The place most easy of access to view the bulk of the ground over which the 51st Highland Division attacked on November 13th is in the Y Ravine area. With one’s back to the Highland Division Memorial in Newfoundland Park, and standing by the old German Front Line, one can view most of the ground over which 153 Brigade attacked, although the area around the west point of Y Ravine is obscured by trees. Just to the south of Y Ravine Cemetery may be seen a shallow trench line that runs across the park in a west-north-westerly direction. This was the British front line on November 13th. Looking south from the Memorial, 7/Gordons conducted the attack from the area of Y Ravine cemetery eastwards, and 6/Black Watch from there westwards. It is worthwhile making the precipitous drop into Y Ravine, just to obtain some idea of the nature of the position. Assuming one has entered the ravine by the Highland Division Memorials, proceed down the Ravine (ie eastwards). Your progress will be halted by a fence, but there is a branch of the Ravine running south; you are in the area of Y Ravine that gave most problems to the attack of the right of 6/Black Watch and the left of 7/Gordons. The numerous indentations in the side gives clear indications of man-made workings.
See Maps 7, 8, 9, 10
By following the route indicated to Hawthorn Ridge Cemetery No I it is possible to get excellent views north and south, and to see something of the German position that held out so stubbornly to the immediate south and east of the Crater. By proceeding along the path one can get all the way to Beaumont Hamel, veering away from Y Ravine about two thirds of the way down its length. By looking to the east one can see the strength of the German Second and Third Line positions on the high ground behind the village. In the centre of the village is the crossroads from which New Beaumont Road, Frontier Lane, Wagon, Beaucourt and Station Roads run. In the little triangle formed by the turning between Frontier Lane and New Beaumont Road, the visitor will find the base of a flag pole, a gift from the Highland Division to the people of the village. By taking New Beaumont Road, one comes to where (almost in line with the crater) one of the tanks got stuck, and another view of the strong German position in what was then a morass behind the crater (on the Beaumont Hamel side). One can return to Hawthorn Ridge Cemetery No. 1 by either taking the treacherous path up to the crater (and perhaps seeing the strange shape at its bottom, assuming it is not completely covered in undergrowth, caused by the double firing of the mine) and then following the field line towards the access road to Hawthorn Ridge Cemetery No 1; or by taking the Old Beaumont Road, until it joins the metalled road which will bring you close to that same cemetery. Of the two, the latter is likely to be the cleaner and certainly the safer, not requiring acrobatics with paths fenced off with barbed wire.
Major General Sir Montagu Harper
‘It is said that General Harper first heard of the success of his Division from a wounded Black Watch private. The General was pacing up and down the road opposite his headquarters when he saw a soldier, covered with dirt, a smile on his face, and a German helmet on his rifle, limping towards him. To his inquiry how things were going he received the laconic, but pertinent, answer, “Well, anyhow, they canna’ ca’ us ‘Harper’s Duds” ony mair.”’
History of the 4th Battalion, Seaforth Highlanders.
The Divisional sign of the 51st was an H and D interlinked — it has been incorporated into the stonework in front of the memorial by Y Ravine — and the coincidence of a commander with a surname that began with an H and the trying experience that the Division suffered at High Wood in late July and early August 1916 — resulted in this popular, if rather inaccurate, nickname. Hence the desire throughout the Division to turn the name from one with an element of truth — no matter how small — into the form of humour peculiar to the British, and with no truth in it whatsoever.
The Division had come into the Beaumont Hamel sector in the middle of October, and made preparations for the attack which was scheduled to commence on 24th October. Wire cutting operations began on the 20th October, and progress was checked each day by patrols and was recorded carefully by Divisional headquarters for the artillery and trench mortars to be redirected as necessary. The Division was to capture Beaumont Hamel and then push forward whilst the 63rd and 2nd Divisions converged on its flanks. The objectives were defined by a Green line and, further east, the Yellow line in the region of Frankfurt Trench.
The attack was also to be protected by heavy machine guns, the Vickers, firing an overhead barrage from Trench 88 in the neighbourhood of the Bowery which was aimed at the German trenches in the vicinity of the Green Line and on the western slopes behind the village. Its aim was to impair German reinforcements from coming up and to disrupt his own machine guns in their vantage point above the village. The men had to be especially briefed about this gun fire — the sound of thousands of bullets above their head might have been considered to be aimed at them, and until this time the men had not had the benefit of this type of support fire.
