The most useful map for following the action on the day is 7. The Newfoundland Park is prominently signposted from the Albert — Bapaume road onwards. There is parking space, but this can get congested in the summer, and in any case you are advised to have the car parked in such a way as to make it easy to get out. The increasing number of coaches sometimes makes manoeuvring out a tricky operation. The visitor should also be warned to ensure that valuables are not left in the car, or are secured in the boot, and that the car is locked. Car theft has become quite common from here, from the Ulster Tower and from Thiepval.
Before entering the enclosure, stand close to the edge of the road, and with your back to the park locate the villages of Mesnil, Auchonvillers and Mailly Maillet. The fields before you would have been full of support trenches, aid posts, and on the Mesnil Ridge, artillery batteries. The Newfoundlanders would have spent the night in trenches immediately on the other side of the road, with the majority of them on your right, the position coming across the road on your extreme right. The Essex Regiment had a similar position on the left. When entering the Park it is probably best to go straight to the viewing platform on the Caribou Memorial and survey the battlefield from there, having first read this account and studied the map.
To get an appreciation of the strength of the position, it is recommended to drive to Frankfurt Trench British Cemetery, off the Beaucourt Road above Beaumont Hamel. This is in the area of the German Second Line positions, and gives an excellent panoramic view over Newfoundland Park. It is easy to appreciate that the Germans here would be in an outstanding position to assist their comrades in the Front Line with their fire and with observation for their artillery; it seems almost miraculous that this part of the front was ever captured.
No single regiment has the number of memorials to its memory on the battlefields of the Great War as the Royal Newfoundland Regiment — there are five of the distinctive Caribou memorials scattered across the battlefields of Flanders and Picardy. No other regiment had the honour of having the prefix ‘Royal’ appended to its title during the Great War, in 1918. No other regiment has an attack so strikingly commemorated as the Newfoundland Memorial Park does for the disastrous day of July 1 1916. And this was a regiment that did not number its battalions in tens; rather it had one — all of this for just one battalion.
See Map 7
Newfoundland was discovered by John Cabot in 1497 (allowing for the fact that assorted Vikings and Irish saints may well have been there first) during the reign of Henry VII. It was annexed to the English Crown in 1583 — the value of its off-shore waters (and those of neighbouring Labrador) as a fishing ground had by then become well established. Newfoundlanders were proud of their title of ‘England’s oldest colony’. During the Great War (in 1917) it became a self-governing colony, but united with Canada in 1949.
The caribou stands defiant above the plaques commemorating Newfoundland’s missing.
During the Great War Newfoundland provided three distinct contributions to the forces of the Empire. There was the infantry, in the shape of the Newfoundland Regiment. The colonial government had originally intended to provide an infantry contribution of five hundred men in this new regiment. As things turned out this tiny population was to provide well over six thousand men for a regiment which had an outstanding war record. The second contribution, whose praises are far less widely sung, was the manpower it provided for the Royal Navy. Three hundred were killed in action or had to be invalided out of the service, whilst two thousand enlisted. Finally, Newfoundland’s expertise in Forestry was utilised in a Forestry Corps, which operated in Scotland from the summer of 1917 onwards. When seen in the context of Newfoundland’s population (of about ¼ million), her sacrifice of manpower is remarkable; it should explain to all who visit the battlefields why Newfoundland placed so many memorials to its Regiment on the battlefields on the Western Front.
The Newfoundland regiment made its way up to the line on the evening of June 30th; they were luckier than some unfortunate battalions elsewhere on the attack front, who spent a couple of miserable and crowded days in the trenches, and in some cases had to suffer the terrible tension of being moved out and then back again when the day for the attack was postponed from June 29 to July 1. For some unfortunates amongst the Newfoundlanders the delay was to cost their lives: a draft of sixty six reinforcements arrived on the afternoon of Friday 30th June, and many took their place in the attack the next day.
See Map 13
The regiment set off from their billets in Louvencourt — where they had spent nearly all their time out of the line since arriving in this part of France in April — at 9 pm. Not all of the men that marched were Newfoundlanders, however; Private Charlie ‘Ginger’ Byrne of the 2/Hampshires found himself attached to this colonial force as a Number Three on a Vickers Machine Gun. He was a trained machine gunner, but was not best pleased with his assigned post, “Number Three is the bloomin’ pack-horse; he carries the ammo and gets the belts ready to feed through when each beltful is exhausted.”
