We come to closer quarters with this middle battle. It opened on June 7th with an explosion of nineteen mines, which caused enormous rents in the enemy front-line trenches, and which effectively assisted the Artillery and the Air Force in their preparations for the Infantry advance. Impressive from a spectacular point of view, it was no sudden thing, this explosion. It represented many months of patient labour by highly-skilled miners and engineers, the memory of whose devotion to duty, under conditions of constant horror, should help, in industrial times, to soften acerbities at home. It was, further, the great surprise of the attack. British enterprise had to burrow underground in order to escape the observation of an enemy, who, since 1915, when the Ypres salient was inevitably contracted,[86] had occupied all the commanding ground in a stretch of country where 60 feet was the measure of a mountain. Messines, Wytschaete and Oostaverne were all captured on that first day (June 7th), together with more than 7,000 prisoners and 450 pieces of Artillery. General Sir Herbert Plumer and the Second Army, who had acted as wardens of these marches through so many weary and exacting months, reaped a swift reward in the second week of June.
Unfortunately, it did not end as it began. The obliteration of two Battalions on the Yser between Nieuport and the sea on July 10th belongs to the history of the Northamptons and the King’s Royal Rifles, whose heroic defence of a position cut off from succour or support is Homeric in its quality.[87] Canadian historians will tell the tale of the capture of Hill 70 from the Prussian Guard, and of the long struggles in the outskirts of Lens. The season was still young, however; the initial operations had been successful, and the results achieved in June encouraged Sir Douglas Haig to extend the area of his attack right along the ridges and their spurs from Messines to Houlthulst Forest. These movements started on the last day of July, with the Fifth Army under General Sir Hubert Gough and the Second under General Sir Herbert Plumer.
Slowly, resolutely, painfully, a way was forced up the difficult slopes. After twenty days a big advance could be recorded, but the going had been hard and expensive, and already the pace began to tell. The halt called in mid-August by exhaustion was employed for further preparation, and a month later, when the full attack was re-commenced, the highest points were still in enemy hands. It was now the middle of September: battle had been joined in the first week of June, but Glencorse Wood and Inverness Copse and a series of minor positions had still to be won, in order to render Passchendaele untenable and so to complete the capture of the ridges. The programme, we see, was out of gear; the price paid was out of proportion to the gains. The battle-fury surged up and down in gusts and lulls, and ebb and flow, shaped less to a regular advance than to a series of shocks and withdrawals, with the battle-mark always a little higher, but, behind it, in an ascending scale, loss of life, and devastated country, rain and ruin, and desperate endeavour. Was it worth while? was one urgent question. How long could it be kept up? was another.
Every Battalion of the 49th Division was engaged: the West Ridings, the King’s Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, the York and Lancasters, and the West Yorkshires, and at last they reached the top of the main ridge. The date was October 9th-10th, and the 49th was moved to the attack with the 66th Division on their right and the 48th on their left. The St. Julien road lay behind them, Passchendaele was a mile or two ahead. Three stout Infantry Brigades, eager to crown the Summer’s struggle, took part in the front of the operation: the 146th in the centre, the 148th on the right, and the 144th (48th Division) on the left. The 147th was the Reserve Brigade. The centre Battalion of the centre Brigade was the 1/7th West Yorkshires; they found the 1/5th of the same Regiment on their right, and the 1/8th on their left: the 1/6th was their Reserve Battalion. The heavy casualties in these two days’ fighting made exact information hard to collect: in three Companies of the middle Battalion all the Officers and senior N.C.O.s had been permanently or temporarily disabled, and as early as 7-30 on the first morning (October 9th) the Reserve (147th) Brigade was ordered to be ready at an hour’s notice. In these circumstances, an hour to hour narrative could not be accurately compiled. The details were too much confused. Touch was lost between Companies and between Battalions, and one Officer’s summary of a part must stand for the record of the whole: ‘The Brigade (the 146th) reached its first objective, but was unable to proceed further.’ Still, an advance was made on these two days, which count among the worst experiences on the Western front, and the Troops very thoroughly merited the congratulations of the Corps Commander, Sir Alexander Godley, on their achievement ‘under the extremely adverse conditions.’