The attack was postponed several times because of the weather, and it was not until 10th November that the 13th November was decided upon. The ground was in an atrocious condition, with heavy downpours; little wind and clinging mists prevented the ground having any chance of drying out during the day. Mud, with the consistency of porridge, was everywhere, covering the remnants of the roads and tracks as well as everything else. At one time no more than four lorries per division were allowed on the roads, for fear that these vital arteries would be completely destroyed.
The postponements did have the advantage of plastering the German positions with even more shells, of allowing further raids to blow up more of the wire (the Germans frequently used knife-rests here, and this form of wire entanglement was most resilient to shrapnel — it succumbed to the use of bangalore torpedoes and howitzers, however) and allowed battalions and brigades to have further extensive periods of training.
It also meant that more and better dugouts could be constructed. The Divisional history records the work done at White City: ‘a chalk cliff some forty feet in height lent itself admirably to tunnelling operations. Enough head cover was provided without the necessity of making chambers to dugouts at the foot of a long flight of stairs. Full use was made of this feature, and many dugouts were hewn in it, as well as a large vault capable of holding a company, secure from the heaviest artillery.’
There were also, of course, the never-ending carrying parties. Shortly before the offensive the various forward dumps had to be filled — four hundred thousand rounds of small arms ammunition, twenty three thousand Mills grenades, sixteen hundred petrol tins of water, four and a half thousand rations, seven and a half thousand bombs, eight thousand Very light cartridges and miles of barbed wire.
The Division could also witness the morale-boosting spectacle of seeing the Schwaben and Stuff Redoubts being attacked and captured. What was particularly important was to see how effective the creeping barrage was in protecting the attackers. The more knowledgeable amongst the onlookers would also realise the importance of opening up this flank of the German Beaumont Hamel position to British observation and fire.
The attack was signalled by a mine being fired under the July 1st Hawthorn crater at 5.45 am, with the first vague signs of dawn; the artillery brought down their barrage, and the weather provided a thick, impenetrable fog that was to last all day. This latter was particulary important, as the German artillery signals from the front could not be seen by their artillery, and it left them blind; so long as the British infantry kept up with their barrage, they would have the vital support of shell fire.
A view from Kilometre Lane, behind the British lines.
The attack was not one of a wild charge at the German trenches; rather it was at a rate of twenty five yards a minute; when the barrage lifted off an objective the troops would rush — or rather attempt to rush — into the objective. ‘The men floundered in the dark in mud over their ankles; the weight they carried was enormously augmented by the moisture that their clothing had absorbed and by the mud which glued itself to their kilts and which clung to their boots; the ground was ploughed up into a sea of shell holes half filled with water; stooks of cut strands of wire and overturned knife-rests lay everywhere. Forward movement of any kind called for considerable effort; to charge was out of the question. In some places men even became bogged up to their waists, and were unable to extricate themselves from the morass until parties of German prisoners could be organised to dig them out.’
‘Let two teams dressed in battle order play football in the dark on a ploughed field in a clay soil after three weeks steady rain, and the difficulties of the attacking troops might then in some measure be appreciated.’
The attack went well, except for problems from the notorious Y Ravine, where machine gun fire from the south of it held up 6/Black Watch and 7/Gordons. They also were able to interrupt communications with those troops that had broken through on the flanks. 5/Seaforths also faced problems with uncut German wire in the vicinity of Hospital and Battalion Trench which served to break up the cohesion of the attack and lost them the protection of the barrage; however, they were able to retrieve the situation, and infiltrated around and through the obstruction. By 7.50 am both of the attacking brigades had got through to the Purple Line, but there were many Germans still left in the ground that they had crossed, especially in pockets in the first and second line. These men had undoubtedly emerged from the great honeycomb of underground workings in the German defences.
View across 7/Gordon Highlander’s front on November 13th; the jumping off trench is to the rear of the water bowser and in front of the bank.
