THE FIRST BATTLE OF BULLECOURT.
(_April 11, 1917._)
Later in the morning we heard from Jumbo, who had returned from
Noreuil, the full history of the weary trek in the blizzard.
The tanks had left Mory Copse at 8 P.M. under the guidance of Wyatt.
In the original plan of operations it had been arranged that Wyatt's
section should attack from Noreuil and the remaining sections from
Ecoust. So Wyatt was the only section commander who had reconnoitred
the Noreuil route.
No tape had been laid. We had not wished to decorate the downs with
broad white tape before the afternoon of the day on which the tanks
would move forward. On the other hand, we had not calculated on such
a brief interval between the receipt of orders and the start of the
tanks. An attempt to lay tape in front of the tanks was soon abandoned:
the drivers could not distinguish it, and Wyatt was guiding them as
well as he could.
Soon after they had set out the blizzard came sweeping over the downs,
blocking out landmarks and obscuring lamps. The drivers could not
always see the officers who were leading their tanks on foot. Each tank
commander, blinded and breathless, found it barely possible to follow
the tank in front. The pace was reduced to a mere crawl in order to
keep the convoy together.
Though Wyatt never lost his way, he wisely proceeded with the utmost
caution, checking his route again and again. Our line at the time
consisted of scattered posts--there were no trenches--and on such a
night it would have been easy enough to lead the whole company of tanks
straight into the German wire.
The tanks came down into the valley that runs from Vaulx-Vraucourt to
Noreuil two miles above Noreuil. The crews were dead-tired, but they
would have gone forward willingly if they could have arrived in time.
The rest of the story I have told.
The blizzard confounded many that night. The colonel told me later he
had heard that a whole cavalry brigade had spent most of the night
wandering over the downs, hopelessly lost. I cannot vouch for the story
myself.
In the afternoon (April 10) I was called to a conference at the
headquarters of the Australian Division. General Birdwood was there,
Major-General Holmes, who commanded the Division with which we were to
operate, Brigadier-General Rosenthal, commanding the artillery of the
Corps, sundry staff officers, the colonel, and myself.
The conference first discussed the situation on the front of the Third
Army. The initial advance had been completely successful, but the
German forces were far from defeat, and were continuing to offer a
most determined and skilful resistance. We certainly had not broken
through yet. The battle, however, was still in its earliest stages; the
situation had not crystallised; there was still hope that the enormous
pressure of our offensive might cause the enemy line to crumble and
disappear. It had been decided, in consequence, to proceed with the
postponed attack on Bullecourt, but to overhaul the arrangements which
had been improvised to meet an emergency. The original idea of a
stealthy and silent attack, led by tanks and supported by a bombardment
rather than a barrage, was abandoned after some discussion, and the
conference agreed to return to more classical methods.
Two infantry brigades would attack and pierce the Hindenburg Line on
the front immediately to the east of Bullecourt. The attack was to be
led by tanks under cover of a barrage and a heavy bombardment. Emphasis
was laid on the necessity for strong counter-battery work. The right
attacking brigade would form a defensive flank in the direction of
Quéant, and at the same time endeavour to press through to Riencourt
and Hendecourt. The left brigade would work its way down the German
trenches into Bullecourt itself. Immediately the village was reached,
the British division on the left would extend the front of the attack
westwards.
My tanks were detailed to co-operate very closely with the infantry.
The right section (Wyatt's) were given three duties: first, to parade
up and down the German wire immediately to the right of the front of
the attack; second, to remain with the infantry in the Hindenburg Line
until the trenches had been successfully "blocked" and the defensive
flank secured; third, to accompany the infantry in their advance on
Riencourt and Hendecourt.
[Illustration]
The centre section (Field's) were required to advance between the two
brigades and plunge into the Hindenburg Line. This movement was made
necessary by the decision to attack not on a continuous front but up
two slight spurs or shoulders. The Hindenburg Line itself lay just
beyond the crest of a slope, and these almost imperceptible shoulders
ran out from the main slope at right angles to the line. It was
thought that the depression between them would be swept by machine-gun
fire, and it was decided in consequence to leave the attack up the
depression to the tanks alone.
My left section (Swears') were to precede the infantry of the left
Australian brigade. They were to obtain a footing in the Hindenburg
Line and then work along it into Bullecourt. Whether, later, they would
be able to assist the British infantry in their attack on the trenches
to the west of Bullecourt was a matter for their discretion.