The congratulations were renewed a few days later (October 18th) when Major-General Perceval, C.B., took leave of the 49th Division, which, despite the ‘adverse conditions’ and the ‘almost superhuman exertions,’ which we have read of, he had commanded so gallantly and with so much hope. We are told that, at the Brigade Parade, he appeared to feel the parting very keenly, and we know how warmly his regret was reciprocated by the whole Division. He had succeeded to the Command in 1915, when General Baldock was injured by a shell,[88] and he had led the 49th Division in the Battles of the Ancre and the Somme, culminating in the capture of Thiepval, during 1916.[89] He was succeeded now by Major-General Neville J. G. Cameron, C.B., C.M.G. (1916), of the Cameron Highlanders, who had served on the Nile and in South Africa, and whose proud privilege it became, as an Infantryman, to command a Territorial Infantry Division till the end of the war.
We return from this personal note, arising out of the change of Command, to the intense struggle outside Houlthulst Forest. It was renewed three times in October, a bloody October for the 49th Division, as for the British Army as a whole, and, at last, on the last day of that month, the British line had been carried, foot by foot, till within about 300 yards of the contested village of Passchendaele. One more week of effort was demanded of the Troops exhausted by four months’ bloodshed, and the final assault was delivered on November 6th, when the village fell to the Canadians. In the course of four days’ further fighting the last crests of the ridges were secured, and the long Third Battle of Ypres was definitely terminated.
Who had won it? Counting July 31st as the first day of that phase of the Third Battle, it had cost the Germans over 24,000 prisoners. They had lost positions from Messines to Passchendaele, roughly, on a front of twelve miles, the value of which, small in area, had been recognized as cardinal in three great battles in three years. Because they had lost the positions, we may conclude that they had lost the Third Battle, as they had lost the First (1914) and had been stalemated in the Second (1915). But this conclusion does not contradict another, that Sir Douglas Haig had not won. He had not won the victory which he sought. If we compare the close with the opening of this long and brilliant Despatch (‘the Campaigns of 1917’), we see clearly by how much he had contracted his original bold design, and how grievously his large hopes had been disappointed by extraneous events. ‘The general conditions of the struggle this year,’ he recorded, ‘have been very different from those contemplated at the conference of Allied Commanders held in November, 1916. The great general and simultaneous offensive then agreed on did not materialize.’ We turn back to the plans at that Conference, so far as the British Commander reveals them.[90] They ‘comprised a series of offensives on all fronts, so timed as to assist each other by depriving the enemy of power of weakening any one of his fronts in order to reinforce another.’ The Arras battle was not to be pursued beyond its first objective: ‘it was my intention to transfer my main offensive to another part of my front.... I hoped, after completing my spring offensive further south, to be able to develop this Flanders attack without great delay, and to strike hard in the north before the enemy realized that the attack in the south would not be pressed further.’ But it ‘did not materialize,’ as has been said. The task of the British and French Armies had proved far heavier than was originally anticipated, and, on the other hand, the enemy’s means of resistance had proved ‘far greater than either he or we could have expected.’ We shall see in a later chapter how these disappointments imposed a change from the offensive to the defensive in the renewed campaign of 1918. Here we observe that, to this extent, the Summer battle of 1917, protracted almost too long for the endurance even of British soldiery, could not be counted victorious. Nor was the final outlook better, when the results on a wider front were added to those of the Third Battle of Ypres. On no front had we suffered defeat; on none, as German reports prove, was the enemy free from anxiety or confident of military success. But our great efforts were frustrated by outside causes: military opinion is hardening to the conviction that the Western battles of 1917 worked out, on a balance, to our disadvantage, and the dark shadow of the Russian Empire in solution fell across the concluding pages of the British Field Marshal’s Fourth Despatch.
II.—BETWEEN THE BATTLES.
While the 49th Division was struggling up the northern ridges, the 62nd was spending a brief and busy interval between the Battle of Arras in the Spring and the Battle of Cambrai in the Autumn.
Not an hour of that interval was wasted. The noise of the guns was never ceasing; and it is especially interesting to observe how admirably the Divisional Training, set on foot at once between the battles, fitted the daily calls which were to be made on all units of the Division.