153 Brigade, on the right, had to commit its reserves to carry Y Ravine, parts of which were being held by a large body of the enemy, possibly as much as four hundred strong. One company of 4/Gordons at each end of Y Ravine provided bombing parties which were ordered to bomb their way inwards. Meanwhile Lieutenant Colonel Booth of 6/Black Watch collected a body of men, having first established just where in Y Ravine the Germans were holding out. His task was made easier by the success of Lt. Leslie in 6/Black Watch, who had made an entrance at the western point of Y Ravine. These eventually joined up with a large group of 6/Black Watch and 5/ and 7/Gordons who had been surrounded by Germans emerging from their dugouts in the centre of Y Ravine. Between them, and with use of hundreds of Mills grenades, they were able to bomb the Ravine clear of Germans to the Purple Line.
The Green Line was then captured, and finally a body of Germans who had been able to hold out in a particularly impenetrable morass just to the east of the mine crater (at the western end of Battalion Trench) were silenced by an attack from their northern flank. The two tanks that were made available to the Division only just about made it to the German front; nothing daunted, one tank commander had his Hotchkiss machine gun taken out and carried forward (by German prisoners) to be used in helping to consolidate the Green Line. The barrage had now been lost, and so the attack on the Yellow Line had to be put off — in any case, many of the troops detailed for that task had already been used to clear the extremely heavily manned German positions up to this point.
A view of Y Ravine, close to its western end, looking east.
The small southward bearing arm of Y Ravine, where much of the heaviest fighting on November 13th took place.
There followed a period of confusion, as attempts were made to move the attack forward; 7/Argylls did manage to capture Frankfurt Trench, but supporting troops from 2 Division lost their way, and they were forced to fall back to New Munich Trench. The battle for 51 Division was over, although it held part of the line until 17th November.
This account is particularly directed at 1/8th Argylls, their splendid memorial dominating the Sunken Road/Hunter’s Trench, standing very close to the site of its battalion headquarters. There follows two accounts, the one written by the commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Robin Campbell, and the other by an anonymous soldier in the battalion, a member of C Company. One is a formal report, written very soon after the battle, on November 18th; the other is graphic in its description, and written some time afterwards.
Report on Operations, 13th November 1916.
On the night of the 12th/13th November, 1916, the Battalion moved up to its position in HUNTERS TRENCH. A halt of one hour was made just before the entrance to FOURTH AVENUE and hot soup issued to the men. Considerable difficulty was found in getting into HUNTERS TRENCH as it was very narrow in places, but the Battalion was ready in position at 3.20 am on November 13th.
Platoon Commanders at once set to work and cut away our wire in places where necessary. Two minutes before Zero the left of the leading wave (A Company) moved out and lay down in front of our wire in touch with 2/HLI.
Up to Zero the battalion had suffered no casualties. The mist was of great assistance in helping us get into the assembly trenches unseen.
At Zero the first wave went over followed immediately by the second, third and fourth waves. Each wave was composed of a full Company, and the Companies were placed in the order of A, B, C and D. The Lewis Guns of each company went over immediately in rear of their respective companies.
I had arranged that each wave should move out as closely as possible on the heels of the wave preceding it, as I thought that 6/Seaforths would probably be down into HUNTERS TRENCH almost before my battalion was clear of it. As it turned out the first wave of 6/Seaforths came down into HUNTERS TRENCH just as the last wave of my battalion was leaving it. The leading wave halted at about fifteen yards from our barrage [shrapnel was designed to fire forward from its burst point], and as it lifted they rushed into the front line, giving the Germans no time to get out of their dugouts. The bombing parties were busily engaged until Zero plus 20 in clearing dugouts, and they had considerable difficulty with Germans in the communication trenches.
In the meantime the second wave had carried the second line and commenced to clear it; this wave captured a minenwerfer [a German trench mortar]. They also sent down about about fifty prisoners
At 7 am Lieut. McCallum, commanding B Company, reorganised the remains of his Company and started to lead them forward to reinforce the fourth wave, but as soon as they started away from the second German line they were fired on by some Germans concealed in shell holes near the German first line. They therefore retired and dealt with this party before going on. Having done so they advanced again and eventually reinforced the leading line of the battalion.
The third wave advanced on the third German line and were entering it when the barrage lifted off it. This wave was considerably troubled by snipers on their right flank. There appears to have been a gap between the right flank of the Argylls and the left flank of the 5/Seaforth, which was afterwards dealt with by a company of the 6/Gordons. [These Germans were in the morass which held out for so long to the east of the crater]. The third wave had orders to deal with two dugouts located a Q.5.c.3.5.3.5, which lay between the objectives of the second and third wave.