The atmosphere of the conference was cheerless. It is a little
melancholy to revive and rebuild the plan of an attack which has
been postponed very literally at the last moment. The conference
was an anticlimax. For days and nights we had been completing our
preparations. The supreme moment had come, and after hours of acute
tension had passed without result. Then again, tired and without
spirit, we drew up fresh plans. War is never romantic because
emergencies, which might be adventures, come only when the soldier is
stale and tired.
We hurried back to the camp at Behagnies and composed fresh orders,
while Jumbo re-marked his maps and reshuffled his aeroplane
photographs. At dusk Jumbo and I started out in the car for Noreuil,
but at Vaulx-Vraucourt we decided to leave the car as the road was
impossible. It was heavy with mud and slush and we were far from fresh.
We passed Australians coming up and much transport--in places the road
was almost blocked. After an hour or more we came to the valley above
Noreuil, full of new gun-pits. Our tanks lay hidden against the bank at
the side of the road, shrouded in their tarpaulins. My men were busily
engaged in making them ready. One engine was turning over very quietly.
It was bitterly cold, and the snow still lay on the downs.
We struggled on to a ruined house at the entrance to the village.
One room or shed--it may have been a shrine--constructed strongly of
bricks, still stood in the middle of the wreckage. This my officers had
made their headquarters. I gave instructions for all the officers to be
collected, and in the meantime walked through the street to one of the
two brigade headquarters in the village.
This brigade was fortunate in its choice, for it lay safe and snug in
the bowels of the earth. An old brewery or factory possessed whole
storeys of cellars, and the brigade office was three storeys down.
Haigh and Swears were discussing operations with the brigadier. They
were all under the illusion that the postponed attack would take place
as originally planned, and bitter was the disappointment when I told
them that the orders had been changed. I gave the general and his
brigade-major a rough outline of the new scheme, and took Swears and
Haigh back with me to the ruins.
All my officers were assembled in the darkness. I could not see their
faces. They might have been ghosts: I heard only rustles and murmurs.
I explained briefly what had happened. One or two of them naturally
complained of changes made at such a late hour. They did not see how
they could study their orders, their maps, and their photographs in
the hour and a half that remained to them before it was time for the
tanks to start. So, again, I set out carefully and in detail the exact
task of each tank. When I had finished, we discussed one or two points,
and then my officers went to their tanks, and I returned to brigade
headquarters, so that I might be in touch with the colonel and the
Division should anything untoward happen before zero.
The night passed with slow feet, while my tanks were crawling forward
over the snow. The brigade-major re-wrote his orders. Officers and
orderlies came in and out of the cellar. We had some tea, and the
general lay down for some sleep. There was a rumour that one of the
tanks had become ditched in climbing out of the road. I went out to
investigate, and learned that Morris's tank had been slightly delayed.
It was, unfortunately, a clear cold night.
When I returned to the cellar the brigade staff were making ready for
the battle. Pads of army signal forms were placed conveniently to hand.
The war diary was lying open with a pencil beside it and the carbons
adjusted. The wires forward to battalion headquarters were tested.
Fresh orderlies were awakened.
Apparently there had been little shelling during the early part of the
night. Noreuil itself had been sprinkled continuously with shrapnel,
and one or two 5.9's had come sailing over. Forward, the railway
embankment and the approaches to it had been shelled intermittently,
and towards dawn the Germans began a mild bombardment, but nothing was
reported to show that the enemy had heard our tanks or realised our
intentions.
I received messages from Haigh that all my tanks were in position, or
just coming into position, beyond the railway embankment. Zero hour
was immediately before sunrise, and as the minutes filed by I wondered
idly whether, deep down in the earth, we should hear the barrage. I
was desperately anxious that the tanks should prove an overwhelming
success. It was impossible not to imagine what might happen to the
infantry if the tanks were knocked out early in the battle. Yet I could
not help feeling that this day we should make our name.
We looked at our watches--two minutes to go. We stared at the
minute-hands. Suddenly there was a whistling and rustling in the
distance, and a succession of little thumps, like a dog that hits the
floor when it scratches itself. The barrage had opened. Constraint
vanished, and we lit pipes and cigarettes. You would have thought that
the battle was over. We had not blown out our matches when there was a
reverberating crash overhead. Two could play at this game of noises.
Few reports arrive during the first forty minutes of a battle.
Everybody is too busy fighting. Usually the earliest news comes from
wounded men, and naturally their experiences are limited. Brigade
headquarters are, as a rule, at least an hour behind the battle. You
cannot often stand on a hill and watch the ebb and flow of the fight in
the old magnificent way.
