to the front line trenches four days previous to the attack. They were not in very good condition; indeed, many of the fire bays and communication trenches were half full of water. During those four days we were subjected to very heavy fire from the enemy’s guns and trench mortars, and owing, also, to lack of accommodation for the men in the matter of dug-outs, they had a very bad time, and my already small platoon was reduced in numbers through casualties from high-explosives and shrapnel.
For many of the men, it was their first experience of trenches, and the conditions were of the worst kind for their initiation.
I spent those four days in making preparations for the attack, with the other officers of my company. The days were occupied in examining the ground before us, and learning the maps of the German trenches by heart. We discussed the fight from all conceivable standpoints. All the pros and cons were commented upon and argued over. We had practised the attack in the open during our period in the rear, time and again – indeed, the whole of the past month had been given up to training for the great advance. We had carried out innumerable operations in attack and defense, in charges with the bayonet, and “digging in.” We had been lectured by the staff, and we, in turn, had lectured to our men, till every officer, N.C.O. and man knew exactly what his duties were.
I spent the nights between the opposing trenches in reconnaissance work, and examining the enemy’s wire, always under fire, for the enemy had apparently got wind of our intentions, and were constantly on the look-out.
My last night was occupied in laying out a tape across our front, for the men to form up on, on the morrow, ready for the attack. This was a particularly nerve-racking operation, as we were under observation the whole time by the enemy, and were fired upon by their machine-guns every time we moved. The direction had to be obtained entirely by compass, which, though it may be easy under ordinary conditions, was particularly difficult owing to the barbed wire that lay strewn about, and the uneven nature of the ground.
Therefore, it can be imagined that, what with want of sleep and proper food (we had been living entirely on bully beef and biscuits) with being under continuous shell fire, and with our feet in terrible condition through their being in water the whole time (mine were like sponges – shrivelled up and most painful to walk on) I was not exactly in a perfect state of fitness.
The morning of the 1st of July was brilliantly fine. There was a slight mist, but the sky was cloudless, and overhead, the larks were singing blithely and all the world seemed bright and beautiful.
It was half past four when I emerged from my dug-out, after an hour’s sleep. I sent my platoon-sergeant to fetch the rum ration for the men, and at 4:45 issued it to the platoon, and took a good dose myself. The air was very chilly, and it warmed me up considerably. I then commenced to make my final arrangements for the attack, and to go over the equipment of my platoon. Each man, besides his rifle, bayonet and equipment, carried two hundred and forty rounds of ammunition, two Mills grenades, his iron ration, and the unconsumed portion of the day’s ration. I had, besides these, my revolver, compass, and field glasses, and half a dozen flares for signalling purposes, so I was pretty heavily laden.
The attack was timed to start at 7:30 A.M. and I had orders to move up to my position in the fire trench at 7:15.
We breakfasted at 6:30 on bully and biscuits, and my servant managed to find some tea, and gave me a most excellent hot drink. At this time my platoon was occupying a disused support trench, and I had plenty of space to see to my men.
Since dawn, the fire of our guns had died down considerably, but at about 5:30 it commenced again, and gradually became more and more intense, till it developed into one mad continuous roar. I watched the village in front of us, which we were going to attack, going up into the air in chunks, and disappearing like a house built of cards. It was a terrible bombardment. A barrage was then put on to the enemy’s front line trenches, and the landscape behind was blotted out by the dust and smoke.
The enemy’s guns then began to reply in earnest. Tons and tons of high explosives were dropped onto our trenches, smashing them in.
To show the accuracy of their fire, the following incident is worth recording: My platoon occupied three bays. A shell dropped on to the fourth bay and demolished it. Expecting the three other shells of the battery to follow, and judging by experience that they would fall a little to the left, I moved the men in the third bay into the second, running the other end of the platoon into the communication trench. The next shell, as predicted, landed on the third bay, and blew that in. I moved the men again, and the second bay was treated in the same manner. I was then obliged to take the platoon into the front line before my time. I took up position behind the front platoon, and waited for the advance.