Aerial photograph of Beaumont Hamel taken in October 1916.
From information derived from a captured German map a Battalion Headquarters was suspected at Q.5.c.5.0.5.5, which was just in front of the objective of the third wave. On obtaining the objective, therefore, of the third wave, Lieut Munro, accompanied by 2/Lt Miller, went forward to search for this dugout, and there captured a Battalion commander, four other officers and a staff of forty five men (believed to be belonging to the 2nd battalion of the 62nd Regiment). [Lt W Munro was killed in May 1917 at Arras and is commemorated on the Arras Memorial.]
At 9.20 am I received information from the officer commanding the fourth wave that they had entered the fourth German line. They were afterwards shelled out of it, and retired to the third German line.
It appears a little doubtful whether this wave did actually reach the fourth German line; owing to the destructive effect of our artillery fire it was almost impossible to recognise the ground. It is, however, certain that they consolidated eventually with the third wave in the third German line, and remained there until the whole battalion moved forward later in the day to try and occupy the line of the WAGON ROAD.
The battalion was at this time (9.20 am) in touch with 2/HLI on the left and 5/Seaforths on the right.
At 4.25 pm orders were received from the Brigade to seize and consolidate the line of the WAGON ROAD from its junction with the Green Line to Q.5.b.6.3. This movement was commenced at dusk, but the advance was stopped on the Green Line from Q.5.d.1.5 to Q.5.c.8.8., and continued to hold this line until finally relieved. Contact was obtained with 2/HLI on the left and 6/Gordons on the right.
Two ‘Tanks’ proceeded up towards BEAUMONT HAMEL during the afternoon, but one stuck between the first and second German lines about Q.4.d.9.5 1.5; the other proceeded to the northern part of BEAUMONT HAMEL and stuck the other side of the village.
The casualties for the battalion during the fight were estimated at 250; at the present time (November 18th) they have turned out to be 265 [that is just under 40% of those who left Forceville].
The battalion front ran for some four hundred yards, from the Auchonvillers road on the right, to the left flank which was in line with a lone blasted tree, visible near Wagon Road. The move in to the jump-off position, Hunter’s Trench, was via the White City (which was to be the site of 152 Brigade Headquarters and an instant reserve of a company of 6/Gordons), King Street and Middle Street. The anonymous soldier of C Company, who was on the extreme left of the attack, takes up the story.
‘Down Fourth Avenue we go, breaking step, so that the sound of our tread on the duckboards shall not travel too far, and give warning to the enemy. At intervals comes a hiss, “Mind the wire!”, and we duck under a strand of telephone wire, which some benighted signaller has allowed to droop into the trench to half-strangle an unwary member of the P.B.I. [Poor Bloody Infantry]. Now a halt, then a halt, some blighter holding up the march no doubt — on again, there’s White City on your left, down Middle Trench, branch off with C’s rear down King Street, into Hunter’s Trench, file along, or rather, fall along it — for it is carpeted with A’s and B’s and goodness knows how many alphabets full of leggy fighting-men — thousands of alphabets, many hitherto unheard of until one treads on a leg here, or knee there, and maybe an unwary face or two. How D will get in I don’t know, but get in they will, and then perhaps the trench will burst. That’s how it seems to me and many others at 3.30 am this morning of November 13th 1916. I wonder what they’re doing at home now? In their little beds, no doubt, fast asleep! I could sleep too but for the fact that my opposite number squatting in the bottom of this trench has his knee planted hard against my collar bone. Can’t sleep! Must get out and have a stroll! Wander into No Man’s Land. Quite a number of the boys there already sitting in shell holes — more room there and more pleasant than in Hunters Trench, although a skeleton may be the occupant of the shell hole next door. I doze a little, step across to the left, and watch certain of the 2nd HLI laying a nice white tape along their front, in order that their battalion may line up on it and set off in the correct direction. I return to Hunters trench, and feeling a little chilly, get down into the bottom of it. More comfortable now, so dose off again. “Wake up — Rum ration!” I’m awake in a moment and have a wee tot. Catches one’s throat a bit, but goes down and gives one a beautiful warm sensation in the “bread basket”, a most luxurious feeling on a cold, misty morning, in the black hour before the dawn. Can’t help feeling sleepy, but mustn’t give way to sleep now. Must shake hands with a couple of my pals. I get out of the trench, find them, and wish them luck. “Same to you! See you in blighty soon!” — Alas!!