Just under eight hundred officers and men of the Newfoundland regiment marched out. Those left behind were the inhabitants and the ‘ten percent’. This was a proportion of a battalion that was left in reserve by every attacking unit, usually commanded by the second-in-command and was designed to be the basis of rebuilding a battalion should it suffer extremely heavy losses in an attack. This sensible decision was based upon experience gained in 1915 when severe losses amongst attacking battalions — most notably at Loos — had made it difficult to restore battalions to fighting efficiency quickly. These experiences had also led to the decision to insist that commanding officers should not go over in the initial attack, but should follow on once the enemy trenches had been captured; and indeed also aimed to keep Divisional Commanders out of the firing area as well. The casualties amongst senior officers in 1914 and 1915 had been considerable, and their loss at key moments had been a cause of confusion and breakdown in command. The second-in-command of the Newfoundland Regiment was Major James Forbes-Robinson, who was to gain the Victoria Cross in April 1918 when commanding the 1/Border Regiment — he ended the war with a DSO and Bar and an MC as well as the highest award for gallantry.
The battalion marched out of Louvencourt at attention. Pte Byrne noted, however, “But, as we’re swinging along, chests out, I noticed something. Well, I thought to meself, that’s cheerful, that is. Right bloody cheerful, that’s what. Those people lining the village street, some of them were crying. Tears pouring down their faces.”
Soon after the battalion got out of the village the order came to march at ease. As they came closer to the front the battalion broke up in to single file, and they kept off the road, passing in the fields between Mailly Maillet and Englebelmer, before entering a communication trench, Tipperary Avenue which led them into St John’s Road support trenches and the deep dug outs that had been dug in the preceding months. It was just after 2 am — five and a half hours before the first assault was to be made, and just over six and a half hours before the Newfoundlanders were to make their attack.
The Newfoundland Regiment’s task was to be in the second wave of the British assault — they were to pass through the first wave (in their case 2/South Wales Borderers and 1/Border Regiment), regroup on Station Road and then proceed to occupy the Division’s final objective for the day, having captured Puisieux Trench some two miles away, the attack commencing at 10.40 am. All the intensive training of the regiment in the preceding months had been done with this end in view: training areas near Louvencourt had been specifically selected for their similarity to the ground over which they would move at Beaumont Hamel; tapes had been laid out to show the precise positions of German trenches; equipment that would be carried (such as ladders and portable — a misnomer — trench bridges) would fit in with the requirements for such an advance over such a well trenched area. All of this would be of absolutely no use; the Newfoundlanders would be lucky if they got even a sight of Station Road on July 1st — lucky because they would have survived the mayhem and been taken prisoner. At least they would be alive.
The men were to have the benefit of a hot breakfast — courtesy of a Corps HQ which had insisted upon this; it was carried to them from the battalion cookers by the ‘ten percent’ from the woods near Englebelmer. At 7.20 am they witnesed the huge explosion of the Hawthorn Mine, a kilometre or so away from their position. The attack proper commenced ten minutes later. It is important to realise that there was a pronounced German salient around the head of Y Ravine, which itself ran in an approximately west-east direction. This meant that if the defenders in the German line around Y Ravine had not been effectively dealt with by artillery fire and subsequent infantry attack, they would be in a splendid position to offer enfilade fire to the attacking troops as they proceeded in front of them; and this is what came to pass. 2/South Wales Borderers’ attack folded within a few minutes; and indeed their attack made quite clear to the German machine gunners (if it was not clear before) exactly where the gaps in the British wire had been made to enable the troops to advance. All they had to do now was to concentrate their fire there and create a blockage of carnage. 1/Borderers, due to advance at 8.05 am, suffered from this fate, as well as being caught on the bridges that they had placed on the British front line to enable them to cross that particular hurdle quickly. The situation was hardly better further off to the right.