Our own wire had been cut in places the night before, leaving gaps at regular intervals, and in front, or rather immediately behind, these gaps, in the trench, were placed ladders up which we were to climb to get over the parapet. The men were numbered in threes, each three using one ladder.
The noise was deafening. No orders could be heard. The whole earth seemed to tremble. We stood in the trench and grinned at one another. It was weary work, waiting to go over the parapet. I had no feeling of danger or nervousness of any sort, just a little excitement, and wondering what the time was. I looked at my watch every two or three minutes, and each interval seemed more like ten. I wondered vaguely where I should be the next morning at the same time, and if I should still be alive. The men around me were fingering their rifle bolts, and feeling the points of their bayonets, at the same time making inaudible remarks, evidently of a blood-curdling nature, judging by their expressions. My orderly, who was standing next to me, adjusted my haversack on my back – not that it wanted adjusting.
One of the men of the front platoon climbed up the ladder in front of me, and looked over the parapet. It was now 7:28. He then shouted: “They are going over, sir,” and disappeared over the top. The other two followed, and as soon as the trench was clear of the front platoon, I gave the order for my men to go over. I waited to see the last man out, climbed up, and into the open at a run, dashed through the gap in the wire, and lay down on the tape, where my men had already formed up in line, immediately behind the front line. We lay there for perhaps a minute, when the earth gave a violent lurch, followed by a mighty roar. A mine had been exploded on our right flank – the signal for the general advance. Immediately, the front line jumped up, and moved forward. Our barrage now lifted from the enemy’s front line trenches, on to our objective, leaving our front clear for the advance.
The front line moved steadily on in splendid order, their rifles at the high port, the sun glinting on their bayonets. There was no rifle or machine gun fire to any extent from the enemy. The line of men went slowly on – very slowly – almost a slow march, to give our barrage time to lift from our objective.
When the front line was fifty yards away, I gave the order to my men to advance. They got up like one man and slowly moved forward, with their rifles at the high port. There was no sign of excitement. They just went on as if they were on parade.
The ground, almost level near our trenches, began to get difficult to walk over, on account of the large shell-holes. These became more and more numerous, till near the German wire, the ground resembled a sponge – one shell-hole running into the next. It was difficult to keep a straight line, owing to these “crumps.” I could not give any orders owing to the deafening noise drowning all attempts at verbal commands, and I could only guide the men by gestures and signals. My throat soon became parched with shouting, and the dust and smoke.
Fifty yards in front, the first line was moving steadily on, a man dropping here and there, leaving gaps in the line of men in extended order. I yelled to the left of my platoon to get into touch with the right platoon of the next company. There was a considerable gap formed on account of the uneven line of our trenches, and the nature of the ground.
I saw the front line disappear into the first German trenches, and out again on the other side, falling into line at once.
Suddenly there was a burst of machine guns from the enemy, followed by intense rifle fire. There were perhaps five of the former in front of our own company.
We were on the extreme right of the division, acting as its flank guard, so that our right was entirely undefended, and exposed to enfilade fire. Of this the enemy took great advantage, using a machine gun with deadly effect.
In and out we went, through the maze of crumps – up and down, nearer and nearer to the German trenches. The enemy guns now rattled unceasingly, like the noise of the pneumatic riveters in dock yards, traversing from one side to the other.
The air was so thick with dust and smoke. It was like walking through the smoke of a gorse fire and it reminded me of the days when we were called out to fight the fires on the Dorset moors. At times the front line of men was almost invisible, and nothing could be seen of the country before us, or of the objective towards which we were advancing. Every now and then a puff of wind would clear a space here and there, revealing the ruins of the village, as through a gauze veil – unreal and weird. The whole atmosphere seemed dull, and of a peculiar brown-grey colour. Above us, the sun shone brightly in a cloudless sky, broken every few seconds by the hideously shaped smoke of shrapnel, as they burst behind us here and there, suddenly appearing out of nowhere without a sound, seemingly, for any individual noise was drowned by the mad roar of our guns behind and the bursting shells in front.