All get into Hunter’s Trench now, for time is drawing on, and the mine laid in front of the 5th Seaforths on our right may at any moment give us the starting signal. I lean against the parados — feel gently melancholy — wonder if I’ll see home again. Come the orders, “Fix bayonets! A Company get out and lie down!” More room now. Five minutes to go! Don’t notice any signs of fear around me. Not feeling any myself (much to my astonishment), but that gentle melancholy has developed into a more familiar sensation, that sinking feeling in the pit of the stomach which comes when a meal is overdue. Three minutes to go! — beginning to get excited — two minutes — excitement mounting — one minute really excited now — half a minute! Then, unexpectedly breaking the whispering stillness, the ringing bark of a solitary eighteen pounder.
“Why’s that chap firing?” “The mine’s our signal!” A moment’s pause — we crowd the fire steps straining our eyes towards the right, trying to see the mine go up. Hoo-oo-oom! Up she goes! The fight’s on! A quarter to six has come!
A Company are off, to the accompaniment of the dull thuds of the falling clods. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! bark the eighteen pounders opening up one by one — crack! crack! crack! until the single explosions become merged into one continuous roar, or rather hubble-bubble, as if Old Nick’s cauldron were on the boil, while at the same time “Tat-tat-tat-tat a multitude of machine guns begin rattling their messages through the air — deadly messages, leaden symbols of hate, fatal to the luckless lads who receive them. To us, waiting in Hunter’s Trench, those bullets sound like falling hail, while the eighteen pounder shells, just a few feet, seemingly, above our heads go wheek, wheek, wheeking through the gloom like a concatenation of shrieking witches riding their brooms to the nether regions. Tarn O’Shanter’s screeching hags are a sedate selection of Whispering Winnies compared with these millions of lost souls. A noise? No! The noise. Have undergone (one cannot say hear) nothing like it before. It’s no mere howling of hurricane. It’s solid — and we have to get out of this trench, and bump our heads against it! What a prospect! But B Company have gone and we must follow in ninety seconds time. We get up on the firestep, place our rifles on the parapet, and scramble up besides them. Stand erect, waiting for pals to get up. The morning air does feel cold on one’s bare knees! Hope none of our shells are flying too low! They seem only one foot above our heads. Pals are here. I take the first step forward, and “Jock’s himself again!” No sinking feeling now! No gentle melancholy, but the wild excitement of a stirring football match intensified tenfold. Away we go with the nearest approach to a rush that that shell-torn ground will permit. Official rate of progress is twenty five yards to the minute. What my rate is, I don’t know, nor do I care. I’m off. The whole battalion is off at a rate that, while leading to many of our lads being killed by our own barrage, yet enables us to surprise, and deal with, many of the Huns while they are still in their dugouts. This unofficial (undue??) haste, in fact, may make a huge success of what has been considered a more or less forlorn hope. So away we go, passing through or over a few loose strands of our wire, into the outer darkness, the dreary, mysterious waste of No Man’s Land. It is very misty — and the smoke of the shells, combined with the mist, makes the morning pitch dark. On either side, keeping pace with me, are black blobs, friends no doubt! Soon they disappear, and I move along advancing quickly over, into, around, that earthy “solitaire board” of shell holes. Alone in the mist am I now, in so far as actual sight of human beings is concerned, but I know that they are there, my pals, some on either side, some behind, and many in front. Maybe I am now crossing the German Front Line, I don’t know, for at this left-most point of our battalion front the trench has been blown in by shell-fire, and I can’t see five yards. No doubt A Company are in the midst of a stern struggle, just a few yards to my right. The Germans are putting up a determined resistance with much bayonet work, rifle firing and bombing, and many a fine life is being blown out by the fiery breath of Mars. They pass on, their duty finished;