The old problem of communications now raised its ugly and lethal head. The artillery followed its strictly laid barrage plan to the minute, and thus the weight of shells continued to lift, by this time falling mercilessly on German positions to the east of Station Road. General de Lisle did order the fire of his field batteries (ie of the smaller weight guns) to be kept on the Beaucourt road — but that was at 8.40! He would have had limited influence in directing the targets of the heavier artillery, as this came under Corps Command — in any case the British only had thirty four heavy howitzers (an essential element for success) on the whole of their front. Matters were made the worse by the fact that white flares had been seen on the right of the division, which was the signal for the capture of the first objective. Unfortunately it was also a signal for the Germans that their own artillery was dropping short. De Lisle felt that he had to reinforce what seemed to be some success, and ordered two battalions of the 88th Brigade (of which the Newfoundlanders were a part) to take action to try and capture the Front Line and thus support the perceived success on the right. He issued this order at 8.37. Already the Newfoundlanders had had their advance at 8.40 halted; at 8.45 they were ordered by ther Brigade commander, Brigadier Cayley, from his advanced HQ in Fethard Street, to advance as soon as possible in support of the success on the right and to capture the enemy front line from Points 89 to 60.
It is well to realise what this means on the ground to-day. The landscape has been distorted by the growth of trees and the enclosure of the Park. There is a tendency to ignore that part of the park from the right of the entrance over to the Superintendent’s Lodge. Perception is not helped by the paths that have been placed to enable the visitor and the pilgrim to make their progress around the features. The location of the cemeteries and the memorials frequently confuses people—there is an understandable inclination to think that the attack went from the general direction of the Caribou Memorial towards the 51st Highland Division Memorial, whereas if anything it went from the Caribou towards Y Ravine cemetery. Finally there is the problem that is raised by the names given to the various trench lines, a matter to which I shall return in due course.
In the distance is the superintendent’s lodge. The trenches in the middle distance were the ones crossed by, amongst others, the remnants of 1 Battalion, Essex Regiment on the Newfoundlanders’ right.
The Newfoundlanders were faced with the task of an advance down a slope in an area where the enemy held a convex line — the result of which was that they would be liable to fire from various sides. Their artillery support was miles away. It was even unsure at what time 1/Essex would be launching their attack — the urgency of the moment and lack of communications made it impossible to know how they would be progressing. Perhaps it was a saving grace that all these changes had to be done so quickly, thus giving men who had expected to be on the move some minutes earlier little time to ponder on the sound of battle so close to their position, or to more than pity the wounded who must by this stage have been streaming through the support lines.
At 9.15 the Regiment set off, following the procedures laid down by the rehearsals. The CO led, then the companies; the rear two companies allowed the forward two to clear them by forty paces before following on. They all headed for the correct breaks in the wire. Before they could even begin their advance across No Man’s Land they had to cross the British front trench line system and get through the front line wire. This involved moving across some two hundred and fifty yards of ground, which was under heavy shell fire and soon came under direct machine gun fire as they came over the brow of the ridge. Many Newfoundlanders were killed before they got to their own front line. The original move planned for the battalion would have taken it straight down to Station Road — in other words on the assumption that Y Ravine had been cleared of Germans. It is doubtful if there was time to retarget companies to deal with the Y Ravine position, which inevitably left the battalion vulnerable to fire from the flank.
Ginger Byrne gives a private’s view of the proceedings thus far: “Things went quiet for a while. Then suddenly the bombardment started up again. It was daylight by then; lovely morning it was. I heard the rattle of machine-gun fire: you could always hear that above everything else. After a while the wounded started coming down: must have been coming up to eight o’clock by then, I suppose, but I’m not sure because I did not have a watch. The wounded was streaming down in fours and fives, one fellow helping another along; there didn’t seem to be any end to them. You got to thinking that there couldn’t be many left out there. Of course you can’t see anything from the bottom of a trench. So we moved out of the way for the wounded…I put the ammo boxes over my shoulder, thinking, I dunno! If we’re going, I wish we’d go and get it over with. But still we stayed there.
No Man’s Land, forward of the caribou. The approximate direction of the right of the attack would be towards the group of sheep on the left of the photograph.
This Officer came back, then went away. He did this about four times at about twenty minute intervals. He kept on looking at his watch. The last time he appeared he said, ‘Come on lads. Time we went.’
They had a scaling ladder in this bay: that was a wooden ladder with about four rungs. The officer went first, then the other two chaps, and then me. Of course I had those ruddy ammo boxes and my rifle, so I didn’t go over the top with dash as you might say — more of a humping and a scrambling really. No yelling ‘Charge’ or anything like that.