Just picture to yourself, if you can, a line of dusty men, covered with mud and laden with their equipment, moving steadily forward with their bayonets glinting in the sun, their flanks becoming ever more indistinct, till they are lost in the haze of smoke that hides the world around them. Overhead, the blue sky, smeared with streaks of drifting smoke and puffs of white and yellow, making fantastic shapes where the shrapnel burst suddenly.
Behind, through the haze, the black outline of the trenches which we had just vacated and in front, through a rent in the veil of smoke, the uncertain shapes of shattered houses of the village, huge masses of some being hurled into the air, while others, now tottering, now collapsing like a pack of cards, where some high explosive had blown the foundations to bits.
The ground, a medley of enormous shell-holes – resembling the surface of the moon – in places so close together than several of them run one into the other, producing large craters of irregular shape. Not a blade of grass to be seen – but everywhere a thin layer of broken earth and dust that covers the whole surface of the ground, with here and there patches of sulphur green where the burnt explosive still clings to the earth.
Dotted about – some singly, some in groups, which mark the terrible destruction of a shell or trench-mortar bomb – lie the bodies of fallen men in every conceivable attitude. The air, heavy with the sickly smell of lyddite, and above all the indescribable noise of the guns and bursting shells, of trench mortars and aerial torpedoes, of rifle grenades and bombs, the crackle of rifle fire, the rap-rap-rap of machine guns, the scream of shrapnel and “whizz-bangs,” and the slower but ominous drone of passing high explosives – producing an inferno impossible to visualise. And through all this, the lines of men advancing slowly and steadily, towards the objective which they mostly cannot see. There is nothing there of the popular idea of battle – of blind rushes – of heroic charges against a wall of steel – of men mad with the lust of battle and the desire to kill, and other picturesque descriptions one reads of in novels. But just a line of men extended to three paces interval, calmly moving forward – cool and without the least sign of excitement – nearer and nearer to the machine guns that rattle almost without a pause, with set faces and eyes glued to the line in front, so intent that they would hardly notice anything that was taking place around them – conscious only of the order that they must move on without a stop to the objective, to reach it somehow, and to hold on at all cost. This, to me, is true courage – not the courage born of mad excitement or of desperation, but courage, cool and determined, each man fully aware of the death around, and the long day’s work before him.
The two hundred yards or so to the German front line trenches were soon traversed. There was no wire to hinder us – every inch had been blown into eternity, leaving only a few broken posts scattered here and there.
Down we went into the trench; an easy operation, for it had been so smashed in that parts were level with the ground, while the crumps were so numerous that in places one could not distinguish which was trench and which was crump. And the portions where some semblance of the trench remained were like shallow ditches with sloping sides.
Not a single enemy was to be seen and except for a dead man here and there, it was absolutely deserted. Indeed, it would have been impossible for any human being to live in the open trench under our terrible barrage.
Out again on the other side, a few seconds pause to get the men into line, then forward once more. The machine guns and rifle fire were now settling down to their deadly work, particularly the former, which had found the exact level for their most effective use, for almost every man that fell was shot through the head.
The front line of men disappeared into the second line of trenches, and appeared to rest there, probably to get the men into line. Not wishing to get too close, I halted my men, taking cover in crumps as best we could. The front line then opened fire from the trench, though from where I was, I could see nothing of the enemy.
My company commander, who, up till then had been following in the rear of my platoon, now came up, alone, both his orderlies having been killed, and instructed me to go into the second line trench as it would afford more cover. This I did, and joined the front platoon. As soon as we were in, we opened fire on the trench in front, and the Lewis gun detachment which was attached to my platoon got into position, but no sooner had it opened fire than it was obliged to cease, for the front line advanced again. By this time it was considerably reduced in numbers, as I also found to be the case in my own platoon, chiefly owing, I think, to the murderous effect of the machine gun on our right flank, now a little to our rear – by which we were continuously enfiladed.