I pass on to continue mine. Overhead the screaming shells and hailing bullets are making, still, their infernal din, while ahead is a wall of flickering flames, flashing in and out with reddish flares, as if the thousand furnace-doors of hell itself are being flung open, then closed, by fiends in waiting. Reddish flares, not calculated by any means, “to cheer a lonely sodjer on his way”! Still, a cheerier idea, they are also guiding lights. With them before me, how can I fail to go forward, even in this confounded fog? On I go. Our artillery has done its wire cutting well, for very few strands of German wire have I seen, although a part of A Company have suffered through coming across a thick belt of it, forty yards long, hidden in a sunken portion of No Man’s Land. Forward then! Jump a trench — count ‘One’ (should have counted ‘Two’). B Company are in this trench, the second German line, and are having a very rough time of it with bombs very much to the fore. Ably and courageously led by Lieut McKellar of A Company, they are wearing down the opposition with the aid of those same Mills bombs that caused such chafing on the march up. They will clear up this particular nest of hornets, but, alas, will lose their leader when the fight is at its last gasp. This will not be until a few of C Company will have jumped over the trenches and will have been shot at from some of these dugouts not far behind them. But more of C coming on will take part in this game and, infuriated by this shooting of their comrades in the back, will “attend properly” to the thirteen Germans on the losing side. There’ll be some bayonet work! Being to the left of all this, I can’t see it, and, in any case, am busy counting Two’ while taking a flying leap over a trench which appears to be ten to fifteen feet deep. See no one in it, though there is a dugout doorway just below me, as I scramble to my feet again. Should have stayed in that trench, for it is C’s objective, but through miscounting, go on. Fear I’m behind time, so break into a run. Run hard into that wall of smoke and flame, thinking it must be lifting from my objective. Same old noise of hailing bullets going on above, but now the wheek-wheek of those eighteen pounder shells has changed into an even more terrifying “whizz-whizz br-r-rump fiz-z-z”. Fancy the bullets are falling around me. Must be only imagination, for I haven’t found my (presumed) objective yet. Won’t find it either, for here the German fourth line has been blown in by our high explosive shells. Fancy those ground-bursts are going on around me now, that I can see new shell holes actually being made as I progress through that inferno of a barrage. I get through it, right to the other side, where dawn is breaking. Then discover from the downward slope of the ground, that I have come too far, and must return through the barrage. Lose my feeling of elation — get the ‘wind-up’ in fact — imagine every second that I shall have one of those HEs splattering through my chest. Get back as fast as shell holes will permit without, as you can guess, making acquaintance with an HE. Meet, on the other side, a platoon of D Company, advancing (Lieut Baly at their head), in perfect order. “Where are we?” he asks. I tell him. He swings half-left and goes on. I now meet a conglomeration, an assortment, of all the Highland Regiments in the British Army, the Camerons excepted. There are Argylls, Gordons, Black Watch and HLI wandering about in the middle of a fog, plus a small wood [between Frontier Lane and Wagon Road], both singly, and in twos and threes, and all asking, “Where are we?” Having an advanced, or a ‘too advanced’ knowledge of the lie of the land, am able to direct them to their several units. Meet one of ours. Am just about to speak, when off he rushes to the entrance of a dugout, hitherto unnoticed, at the side of a cart-track or small sunken road. Puts his hand in at the door way of the dug out. When it emerges, between his fingers is a German ear, attached to a short, fat, dark, close-cropped Boche. Jock leads Fritz (by the ear) over to me. “What shall I do with him?”, he asks, gripping his rifle by the muzzle and making playful passes, or upward jabs, at the prisoner’s throat with his bayonet. Fritz, with hands stretched high is crying piteously, “Kamaraden”, and shaking like a jelly. Feel somewhat disgusted with him, for I see by his bayonet knot that he is an NCO. Take pity, however, and say to Jock, “Oh, take him back!” Off they go. I join in with a couple of Argylls and am trudging back also, when one of them shouts, “There the blighters are!” and charges towards a large, black, misty body of men. I see that they are coming from our own lines, so wait until they come up. Englishmen this time! A whole company of Ox and Bucks (Oxford and Buckingham Light Infantry). Captain asks, “Where are the 2nd HLI.” I tell him to turn left and he’ll find them. He argues the point for a few moments, then follows my directions, and fades out of the picture. Drop back at last into my objective, C Company’s line, near the dugout I had passed on my way forward. Find C, all that is left of them, busy digging out firesteps on the German side of the trench. Feel very weary but, with the inspiration of a few cuss words from our platoon officer, soon begin digging a firestep for myself at the left end of the trench. Near by ‘Gibby’ is busy cleaning up his beloved Lewis Gun in readiness for any counter attack that may develop. Field of fire very poor, as the wood in front obstructs view. Trench very shallow at this point. Hope we don’t get shelled! Mustn’t go into German dugouts until they have been properly examined, so every dugout door has a sentry, except that dugout on the right. A phosphorous bomb has been flung down there, and it is on fire, is smoking and will smoke until goodness knows when.