At last the reports began to dribble in and the staff settled down to
their work. There were heavy casualties before the German wire was
reached. The enemy barrage came down, hot and strong, a few minutes
after zero.... Fighting hard in the Hindenburg trenches, but few tanks
to be seen.... The enemy are still holding on to certain portions of
the line.... The fighting is very severe.... Heavy counter-attacks from
the sunken road at L. 6 b. 5.2. The news is a medley of scraps.
Soon the brigadier is called upon to act. One company want a protective
barrage put down in front of them, but from another message it seems
probable that there are Australians out in front. The brigadier must
decide.
One battalion asks to be reinforced from the reserve battalion. Is it
time for the reserve to be thrown into the battle? The brigadier must
decide.
They have run short of bombs. An urgent message for fresh supplies
comes through, and the staff captain hurries out to make additional
arrangements.
There is little news of the tanks. One report states that no tanks have
been seen, another that a tank helped to clear up a machine-gun post, a
third that a tank is burning.
At last R., one of my tank commanders, bursts in. He is grimy,
red-eyed, and shaken.
"Practically all the tanks have been knocked out, sir!" he reported in
a hard excited voice.
Before answering I glanced rapidly round the cellar. These Australians
had been told to rely on tanks. Without tanks many casualties were
certain and victory was improbable. Their hopes were shattered as well
as mine, if this report were true. Not an Australian turned a hair.
Each man went on with his job.
I asked R. a few questions. The brigade-major was listening
sympathetically. I made a written note, sent off a wire to the colonel,
and climbed into the open air.
It was a bright and sunny morning, with a clear sky and a cool
invigorating breeze. A bunch of Australians were joking over their
breakfasts. The streets of the village were empty, with the exception
of a "runner," who was hurrying down the road.
The guns were hard at it. From the valley behind the village came the
quick cracks of the 18-pdrs., the little thuds of the light howitzers,
the ear-splitting crashes of the 60-pdrs., and, very occasionally,
the shuddering thumps of the heavies. The air rustled and whined with
shells. Then, as we hesitated, came the loud murmur, the roar, the
overwhelming rush of a 5.9, like the tearing of a giant newspaper, and
the building shook and rattled as a huge cloud of black smoke came
suddenly into being one hundred yards away, and bricks and bits of
metal came pattering down or swishing past.
The enemy was kind. He was only throwing an occasional shell into the
village, and we walked down the street in comparative calm.
When we came to the brick shelter at the farther end of the village
we realised that our rendezvous had been most damnably ill-chosen.
Fifty yards to the west the Germans, before their retirement, had
blown a large crater where the road from Ecoust joins the road
from Vaulx-Vraucourt, and now they were shelling it persistently.
A stretcher party had just been caught. They lay in a confused
heap half-way down the side of the crater. And a few yards away a
field-howitzer battery in action was being shelled with care and
accuracy.
We sat for a time in this noisy and unpleasant spot. One by one
officers came in to report. Then we walked up the sunken road towards
the dressing station. When I had the outline of the story I made my way
back to the brigade headquarters in the cellar, and sent off a long
wire. My return to the brick shelter was, for reasons that at the time
seemed almost too obvious, both hasty and undignified. Further reports
came in, and when we decided to move outside the village and collect
the men by the bank where the tanks had sheltered a few hours before,
the story was tolerably complete.
All the tanks, except Morris's, had arrived without incident at the
railway embankment. Morris ditched at the bank and was a little late.
Haigh and Jumbo had gone on ahead of the tanks. They crawled out beyond
the embankment into No Man's Land and marked out the starting-line. It
was not too pleasant a job. The enemy machine-guns were active right
through the night, and the neighbourhood of the embankment was shelled
intermittently. Towards dawn this intermittent shelling became almost a
bombardment, and it was feared that the tanks had been heard.[9]
Skinner's tank failed on the embankment. The remainder crossed it
successfully and lined up for the attack just before zero. By this time
the shelling had become severe. The crews waited inside their tanks,
wondering dully if they would be hit before they started. Already they
were dead-tired, for they had had little sleep since their long painful
trek of the night before.
Suddenly our bombardment began--it was more of a bombardment than a
barrage--and the tanks crawled away into the darkness, followed closely
by little bunches of Australians.
On the extreme right Morris and Puttock of Wyatt's section were met by
tremendous machine-gun fire at the wire of the Hindenburg Line. They
swung to the right, as they had been ordered, and glided along in front
of the wire, sweeping the parapet with their fire. They received as
good as they gave. Serious clutch trouble developed in Puttock's tank.