I kept my eye on the officer just ahead. He turned to wave us fellers on and then down he went — just as though he was bloody pole-axed. I just kept moving. I wasn’t thinking really straight. My job was to keep with the gun-team. ‘Don’t lose me’, the Number One had said. So I kept on.
And there were blokes laying everywhere.”
At this stage on that July 1st morning the Newfoundland Regiment was the only unit on the move on that sector of the Front; 1/Essex had become bogged down in the dead and wounded who had filled the forward trenches and made progress for them to form up for the advance practically impossible. As for the Newfoundlanders, the original plan had been for them to walk over the top of the British lines of trenches as they made their way forward; in the light of the changed circumstances this was changed to an approach to the Front Line via the communications trenches. As for the Newfoundlanders, these trenches were hopelessly blocked with the human debris of the battle, and so they, too, had to go over the top as originally planned, but under a hail of fire. The ground over which they travelled may be viewed from near Y Ravine cemetery, looking back up the track towards the Hamel — Auchonvillers road and to the left and right of it.
The Newfoundlanders moved onwards. The ‘Danger Tree’ remains on the battlefield as a lone survivor of a small group of straggly trees which was some halfway across No Man’s Land. It provided an ideal marking point for fire, and the shrapnel was particularly deadly in its immediate neighbourhood. Some, extraordinarily enough, did manage to make it to the German wire, but effectively it was all over for the Newfoundland Regiment by 9.45.
The CO, Colonel Hadow, from his point close to the front line, ready to follow on after his troops as orders instructed, went to inform the Brigadier that the attack had failed disastrously. He was instructed to collect what remaining sound members of the battalion that he could find and to make another attempt. Fortunately a halt was called before this particularly military form of suicide could be carried out — a staff officer from Corps who could observe the battle from Mesnil Ridge called a halt to further operations.
De Lisle now decided that the top and side of Y Ravine from Point 89 eastwards at least must be taken, and 4/Worcesters were ordered to carry this out at 12.30, after a hurricane bombardment of half an hour. Fortunately the congested and utterly confused state of all trenches in the British front line sector made it impossible for that battalion to get to its jump-off positions and the order was cancelled. Instead, the remainder of the troops were ordered to repair the British position and prepare it for the possibility of a German counter-attack.
The Thiepval Memorial stands prominent on its ridge to centre right. The 1 Battalion Essex Regiment’s attack was to run across the ground on both sides of the trees in the centre of the picture.
Y Ravine, behind the Highland Division Memorials. At this point it is some two hundred yards east of Point 89.
4/Worcesters War Diary makes interesting, if concise, reading; it was an observer to what took place, and is thus rather more coherent than some other battalions, which suffered so much in the attack.
“July 1st. Auchonvillers Sector. The Battn. was formed up as follows waiting its turn to advance. ‘X’ Coy, in Redoubt Line. ‘Z’ Coy. in Pompadour, ‘T’ Coy. in Clonmell, and ‘W’ Coy. round Haymarket. Bn. Hd. Qr. in “The Trocadero”.
At 6 am a terrible bombardment was begun on the German Trenches. The Germans did not retaliate very much at this period. At 7.30 am the advance was begun by 86th and 87th Brigade. At 9 am 88th Brigade received orders to reinforce. Newfoundland Regt. went first and suffered heavy casualties from machine gun fire, Essex Regt. also pushed on, suffering casualties.
At 11.30 am the Worcestershire Regt and the Hants Regt received orders to push forward and occupy front line and prepare for a fresh attack. The Bn. suffered the following casualties in moving up, 5 Officers and 96 Other Ranks. At this time the Germans were bombarding our trenches very heavily with all kinds of shells. Telephone wires were out and communication with Brigade was kept up by runner. At about 1 pm this attack was postponed. At this period communication in the trench was very difficult, owing to the dead and wounded, the trenches, dug-outs, were badly knocked about. At 2.30 pm orders were received to hold the line at all cost, as Germans would in all probability deliver an attack. Everyone worked hard in repairing the broken trenches under most trying conditions. At 4 pm orders were received to make preparations for an attack on point 89 at 3.15 am tomorrow. Everything was ready but we had orders at 11.45 pm cancelling the advance. This order I am sure was disappointing as we were looking forward to capturing the German front line. The Battn. remained in the trenches hoping that the Germans would attack, but no luck came our way. The 10% Reserves rejoined the Battn. Germans continued to shell our trenches day and night.