Finish my firestep. Talk to a sentry at a dugout doorway. Hear a voice from downstairs, “Kamerad”. Sentry, with rifle to shoulder shouts, “Come up you blighter!” Up the stairs comes a lone German, hands up. As he reaches the top we see that dangling in his fingers in each hand is a revolver in a wooden case, a souvenir most highly estemed. Sentry takes one, I take the other. Ask the German are any of his friends down below still. Send him down to see. Goes down, shouts, “Fran, Hans etc”, then comes up again. Says they’ve gone out another way. Prisoner disappears — where, I forget! Probably impressed by stretcher-bearers to aid in carrying back the wounded. A poor Gordon, wounded in the leg, lies in our trench a great part of the day. Try to get stretcher for him, but cannot, until later, for they are clearing the back areas first. We do our best for him, and he bears his pain very bravely. D Company have taken their objective, but have been shelled out, and forced to take refuge in our line. A platoon of 6th Seaforths appears from somewhere or other, going where — they don’t seem to know. Trench getting crowded so they are told to find a hole for themselves in a little post just ahead. A Company, Lieut Sloan now in command, appear at the head of a communication trench. No welcome for them here, so they settle down where they are. Don’t see any dead till I wander along to our right flank. Rounding a traverse, I find three enemy dead, dark chaps, a small black growth on each chin. Each face is a assuming a sallow greenish tint. Poor fellows. Hard luck on their mothers. Afraid I’m getting too soft-hearted to be a real soldier, so move on around the next traverse. Find Lieutenants Willie Munro and Ronnie Miller there. It is C Company headquarters. Not a dugout, just an open trench with a firestep, on which they are sitting. Willie has done great things this day — captured a German colonel and his staff — but now he is really worried. With message pad on knee and pencil in hand he is considering what on earth he shall put in his next report to the C.O. The report of a bursting shell would not worry him nearly so much. With him is Lance Corporal Irwin and a couple of runners waiting to take that same report. To the CO. it can bring nothing but the good news that his battalion has done its duty in the most gallant manner — but writing a report is a dreadful job!
The material debris of war: the Somme 1916.
Cheerfulness in adversity! Mud seemingly the main enemy; working parties the perennial chore.
The day is spent in sentry duty, resting and consuming one’s two-day’s rations. What we’ll eat tomorrow is a question that doesn’t enter our minds. Down go the rations! About 4 pm a little excitement — for the first time we see a tank coming into action. It descends the hills from Auchonvillers, gets a little way beyond Hunter’s Trench, and — sticks fast in the mud. Everyone is weary, and feeling absolutely exhausted. Had no sleep last night, had terrific excitement this morning, so have been tired out since 8 am or thereabouts. Begin making ourselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, but orders arrive that we are to advance at 9.30 pm and take Wagon Road. Our trench fills up, A and B coming into it. At 9.30 we move off in open order, pass through the little wood, and descend the slope into Wagon Road. Much to our relief, there isn’t a soul in the trench. Our barrage is playing on the slope opposite, and the ‘shorts’ cause us much concern. It stops at last, and we settle down peacefully. Suddenly a dark mass is seen descending the slope on our right flank. “Who are they?” is the question that immediately springs into the mind. Our right sentry post challenges them once — twice — three times — hearty, ringing challenges. No reply! We open fire and cease forthwith as a Gordon officer rushes across the road and announces that they are 6th Gordons. They had advanced on our right but had overshot their objective in the darkness. Luckily none had been hit by our shots.
We settle down once more, but within a few hours are ordered to withdraw to the former fourth German line (D Company’s objective) [That is, the Green Line]. Find there most wonderful dugouts, with a number of entrances, large enough to hold a battalion. They are panelled in clean, white wood, contain real beds, stoves — home comforts, even to lingerie left, perhaps, by a German officer’s lady. The ration problem is solved to a large extent by some found by the stoves, and so everything is ‘trays been’. This line we hold throughout the rest day of the 14th, getting just one more thrill at the sight of two companies of the 7th Argylls making a bombing attack just in front, up the slope on the farther side of Wagon Road.
