The Somme
Written 10th November.
There’s an air of peace today in Newfoundland Park as you walk along the wide gravel path through the wood. Here and there beneath the trees are saucer-shaped dips in the ground where autumn leaves are collecting, and as you walk on your eye is immediately drawn to the elegant bronze sculpture of a Canadian elk on a rise above the path. But it wasn’t always so. The Canadian government has preserved this ground, near Beaumont Hamel in the Somme, and we are here, clutching our notes and quietly taking in our surroundings on the first stop of our self-drive tour of the Somme battlefields of Northern France.
From this viewpoint the bizarre formation of the terrain is tragically clear. The gentle slopes, undulating ridges and hollows, now covered in fine, green grass and looking as if giant moles have been at work, belie the horror of this place where, over 4 months, from July to November 1916, there were more than 1,300,000 casualties – around 20,000 lost their lives on 1st July alone, a record that has never been equaled in any battle in the world. These are the trenches, carefully preserved, where the Allied troops waited for their orders to advance across No Man’s Land towards the German front line. We can see that line too, so very, very close. I can’t believe how clear it all is still, almost 90 years on.
Over the course of this campaign so many lives were lost, and yet the front line moved little. The German and Allied front lines were so close - only tens of metres apart at points. They could have seen the whites of each other's eyes. It seems this was yet another battle where brave, idealistic young men didn’t stand a chance.
Under a steely sky, with icy wind blowing light sleety rain against our faces, we tramp across a field to see the giant crater left by a huge explosion engineered by the Allies at Hawthorne Ridge. It was supposed to blow the German artillery to bits, to prepare the way for the infantry, but instead, exploding at 7.20am, 10 minutes before the Allied offensive was to start, it simply alerted the Germans to what was to happen. They were ready to mow down these eager young men when the advance began at 7.30am.
Clods of mud stick to my boots as I pick my way through the potato crop, and recalling photos of the conditions in 1916 I feel guilty for being irritated by this minor inconvenience.
We are on a rise, and as I look into the distance – I can see for many kilometers across this open terrain – there are at least 5 war cemeteries. These are the battlefield cemeteries, established where battles happened, tiny fenced off areas, immaculately maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. Here and there are woods of bare trees, but the landscape is mostly open, rolling hills, under cultivation, just as it would have been in 1916.
A special mission brings us to Serres Road Cemetery No 1. The uncle of a close Australian friend was killed in the Battle of the Somme, and we’ve promised to find his grave. Like all the other cemeteries, this one is neat as a pin, planted with rose bushes, the headstones a regulation size and design. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission which maintains these cemeteries has decreed that all should be equal in death.
I see one stone that reads “A Soldier of the Great War – Known only to God” and think, how sad. But then I see another, and another, and soon realize that around a third of the bodies buried here have never been formally identified. Our friend’s uncle was one of the lucky ones – if you can say that – since his name appears where he is buried, and I find his headstone, a yellow rose blooming brightly beside it. He was only 23 years old – younger than our own sons – and I try to imagine the pain his parents must have felt on hearing the news of his death so far away.
We’ve been told he died at Mouquet Farm, so we drive the short distance across rolling hills studded with copses and woods to where a memorial by the side of the road commemorates the soldiers who died here. Mouquet Farm (or as the larrikin “diggers” called it, “Moo Cow Farm”) was occupied by the Germans in September 1916, and its underground cellars afforded them valuable shelter. Australians fought bravely here in the early days of September trying to take this stronghold before being relieved by the Canadians on 5th. My heart sinks when I read this - our friend’s uncle was killed on 4th.
From this viewpoint the bizarre formation of the terrain is tragically clear. The gentle slopes, undulating ridges and hollows, now covered in fine, green grass and looking as if giant moles have been at work, belie the horror of this place where, over 4 months, from July to November 1916, there were more than 1,300,000 casualties – around 20,000 lost their lives on 1st July alone, a record that has never been equaled in any battle in the world. These are the trenches, carefully preserved, where the Allied troops waited for their orders to advance across No Man’s Land towards the German front line. We can see that line too, so very, very close. I can’t believe how clear it all is still, almost 90 years on.
Over the course of this campaign so many lives were lost, and yet the front line moved little. The German and Allied front lines were so close - only tens of metres apart at points. They could have seen the whites of each other's eyes. It seems this was yet another battle where brave, idealistic young men didn’t stand a chance.
Under a steely sky, with icy wind blowing light sleety rain against our faces, we tramp across a field to see the giant crater left by a huge explosion engineered by the Allies at Hawthorne Ridge. It was supposed to blow the German artillery to bits, to prepare the way for the infantry, but instead, exploding at 7.20am, 10 minutes before the Allied offensive was to start, it simply alerted the Germans to what was to happen. They were ready to mow down these eager young men when the advance began at 7.30am.
Clods of mud stick to my boots as I pick my way through the potato crop, and recalling photos of the conditions in 1916 I feel guilty for being irritated by this minor inconvenience.
We are on a rise, and as I look into the distance – I can see for many kilometers across this open terrain – there are at least 5 war cemeteries. These are the battlefield cemeteries, established where battles happened, tiny fenced off areas, immaculately maintained by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. Here and there are woods of bare trees, but the landscape is mostly open, rolling hills, under cultivation, just as it would have been in 1916.
A special mission brings us to Serres Road Cemetery No 1. The uncle of a close Australian friend was killed in the Battle of the Somme, and we’ve promised to find his grave. Like all the other cemeteries, this one is neat as a pin, planted with rose bushes, the headstones a regulation size and design. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission which maintains these cemeteries has decreed that all should be equal in death.
I see one stone that reads “A Soldier of the Great War – Known only to God” and think, how sad. But then I see another, and another, and soon realize that around a third of the bodies buried here have never been formally identified. Our friend’s uncle was one of the lucky ones – if you can say that – since his name appears where he is buried, and I find his headstone, a yellow rose blooming brightly beside it. He was only 23 years old – younger than our own sons – and I try to imagine the pain his parents must have felt on hearing the news of his death so far away.
We’ve been told he died at Mouquet Farm, so we drive the short distance across rolling hills studded with copses and woods to where a memorial by the side of the road commemorates the soldiers who died here. Mouquet Farm (or as the larrikin “diggers” called it, “Moo Cow Farm”) was occupied by the Germans in September 1916, and its underground cellars afforded them valuable shelter. Australians fought bravely here in the early days of September trying to take this stronghold before being relieved by the Canadians on 5th. My heart sinks when I read this - our friend’s uncle was killed on 4th.
"Moo Cow" Farm today (above and below)
The Serre Road No. 1 Cemetery
A Soldier of the Great War
Known Unto God
Trenches at the scene of the Battle of the Somme
posted by Di at 2:45 AM
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