July 2nd. In firing line. German artillery very active, our lines were continually shelled during the day. Commmenced to rain very heavily at 8 am. The trenches got in a very bad state, and the work of clearing the dead and wounded, repairing traverses, parapets, etc. became very difficult. Small parties went over into No Man’s Land and brought in the wounded. One of our men got to a wounded man close to the German trenches, when a German officer (who must have been on the Staff by his dress) shouted to him, you must not stop there with him, if you want to come in come along or else go back to your own trenches, the lad replied “I’ll go back to my own trenches, Sir”. Two stretcher bearers were sent out and brought in the wounded man. At this time the Germans were acting straight, allowing our fellows to bring the wounded from No Man’s Land.”
The Newfoundland Regiment, after the failure of their attack, had to carry on. With the ‘ten percent’ and any other stragglers that had made their way back to the British position, Colonel Hadow occupied St James Street, a support trench behind Mary Redan, off to the right of the Divisional line, and outside the limits of today’s park. In front of them were the remnants of 1/Essex, whilst the relatively undamaged 4/Worcesters and 2/Hampshires held the bulk of the old 88 Brigade line.
These remnants of the proud Newfoundland Regiment held this position until July 6th. In that time they were able to carry out the sad task of burying many of their comrades, often in trenches that had been abandoned, and of collecting up discarded weapons and equipment.
What became of the men of the battalion left out in No Man’s Land in the blazing sun of July 1st from 10 am onwards? Many of them were wounded, and suffered terribly from thirst; others were unhurt, but found themselves unable to move, their positions being completely dominated by the Germans. Private Byrne’s experience was far from being unusual.
He had managed to make it close to the German wire, when the last member of his gun crew was knocked over. “Within a yard of me there was a shell-hole — a nice new shell-hole — it wasn’t big, but I couldn’t see a better one handy. I was only young — nineteen. There was no one to give any orders. Boxes of ammunition aren’t much good if there’s no gun to fire. I couldn’t see me charging the whole German army (’cos that’s what it sounded like) all on my tod. I couldn’t see me winning the battle by my bloody self.
It wasn’t a big shell-hole, but I hadn’t much choice. I slung the ammunition boxes down and I dived into it. Which was just as well: I must have been sticking out like a sore thumb by then and one of them Jerry machine-gunners decides I’m one too many still standing. Me and the bullets hit the hole pretty near together but I won.
Soldiers of 29 Division coming out of the line and marching to Albert
And there I stayed all day. I lay as I fell because I daren’t move. I had my legs folded under me and my bloomin’ bayonet was on my left hand side. I was dying to move that bayonet out of the way so I could get my hip down lower. But that Jerry decided he hadn’t anything better to do than play his gun across my shell hole. He knew I wasn’t hit. I knew what he was doing. I was a machine-gunner meself, wasn’t I. He’d be holding the two handles of his gun, then he’d tap, tap so it played right across the top of the hole; then he’d turn the wheel at the bottom to lower the barrel and then he’d tap, tap the other side to bring it back again. He was hitting the dust just above my head and he smashed the blooming boxes. Bits of ammo flew about everywhere. In a queer sort of way I was lying there almost admiring what he was doing, as though it wasn’t me he was aiming at. He was a fellow machine-gunner, wasn’t he? And he certainly knew his job. But he just couldn’t get the trajectory low enough.”
Private Ginger Byrne
Byrne suffered from thirst; he had about four inches ‘of dear old Mother Earth’ above his head on the side facing the Germans. He was able, however, to see what was happening in No Man’s Land. “One man lost his head and stood up and tried to run back. He’d got a terrible wound in his leg and what with the heat and everything I expect he’d gone barmy. He’d got one leg dragging and he tried to get back. He didn’t get far. He got peppered. He was dead. You could see the sun glinting on those tin triangles some of them had on the backs of their packs (these tin triangles were designed to help the contact aircraft identify what was going on on the ground during the attack, so that they could report back progress being made). I lay there and watched it all. I knew there wasn’t anything at all I could do until it got dark. And it was summertime. It was a long, long day.”