It was while in this trench that I realised the effectiveness of the German machine-guns, for they appeared to be doing terrible work. My orderly and an N.C.O. who were on either side of me were killed almost simultaneously – doubtless by two succeeding bullets from the same machine gun – which shows how narrowly I escaped death – by less than a hundredth part of a second!
This cheerful thought occurred to me at the time – indeed, considering the situation, it seems odd now to think that little incidents like this struck me at the time as being rather extraordinary. I remember saying to myself how different was this attack to what I had always imagined an attack to be.
I called another man to take the place of the orderly, and a few seconds after he also was shot through the head – falling back against the rear wall of the trench with a moan. Another observation I made was that every man who was killed, fell without a sound – no cry or exclamation, but either fell with a crash and lay still, or gently swayed forward or backward and collapsed in a heap with a low moan. It was maddening to be thus shot down and unable to reply owing to the line in front.
As soon as the front line was about fifty yards in front, I advanced again. At this point I was unfortunate in having my Lewis gun put out of action, owing to the gunner falling into a crump and burying the gun in the loose earth. I ordered him to remain there and clean it as quickly as possible and to join me as soon as he had done so.
By this time most of my N.C.O’s had gone, and it became difficult to keep the men in line, owing to the irregularity of the ground. I had now about twenty-five men (out of sixty odd) left in my platoon, and though the enemy’s shrapnel did not bother us any more, as we were almost in their third line, their snipers were getting more effective, though I could not see any of them, and the machine guns, of course, were still playing merrily. I was getting rather anxious about the company behind – the third wave, which should have been about eighty yards behind me, but so far I had not seen anything of it, perhaps chiefly owing to the smoke and dust. (I learned afterwards that this company had been almost wiped out when only half way across “no man’s land.”)
Perhaps it would be as well to mention here that this company, or third wave, was not an attacking line, but their duty was to come up behind us and clear up the trenches which we had passed over, our duty being merely to go right on to our objective, to make a wheeling movement so that half the company would face the right, or unprotected flank, to dig in and hold on at any cost, to allow the rest of the division to go up unmolested.
The front line now reached the third German trenches, and opened fire. I thereupon halted my men, taking cover in crumps as before. I could see that the front line was having some trouble, being held up by enemy bombers who were coming down the communication trenches in large numbers. My company commander, who was going backwards and forwards from one platoon to another with one hand in his pocket and apparently thoroughly enjoying the situation, now came up and told me to move my platoon – or what was left of it – right up to within five yards of the front line. This I did, taking cover as before, and ready to join the front platoon at a moment’s notice.
The fight had now commenced in earnest – both sides using hand grenades. The enemy bombers were wonderful – a great number of their grenades falling into the trench and doing great damage. They appeared to have a system of passing up an endless stream of grenades – hand to hand – to the foremost man, and when he was hit, the second man stepped up and took his place. Every third or fourth man was a “thrower.”
About this time, I chanced to glance back and found the enemy quickly surrounding us, their bombers clearing out the trench we had just passed over which must have been full of wounded and dead. I could not see what was taking place on my left, owing to a slight rise in the ground, and was ignorant as to whether the next company was also held up, or still advancing to the objective, which was now only about a hundred yards in front. I detailed a man to creep up to the rise and ascertain their position, but he never returned.
The enemy had completely encircled us in a very short time, but this did not trouble me much, as I was confident that the third wave would succeed in clearing them out. I was chiefly concerned at the time in watching for an opportunity to join in the front platoon and to attack as soon as possible. I was expecting an order at any moment to charge with the bayonet, but this order never came, for, as I learned afterwards, my company commander was killed in the very act of giving the order to charge.