That evening the 6th Gordons relieve us. We pick up our souvenirs, German revolvers, bayonets, helmets etc., and climb out of our trench into the open once more. We wend our way slowly back in single file over the ground we have fought so hard, run such risks, to win. It is a beautiful moonlight night, and very peaceful. Hardly a gun is heard. We pick our way between the shell holes, the chalky soil appearing snowy in the bright light. As one plods along there comes to one’s mind, inevitably, thoughts of the gallant comrades whom, though one cannot see them lying in their shell holes, one knows that one is passing by, probably for the last time. To many a mind, perhaps, come the word of the song:
“Trumpeter, what are you sounding now? …
I’m calling them home, ‘Come home, come home,’
Tread lightly oe’r the dead in the valley
They are lying around, face down to the ground,
And can’t hear me sound the rally.”
As, climbing the hill to Auchonvillers, one turns one’s head for a last look at the scene, a lump comes into one’s throat. But, ‘Close up there!’ comes the order, and on one goes again, hurried at the turn into Mailly-Maillet village by a few 5.9 [inch] shells. They choose this most awkward moment to fly at an adjacent battery’.
A couple of days after the attack was over, 6/Gordons returned to hold the defences of the village for six days, in which time they made a more extensive and detailed examination of the German defences of Beaumont Hamel. Their Regimental historian claims that Beaumont Hamel had the most complete and complex of all the German defences on the Somme, Thiepval not excluded. He goes on to describe something of the dugouts, prefacing this by pointing out that although there were existing earth works, the system was almost entirely the work of German engineers.
‘In some cases the stairs leading down to the dugouts had as many as thirty or forty steps; in others there were two ‘storeys’, one some fifteen feet underground, and another lower still. It was estimated that one of these enormous ‘burrows’ could hold as many as three hundred men. Comfort as well as safety had been considered. Nearly all were fitted with beds; in some, kitchens were installed, and electric light was supplied by a power station established in the village itself. Headquarters were palatial in comfort. One Company Headquarters, within 100 yards of the original front line, may serve as an example. It was roofed with iron rails, similar to those which form the permanent way of railways, placed close together. Above these were rows of tree stems, then many feet of earth; above this again a foot of concrete covered by more earth. Outside, at the entrance, a verandah with bricklaid promenade looked out on an obelisk, a carefully constructed memorial to the German dead. The lobby leading down to the interior was lined with wood, and contained a walking stick rack. Inside were five chambers — a living room, an office, accommodation for the Feldwebel or Sergeant-Major and for orderlies, and a kitchen, which had a serving window opening into the living room. The living room was floored and panelled throughout — walls and ceiling — with wood. A table, two beds, a telephone, electric light, and a stove contributed material comfort and business efficiency, while a frieze of dark green cloth, some fifteen inches deep, and a few pictures gave artistic relief to the bare walls.’
‘In another, probably a Battalion Headquarters, was found the Commander’s bedroom, with chest of drawers, mirror, four-posted bed, a small table and an electric switch within easy reach, enabling the distinguished soldier to perform his arduous duties without undue risk or fatigue.’
‘In the village were found a bakery, an armourer’s shop and great supplies of arms and ammunition of all kinds. Large quantities of stores were discovered in a canteen: tinned beef and sardines, cigars, cigarettes (including Wills’s Gold Flake), matches, coffee beans — pronounced by an expert to be Turkish, soda water, lager beer, a piano, cat-o’-nine-tails and, most treasured of all by the finder, the gallant officer who then commanded B Company, a lady’s white slipper.’
The Highland Division suffered some two thousand five hundred casualties, about forty five percent of that part of the division that took part in the attack. Given the nature of the objective, and the number of the German defenders, the casualties were relatively modest. The Division took over two thousand prisoners, captured great quantities of stores and munitions, and occupied that great symbol of the potency of German defences, Beaumont Hamel. ‘The battle of Beaumont Hamel was the foundation stone on which the reputation of the Highland Division was built.” History of the 51st (Highland) Division.
A German artillery Aid Post, situated in the nearby village of Puisieux. All the comforts of home in this deep dug out safe from all but a direct hit on the entrance by an artillery shell, but not fully safe from British, poisonous gas.
The (51st) Highland Division memorial, modelled on a Gordon Highlander, CSM Rowan, stares across the western end of Y Ravine.