As dusk closed in, the Germans started lighting up the battlefield with Very lights. Byrne timed movement between the lights. “It came down and I calculated I’d got about four seconds to stretch my legs. Another one went up further back but I wasn’t bothered about that one. I moved my legs and worked my toes to get my circulation going. ‘Plop’ — up goes another Very light. When that was down I undid my my belt and my shoulder straps, took my gas mask off and tied a bow in it and put it around my neck. ‘Plop - another Very light — so I froze. I worked out that the Jerry firing those lights was a methodical man; worked as if he were a machine — load, fire, ‘plop’, sizzle.” But Byrne was also aware that the machine-gunner knew he was still there — how to get back? He got behind a nearby corpse, then crawled along, “not hands and knees, but toes and elbows, hugging the ground. It was slow work and the next light caught me cold, right in the open, so I lay stone flat. I remember thinking, Good God, I hope that gunner feller hasn’t got his sights right yet. Being a machine-gunner myself I could imagine what he was doing in the trench behind me. So as the second light went down I rolled about six paces away and the dirt flew up from the place where I’d just been. Sounds silly, but I laughed to myself. The next time the Very light goes up he’ll look and he’ll say, ‘The bugger wasn’t there at all. I wonder where he’s got to?’ And so it went on…”
He heard stretcher bearers out doing their job, looking for the wounded under most dangerous conditions. He made it eventually into a large shell hole; one of the occupants was barely alive. He felt that he must be close to the Newfoundland line; eventually he shouted, “It’s me. It’s me. Where are you? Which is the way in?” There was no response at first, and eventually he bellowed at the top of his voice. Someone directed him to a gap in the wire, “so I finally got down to the bloody trench.
Bringing in the wounded under shell and rifle fire. This artist’s impression gives some idea of what took place in No Man’s Land after the disastrous attack of 1 July, 1916.
Patrol out in No Man’s Land during the attack on Beaumont Hamel 1 July, 1916. The Old Beaumont Road is indicated by the line of Poplars in the middle distance. Compare this photograph with that on Page 9, a similar view to-day.
And what a bloody fine mess it was too: blown all ways with shell-fire, and dead lying everywhere.” He found a corporal stretcher-bearer and they returned to his shell-hole which he had left only a few minutes earlier. The corporal instructed him: “‘Get hold of his webbing.’ I didn’t understand. ‘Bugger his equipment!’ I said. So this corporal just patiently repeated, ‘You get hold of his webbing, like I told you.’ Then I understood. So I dug my toes in and grabbed his webbing and then between us we dragged him out and along back into the trench.” Byrne left him, and scavanged to find equipment to replace that which he had abandoned — which was everything except his gas mask. He could not find anyone from either of his units; he made his way in to Englebelmer, having scrounged a meal from an artillery battery, and still unable to find anyone to tell him where to go, retired to a barn and went to sleep; he found his company the next day.
Doubtless there was nothing particularly extraordinary about Private Byrne’s day on the Somme battlefield on July 1st 1916.
The Newfoundland Regiment had suffered horrendously high losses. Every officer that went over the top became a casualty — fourteen officers were killed, as were two hundred and nineteen other ranks; twelve officers and three hundred and seventy four other ranks were wounded. The officers had been ordered to wear soldier’s uniforms, but Byrne can remember one in ‘Sam Browne belt and riding breeches’; anyway, this precaution was wasted when all of them carried a revolver and walking stick into the attack. Like snipers of any army, the Germans made a special target of the officer. On top of these casualties was the ninety one other ranks who were missing; only sixty eight who had been in the attacking force were unwounded when it came to the roll call. Well over the ninety percent that went into the action became casualties.
There were family disasters in plenty—some especially poignant. There are the names of two sets of brothers on the Memorial Plaque at the base of the caribou memorial. Privates George and Stanley Abbott and Sergeant Stewart and 2/Lt Roy Ferguson. One family was particularly badly hit, with four cousins perishing on that same day: 2/Lts Gerald and Wilfred Ayre and Captains Eric and Bernard Ayre. The first three named died with the Newfoundland Regiment; the last was killed with 8/Norfolks fighting on the right of the British attack, and is buried at Carnoy Military cemetery.
As with so many disasters, natural or otherwise, there is often the tale of the unexpected survivor. On July 5th a soldier of the regiment crawled in from the killing ground; he had arrived with the draft that had arrived in the last hours before the attack. Completely disoriented (after all, he had missed the extensive preparations that had taken place), he had become, understandably, fed up with his lot and decided to hope for the best and approach the wire; in this case he was lucky.