This state of things went on for about ten minutes, and matters were getting worse, for in addition to the machine guns in front and the enemy bombers, who were being continually reinforced and causing havoc amongst the men in the trench, a machine gun opened fire from behind us – and caught between two fires, we found ourselves in a dangerous position. I began to realise then that matters were not going very well with us, but I could not take any steps, without orders from the company commander, and all I could do was to wait.
Soon afterwards, I saw the officer in command of the platoon in front going towards the right, probably to get orders from the O.C. Company. That was the last I saw of him. A few minutes later, the shattered remnants of the front line began to fall back. I was rather surprised at this for a moment, but decided that it was the result of the interview between their officer and the company commander, to get a better position, as obviously the trench they were in was untenable. I was expecting to receive orders myself any minute, but as I had strict orders not to fall back on any account without a verbal command from the O.C. Company, I called out to my men to remain where they were. As soon as the front line had passed behind me, I opened fire at the enemy bombers who were pressing up along the trenches, whenever we could see them. But it was impossible to do any damage. I was now the front line, and consequently, received the attention of the enemy, who bombed us right and left. What happened to the original front line after that I never discovered – they seemed to disappear, and I can only conjecture that they were practically wiped out by the enemy in the trench behind me.
I was taking cover in a small shell-hole with three men and an N.C.O., all firing over the edge at the enemy in front who had retaken the third trench and were consequently only a few yards away from us. As I had received no orders and could see nothing of the other officers of my company, I resolved to act on my own responsibility and withdrew my men – what remained of them – which was perhaps a dozen all told, to better cover a little further back and about midway between the second and third lines of trenches. Here we continued firing and throwing our bombs. I had now with me in my shell hole, one man and the N.C.O. The man was wounded and the N.C.O. killed, shot through the head from the rear.
I began to realise that we were in a desperate situation. We had failed to reach our objective, the company was almost wiped out, and apparently all the officers except myself put out of action. We were surrounded on all sides by the enemy, our ammunition was running out, and there was no sign of the third wave. I looked back again and again to see if there was any help coming up, but all I could see was the line of Germans in the trench behind, still apparently bombing some of our men who were there, and a litter of dead and wounded. The enemy had posted snipers in the trench behind, who were shooting any man who happened to be firing over the edge of the shell-holes. The steel helmet, though excellent protection against shrapnel, is useless against rifle bullets, indeed it intensifies the risk of being killed, as any bullet striking it is immediately flattened and blows the brain right out, instead of passing clean through and perhaps missing the vital parts. (There have been several known cases of men being shot through the head without fatal results.)
Under these circumstances, I decided that it was useless exposing ourselves to further danger from the snipers. We could do no damage to the enemy, while they could snipe us as long as we showed ourselves, and the best thing to do was to lie low and wait for the supports, who, I was certain, would come up sooner or later. I therefore told the men to cease fire and wait for further orders.
Time passed wearily by. I grew more and more anxious, and prayed that the third wave would come up. The rifle fire gradually died down, the machine guns settled down to short bursts now and then, the bombardment became less intense, and slowly conditions came to about normal. The atmosphere cleared and I could make out the situation more easily.
I was in the centre of a square of trenches – the third line in front, the second behind me, and a communication trench on each side. Owing to the nature of the ground, I could not see the other side of the trench on my left, but towards the right, where the ground sloped down to a valley, I could make out the lines of the opposing trenches. The country in front consisted of high ground, towards the top of which the enemy trenches zigzagged at intervals, and to the right front, the village and the wood beyond still being heavily shelled by our guns. Behind me, I could just make out our own first line trenches – far away they seemed – the uneven line of the parapet silhouetted against the sky; while everywhere, between the shell-holes, lay the bodies of fallen men.
Between ten and eleven o’clock there was heavy firing on my right and I saw a line of our men advancing at the double, which I took to be the beginning of another attack by the supports. I waited patiently for our own supports, but nothing happened, and the attack on the right seemed to crumple up under the machine gun fire.