It was impossible to stop since now the German guns were following
them. A brave runner carried the news to Wyatt at the embankment. The
tanks continued their course, though Puttock's tank was barely moving,
and by luck and good driving they returned to the railway, having kept
the enemy most fully occupied in a quarter where he might have been
uncommonly troublesome.
Morris passed a line to Skinner and towed him over the embankment. They
both started for Bullecourt. Puttock pushed on back towards Noreuil.
His clutch was slipping so badly that the tank would not move, and the
shells were falling ominously near. He withdrew his crew from the tank
into a trench, and a moment later the tank was hit and hit again.
Of the remaining two tanks in this section we could hear nothing.
Davies and Clarkson had disappeared. Perhaps they had gone through to
Hendecourt. Yet the infantry of the right brigade, according to the
reports we had received, were fighting most desperately to retain a
precarious hold on the trenches they had entered.
In the centre Field's section of three tanks were stopped by the
determined and accurate fire of forward field-guns before they entered
the German trenches. The tanks were silhouetted against the snow, and
the enemy gunners did not miss.
The first tank was hit in the track before it was well under way. The
tank was evacuated, and in the dawning light it was hit again before
the track could be repaired.
Money's tank reached the German wire. His men must have "missed their
gears." For less than a minute the tank was motionless, then she burst
into flames. A shell had exploded the petrol tanks, which in the
old Mark I. were placed forward on either side of the officer's and
driver's seats. A sergeant and two men escaped. Money, best of good
fellows, must have been killed instantaneously by the shell.
Bernstein's tank was within reach of the German trenches when a shell
hit the cab, decapitated the driver, and exploded in the body of the
tank. The corporal was wounded in the arm, and Bernstein was stunned
and temporarily blinded. The tank was filled with fumes. As the crew
were crawling out, a second shell hit the tank on the roof. The
men under the wounded corporal began stolidly to salve the tank's
equipment, while Bernstein, scarcely knowing where he was, staggered
back to the embankment. He was packed off to a dressing station, and
an orderly was sent to recall the crew and found them still working
stubbornly under direct fire.
Swears' section of four tanks on the left were slightly more fortunate.
Birkett went forward at top speed, and, escaping the shells, entered
the German trenches, where his guns did great execution. The tank
worked down the trenches towards Bullecourt, followed by the
Australians. She was hit twice, and all the crew were wounded, but
Birkett went on fighting grimly until his ammunition was exhausted and
he himself was badly wounded in the leg. Then at last he turned back,
followed industriously by the German gunners. Near the embankment
he stopped the tank to take his bearings. As he was climbing out, a
shell burst against the side of the tank and wounded him again in the
leg. The tank was evacuated. The crew salved what they could, and,
helping each other, for they were all wounded, they made their way back
painfully to the embankment. Birkett was brought back on a stretcher,
and wounded a third time as he lay in the sunken road outside the
dressing station. His tank was hit again and again. Finally it took
fire, and was burnt out.
Skinner, after his tank had been towed over the railway embankment by
Morris, made straight for Bullecourt, thinking that as the battle had
now been in progress for more than two hours the Australians must have
fought their way down the trenches into the village. Immediately he
entered the village machine-guns played upon his tank, and several of
his crew were slightly wounded by the little flakes of metal that fly
about inside a Mk. I. tank when it is subjected to really concentrated
machine-gun fire. No Australians could be seen. Suddenly he came right
to the edge of an enormous crater, and as suddenly stopped. He tried
to reverse, but he could not change gear. The tank was absolutely
motionless. He held out for some time, and then the Germans brought
up a gun and began to shell the tank. Against field-guns in houses he
was defenceless so long as his tank could not move. His ammunition was
nearly exhausted. There were no signs of the Australians or of British
troops. He decided quite properly to withdraw. With great skill he
evacuated his crew, taking his guns with him and the little ammunition
that remained. Slowly and carefully they worked their way back, and
reached the railway embankment without further casualty.
The fourth tank of this section was hit on the roof just as it was
coming into action. The engine stopped in sympathy, and the tank
commander withdrew his crew from the tank.
Swears, the section commander, left the railway embankment, and with
the utmost gallantry went forward into Bullecourt to look for Skinner.
He never came back.
Such were the cheerful reports that I received in my little brick
shelter by the cross-roads. Of my eleven tanks nine had received direct
hits, and two were missing. The infantry were in no better plight.