The commanding officer of the regiment had watched his regiment be destroyed. Colonel Hadow was something of a strict and unbending disciplinarian, with fixed — almost immutable — views on how a battalion should be run. He also believed in training his officers to his ways. Thus the twelve new officers from the Newfoundlanders depot in Ayr in Scotland who arrived on June 15th received a far from effusive welcome from their new commander. He made it forcibly clear that he doubted the efficiency of the newcomers. Yet Hadow had won the respect of the men: in the early days there was a ditty about him, sung to the tune, doubtless, of ‘I’m Gilbert the Filbert’:
I’m Hadow, some lad-o,
Just off the Staff,
I command the Newfoundlanders
And they know it — not half;
I’ll make them or break them,
I’ll make the blighters sweat,
For I’m Hadow, some lad-o,
I’ll be a general yet.
Yet it was reported from the dressing station that one of the most common queries amongst the wounded was whether the Colonel was satisfied with their efforts. Veterans have agreed that Hadow was the making of the Newfoundland regiment; with a war record such as their’s it is most doubtful if there could be any higher form of praise.
Certainly his reputation for ruthlessness was justified by his policy after the battle. On July 8th the battalion was removed from the forward firing area, to tents at Mailly Maillet. He immediately ordered reorganisation, and the recently arrived (June 15th) Major Forbes-Robertson carried out this order with such vigour (training parades from 5.30 am to 7.30 pm) that even an officer complained in his diary that, ‘this was a bitter pill to swallow’. What price the modern trend of counselling for post traumatic disorder? Hadow realised that he had to produce an effective fighting force, and that the men should not have the time to ponder on the events of the past week. The remnants of the battalion were reinforced by a large draft, and within weeks the battalion had been restored to fighting efficiency. The Newfoundland Regiment had a lot to live up to, being the only non-regular battalion in a division composed of Regular Army units. Its subsequent war record was outstanding.
Lieutenant Colonel Hadow commander of the Newfoundland Regiment at the head of his men.
War debris near the German Front Line in Newfoundland Park.
After the war the Newfoundland Government purchased the area over which the Newfoundland Regiment had advanced. Its boundaries do not include the trenches where the Newfoundland sat in wait through the night; for the most part they He on the far side of the Auchonvillers — Hamel road. In 1960 some of the trenches were recreated as accurately as possible to their state during the 1916 attack; in this the authorities were assisted by Captain George Hicks, MC, who fought on the 1st July as a platoon commander. This has not stopped some of the signs being misleading. Obviously the Newfoundland First Line trench was not where it is stated — it was well to the rear, as they were in support, and there were two battalions in the space between the front line trench and themselves. This is not just a technical point — the present arrangement does no service to the many Newfoundlanders who would have become casualties as they made their way to the front line; nor does it help to explain the magnitude of the task that faced them. To call it St John’s Road is misleading, as well; St John’s Road was the name given to the metalled road that ran between Hamel and Auchonvillers; I have yet to find a trench map that gives a name to the old British Front Line, though it may well have been known by that name. The reconstruction of the trenches, whilst admirable in purpose, provides further problems. Because these trenches have been best restored in the vicinity of the two major memorials in the Park, it accentuates the inclination to see the Newfoundlanders’ attack heading off in a direction that it did not; the attack went in an easterly direction, the evidence on the Park suggests, at best, a north-easterly attack. The arrangement also tends to underplay the importance of the trenches in the part of the park dominated by the superintendents’s lodge. The visitor should also be aware that this piece of ground was extremely heavily fought over on two other occasions: in November 1916 (and the attack of early September 1916, though not fought over this exact area, was close enough to have an impact) and in the period April — August 1918, in the time of the German advance and the subsequent allied Advance to Victory. The trench just forward of the Danger Tree is a relic of the attack of November 13th 1916.
The cemeteries which are to be found within the Park are described in the section of the book devoted to that matter.
Perhaps the last words on the Newfoundland attack should be left to their Divisional commander. General de Lisle wrote to the Prime Minister of Newfoundland about the attack, “It was a magnificent display of trained and disciplined valour, and its assault only failed of success because dead men can advance no further.”
A view from the British Front Line trench; the Danger Tree is to the left, the plaque indicating the tree.