Although further attacks were planned, the weather again
intervened and on 19 November it unexpectedly turned milder, which heralded a
rapid thaw that soon turned the entire battlefield into an impenetrable
quagmire. It was beyond the abilities of man, animal or machine to cross the
battlefield, as trenches collapsed wholesale and troops were forced from their
meagre shelters into the open. So appalling were the ground conditions that
even the British Official History – not noted for its emotive use of hyperbole
– was moved to comment: ‘Our vocabulary is not adapted to describe such an
existence, because it is outside experience for which words are normally
required.’ Private W. Wells, who went on to serve in the Passchendaele battles
of the following year, commented of that Somme winter:
‘The conditions were impossible – no one could live in it.
We couldn’t get hot drinks as the ration parties couldn’t get up. Most of us
were soaked through and it was too wet to light fires even if we had something
to cook. We heard that some men had shot themselves rather than go through
anymore of it. Passchendaele was bad, but by then they [GHQ] knew how much a
man could stand of those conditions. I think the Somme was worse, much worse.’
The Losses
So what had all the sacrifice achieved? In total the battle
had advanced the British lines a little over 6 miles (9.6km) and in the course
of the fighting some important objectives had been captured, such as Beaucourt,
Beaumont Hamel, Eaucourt L’Abbaye, Lesboeufs, Le Sars, St Pierre Divion, and
Thiepval Ridge. But at what human cost? Obtaining accurate figures for the casualties
of the campaign is easier for the Allied forces, as the gathering of
statistical information was generally more organized. The number of casualties
from 1 July to 19 November was officially quoted as 498,000 with an additional
20,000 estimated to have subsequently died of wounds. A particularly sobering
statistic is that during the battle, British losses averaged 2,943 men a day,
the equivalent of about three line battalions. For each division it was 8,026
men over the entire battle. The Commonwealth Divisional losses were
proportionately greater, bearing in mind the far smaller number of troops
employed: the Australians 8,960, the New Zealanders losing 8,133, and the
Canadians 6,329.
German figures are harder to estimate, as they did not
include in their casualty returns heavy losses sustained through shelling prior
to the 1 July attack. However, all indications are that they suffered
considerably both before and during the battle. The figure for losses from
June–November is now thought to be probably somewhere between 460,000 and
600,000 men. This should be compared with the casualties at Verdun of some
336,000 men, which at the time the German High Command regarded as unacceptably
high. This was only a part of the overall picture, however, for the total
losses for Germany in 1916 was over 1 million men, as the fighting on the
Eastern Front had also been raging unabated. France did not come out unscathed
either, losing some 210,000 men. By any standards, this meant the rate of
British, French, and German casualties on the Somme was unsustainable. Like so
many men of the old Regular BEF, most of the Germans who were killed or wounded
on the Somme were tough, experienced soldiers who could not be readily
replaced.
Ludendorff was being candid when he stated that after the Somme: ‘The
army had been fought to a standstill and was utterly worn out.’ After the
campaign there was considerable analysis in Germany about why their superior
army had not comprehensively defeated the British at the outset, but the reasons
were many and complex. The amateur soldiers of the new BEF proved a far tougher
proposition than anyone had expected, and British tactics had improved
considerably during the campaign’s five months of fighting. After the Somme,
Ludendorff was under no illusions about the ability of Germany to win a
decisive victory on the Western Front, and he feared the constantly aggressive
behaviour shown by the British High Command would simply prove beyond the
ability of even the German Army to contain: ‘even our troops would not be able
to withstand such attacks indefinitely, especially if the enemy gave us no time
for rest.’
Manpower
For the British, the campaign had highlighted some serious
shortcomings in both tactics and planning, as well as underlining the fact
that, like Germany, the country was unable to absorb the levels of casualties
sustained on the Somme. To attempt to do so would not only put an unbearable
strain on the country to provide sufficient men, but would also stretch the
ability of industry to produce sufficient war matériel. As it was, conscription
had been introduced in January 1916, and by the latter months of that year, it
was becoming obvious the standard of men entering the ranks was not the same as
it had been in 1915. The ceaseless demand for manpower also meant there was no
longer the luxury of retaining men at home until their training was complete.
Private Clarrie Jarman had enlisted on the outbreak of war in 1914 and spent
almost a year and a half in England training, before embarking for France.
While this was exceptional, a year for training was considered normal. By
mid-1916 this had dropped to six months, and by 1917 this had further been
reduced to four months. In 1918, men were being sent to the front with under
three weeks training, some never even having fired their rifles. It was clearly
a situation no country could support indefinitely, and embarrassing questions
were being asked in Parliament about exactly what General Haig’s long-term
strategy was? Some suggested wryly that is was to wait until we had two men
left and the Germans one, then declare a British victory.
Whether the Somme was the ‘ghastly failure’ that David Lloyd
George had declared it to be is a moot point, for it had undoubtedly sharpened
the High Command’s perception of how to wage efficient warfare on a massive
scale. The tactics of early 1916 were essentially the same as had been used at
the start of the war and were about as effective. Sending masses of men into
machine-guns, uncut wire, and shellfire was not a recipe for military success.
But the lessons of the Somme meant even those most remotely situated from the
fighting had seen graphic examples of how well-planned attacks could work (as
evidenced by the 27 July assaults): yet these lessons were not applied
wholesale: some of the more traditional commanders remaining unconvinced. So
the question must be asked, by what methods could things have been improved?
Communications
If there was one area in which technology could have
radically altered the course of not just of the battle, but the entire war, it
was communications. The methods employed had not materially improved since the
days of the Greeks. Runners were still used by commanders to carry messages to
units in the field: but by 1916 the chances of them reaching their destinations
unscathed were slim indeed. During the battle for High Wood, one commanding
officer sent six runners simultaneously to take a vital message back to GHQ and
not one arrived. Not for nothing were runners among the most frequently
decorated soldiers in the field. Wireless telegraphy was employed, but relied
on a network of cables that were vulnerable to shellfire and passing traffic.
Wires could even be snapped unwary infantrymen moving to and fro. Thus repairs
were a constant nightmare for the linesmen of the Royal Engineers. The
invention of the short wave radio came too late for the war. It would
revolutionize battlefield communications, enabling instant decisions to be made
and passed to combat units. Until then, semaphore and signalling lamps were the
most commonly used means of communicating. Not unfairly has it been said that
the availability of just one pair of walkie-talkies could well have altered the
course of the war.
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