From all accounts the Australians were holding with the greatest
difficulty the trenches they had entered. Between the two brigades the
Germans were clinging fiercely to their old line. Counter-attack after
counter-attack came smashing against the Australians from Bullecourt
and its sunken roads, from Lagnicourt and along the trenches from the
Quéant salient. The Australians were indeed hard put to it.
While we were sorrowfully debating what would happen, we heard the
noise of a tank's engines. We ran out, and saw to our wonder a tank
coming down the sunken road. It was the fourth tank of Swears' section,
which had been evacuated after a shell had blown a large hole in its
roof.
When the crew had left the tank and were well on their way to Noreuil,
the tank corporal remembered that he had left his "Primus" stove
behind. It was a valuable stove, and he did not wish to lose it. So
he started back with a comrade, and later they were joined by a third
man. Their officer had left to look for me and ask for orders. They
reached the tank--the German gunners were doing their very best to hit
it again--and desperately eager not to abandon it outright, they tried
to start the engine. To their immense surprise it fired, and, despite
the German gunners, the three of them brought the tank and the "Primus"
stove safe into Noreuil. The corporal's name was Hayward. He was one of
Hamond's men.
We had left the brick shelter and were collecting the men on the road
outside Noreuil, when the colonel rode up and gave us news of Davies
and Clarkson. Our aeroplanes had seen two tanks crawling over the open
country beyond the Hindenburg trenches to Riencourt, followed by four
or five hundred cheering Australians. Through Riencourt they swept, and
on to the large village of Hendecourt five miles beyond the trenches.
They entered the village, still followed by the Australians....[10]
What happened to them afterwards cannot be known until the battlefield
is searched and all the prisoners who return have been questioned. The
tanks and the Australians never came back. The tanks may have been
knocked out by field-guns. They may have run short of petrol. They may
have become "ditched." Knowing Davies and Clarkson, I am certain they
fought to the last--and the tanks which later were paraded through
Berlin were not my tanks....
We rallied fifty-two officers and men out of the one hundred and three
who had left Mory or Behagnies for the battle. Two men were detailed
to guard our dump outside Noreuil, the rescued tank started for Mory,
and the remaining officers and men marched wearily to Vaulx-Vraucourt,
where lorries and a car were awaiting them.
I walked up to the railway embankment, but seeing no signs of any of my
men or of Davies' or Clarkson's tanks, returned to Noreuil and paid a
farewell visit to the two brigadiers, of whom one told me with natural
emphasis that tanks were "no damned use." Then with Skinner and Jumbo I
tramped up the valley towards Vraucourt through the midst of numerous
field-guns. We had passed the guns when the enemy began to shell the
crowded valley with heavy stuff, directed by an aeroplane that kept
steady and unwinking watch on our doings.
Just outside Vaulx-Vraucourt we rested on a sunny slope and looked
across the valley at our one surviving tank trekking back to Mory.
Suddenly a "5.9" burst near it. The enemy were searching for guns.
Then to our dismay a second shell burst at the tail of the tank. The
tank stopped, and in a moment the crew were scattering for safety. A
third shell burst within a few yards of the tank. The shooting seemed
too accurate to be unintentional, and we cursed the aeroplane that was
circling overhead.
There was nothing we could do. The disabled tank was two miles away. We
knew that when the shelling stopped the crew would return and inspect
the damage. So, sick at heart, we tramped on to Vaulx-Vraucourt,
passing a reserve brigade coming up hastily, and a dressing station to
which a ghastly stream of stretchers was flowing.
We met the car a mile beyond the village, and drove back sadly to
Behagnies. When we came to the camp, it was only ten o'clock in the
morning. In London civil servants were just beginning their day's work.
The enemy held the Australians stoutly. We never reached Bullecourt,
and soon it became only too clear that it would be difficult enough to
retain the trenches we had entered. The position was nearly desperate.
The right brigade had won some trenches, and the left brigade had
won some trenches. Between the two brigades the enemy had never been
dislodged. And he continued to counter-attack with skill and fury down
the trenches on the flanks--from the sunken roads by Bullecourt and
up the communication trenches from the north. In the intervals his
artillery pounded away with solid determination. Bombs and ammunition
were running very short, and to get further supplies forward was
terribly expensive work, for all the approaches to the trenches which
the Australians had won were enfiladed by machine-gun fire. Battalions
of the reserve brigade were thrown in too late, for we had bitten off
more than we could chew; the Germans realised this hard fact, and
redoubled their efforts. The Australians suddenly retired. The attack
had failed.