At about midday, I resolved to try and get into communication with some of the men scattered round about in shell-holes, and to attend to any of the wounded I could get at. I covered up the dead man with his waterproof sheet, and ran over to the nearest shell-hole. This was a very large one, where I found about half a dozen men in it, most of whom were wounded. After dressing their wounds as best I could, I tried to get into the next one, but the snipers who had seen me running across were ready for me this time, and as soon as I put my foot outside, I was greeted with two or three shots which luckily missed me. I clambered back into the shell hole unhurt, though a man who had followed me out was hit in the back. I managed to drag him in before the second dose and made up my mind that it was useless attempting to do anything, and the only thing to do was to lie low and wait until some sort of help arrived, and if nothing took place during the day, to get back somehow to our own lines under cover of darkness, for it was obviously useless my remaining there.
Soon afterwards, our shells began to fall round about us, and as the day wore on, they became more and more numerous, which seemed to show that our gunners had transferred their target back to the original German front lines. This was not exactly a cheerful state of affairs for us, as we were right in the middle of them, and though pretty well protected from high explosives – unless one actually fell into our shell-hole – there was no cover whatever from shrapnel.
At about five o’clock the shelling became so severe and as there was every chance of our being exterminated before another hour had passed, I made up my mind to make a dash for it.
I was, however, in an awkward predicament. There were several wounded men with me – only four were sound besides myself of all those that I could muster. I felt it my duty to remain with them till the end, and yet on the other hand, I was absolutely useless as I was, and the chances were about forty to one that I should sooner or later be put out of action, which would be even more useless. I had no idea as to what was taking place behind, and without information of any sort, it was impossible to decide on any action. All those men I had sent back for news had never returned and I dared not send any of the four that I had left. It was absolutely necessary that I should get some sort of idea as to what was taking place. I was the only officer left of my company – all the others having been killed, and therefore it was obviously my business to try and get back to report that we had failed to reach our objective, and how matters stood with regard to my company – and also to get further orders. It was unpleasant to leave the wounded behind, but after all, there were numbers of them all around and I could not possibly do anything for them all. Even then, I felt confident that help would arrive sooner or later, and to report on the situation was the best means of bringing help.
I knew of one way by which I might be able to get through, provided there were not too many of the enemy in occupation of their front trenches. This was to work my way to the right, where the opposing trenches were closest and where we had blown up the mine in the morning. My idea was to creep up to the German front line, to make a dash across the open, drop into the newly formed crater, another dash across, and into our own line.
At about 5:30 I left the shelter of the crump with the four men, and made a run for the German second line trench. We were, however, spotted by the enemy in the further trench, who promptly fired on us. We fortunately managed to drop into the trench before any harm was done. I decided to reconnoitre the trenches to my right first, trusting to luck that any of the enemy on the left would be too busily occupied to have noticed their brothers in the front line firing at us. I therefore moved along to the right (i.e. left, facing the original front) but the Germans in the front trench would not let us get very far – as we were greeted by a shower of bullets every time we passed a break in the trench. I decided then that it was useless trying that way and moved back in the opposite direction. I called out to the Germans to stop firing, to give them the impression that I was going to surrender, then doubled for all I was worth away to the left, the four men following me. I had been watching the movements of the enemy all day and as far as I could make out, their lines appeared to be more thinly occupied in this direction – I imagined on account of the heavy shelling around the outskirts of the village. This, however, was my undoing. On turning into another line of trenches, I was suddenly held up by a shout and found myself covered by half a dozen rifles. I gave the men behind me a warning, but it was too late. A bullet whizzed past my ear – and I knew the game was up. I had run into a large machine gun section, by whom I was told that I was a prisoner, with the four men with me. I was taken to an officer’s dug-out, where a lieutenant formally declared me a prisoner of war.
And so ended my life as an active soldier. Perhaps, as an officer, I should have died fighting when I knew that all was over. I don’t know. A prisoner of war is a useless burden on the home authorities – but a dead man is a more useless thing still.
Reported Missing 