A few days later the Germans replied by a surprise attack on the
Australian line from Noreuil to Lagnicourt. At first they succeeded
and broke through to the guns; but the Australians soon rallied, and
by a succession of fierce little counter-attacks drove the enemy
with great skill back on to the deep wire in front of the Hindenburg
Line. There was no escape. Behind the Germans were belts of wire
quite impenetrable, and in front of them were the Australians. It was
a cool revengeful massacre. The Germans, screaming for mercy, were
deliberately and scientifically killed.
Two of my men, who had been left to guard our dump of supplies at
Noreuil, took part in this battle of Lagnicourt. Close by the dump
was a battery of field howitzers. The Germans had broken through to
Noreuil, and the howitzers were firing over the sights; but first one
howitzer and then another became silent as the gunners fell. My two men
had been using rifles. When they saw what was happening they dashed
forward to the howitzers, and turning their knowledge of the tank
6-pdr. gun to account, they helped to serve the howitzers until some
infantry came up and drove back the enemy. Then my men went back to
their dump, which had escaped, and remained there on guard until they
were relieved on the following day.
The first battle of Bullecourt was a minor disaster. Our attack was
a failure, in which the three brigades of infantry engaged lost very
heavily indeed; and the officers and men lost, seasoned Australian
troops who had fought at Gallipoli, could never be replaced. The
company of tanks had been, apparently, nothing but a broken reed. For
many months after the Australians distrusted tanks, and it was not
until the battle of Amiens, sixteen months later, that the Division
engaged at Bullecourt were fully converted. It was a disaster that the
Australians attributed to the tanks. The tanks had failed them--the
tanks "had let them down."
The Australians, in the bitterness of their losses, looked for
scapegoats and found them in my tanks, but my tanks were not to blame.
I have heard a lecturer say that to attack the Hindenburg Line on a
front of fifteen hundred yards without support on either flank was
rash. And it must not be forgotten that the attack ought to have been,
and in actual fact was, expected. The artillery support was very far
from overwhelming, and the barrage, coming down at zero, gave away the
attack before my tanks could cross the wide No Man's Land and reach the
German trenches.
What chances of success the attack possessed were destroyed by the snow
on the ground, the decision to leave the centre of the attack to the
tanks alone, the late arrival of the reserve brigade, and the shortage
of bombs and ammunition in the firing line. These unhappy circumstances
fitted into each other. If the snow had not made clear targets of the
tanks, the tanks by themselves might have driven the enemy out of their
trenches in the centre of the attack. If the first stages of the attack
had been completely successful, the reserve brigade might not have been
required. If the Australians had broken through the trench system on
the left and in the centre, as they broke through on the left of the
right brigade, bombs would not have been necessary.
It is difficult to estimate the value of tanks in a battle. The
Australians naturally contended that without tanks they might have
entered the Hindenburg Line. I am fully prepared to admit that the
Australians are capable of performing any feat, for as storm troops
they are surpassed by none. It is, however, undeniable that my tanks
disturbed and disconcerted the enemy. We know from a report captured
later that the enemy fire was concentrated on the tanks, and the
German Higher Command instanced this battle as an operation in which
the tanks compelled the enemy to neglect the advancing infantry. The
action of the tanks was not entirely negative. On the right flank of
the right brigade, a weak and dangerous spot, the tanks enabled the
Australians to form successfully a defensive flank.
The most interesting result of the employment of tanks was the
break-through to Riencourt and Hendecourt by Davies' and Clarkson's
tanks, and the Australians who followed them. With their flanks in
the air, and in the face of the sturdiest opposition, half a section
of tanks and about half a battalion of infantry broke through the
strongest field-works in France and captured two villages, the
second of which was nearly five miles behind the German line. This
break-through was the direct forefather of the break-through at Cambrai.
My men, tired and half-trained, had done their best. When General Elles
was told the story of the battle, he said in my presence, "This is the
best thing that tanks have done yet."
The company received two messages of congratulation. The first was from
General Gough--
"The Army Commander is very pleased with the gallantry and skill
displayed by your company in the attack to-day, and the fact that
the objectives were subsequently lost does not detract from the
success of the tanks."
The second was from General Elles--
"The General Officer Commanding Heavy Branch M.G.C. wishes
to convey to all ranks of the company under your command his
heartiest thanks and appreciation of the manner in which they
carried out their tasks during the recent operations, and
furthermore for the gallantry shown by all tank commanders and
tank crews in action."
The company gained two Military Crosses, one D.C.M., and three Military
Medals in the first Battle of Bullecourt.