The Great War, 1914-18

Australian troops first saw service in Russia in June 1918 as a part of a specially selected force of British and 'Dominion' forces. Their task was to organise and train Russian forces with the hope of creating a new Eastern front, and to prevent valuable military equipment from falling into German hands. These men faced danger not only from the Bolsheviks but from the very men they were training. Indeed there were at least two major mutinies that resulted in men from the British and 'Dominion' force being killed by supposed nationalist troops who decided to defect to the Bolsheviks.

When Germany surrendered the men fighting in Russia understandably expected that they would be withdrawn. Instead they were left in Russia to face a ruthless enemy alongside Russian 'allies' they couldn't trust (all during a very harsh winter). None of the above went down well with a number of the allied troops and there were several instances of soldiers from the French and American forces refusing to carry out assigned duties. Finally, on the 4th of March 1919, the decision was made to withdraw the British and 'Dominion' ground forces.

In order to ensure the safe withdrawal of all 'western' allied troops in Russia it was decided in the UK to form a special relief force consisting of two brigades. This force was dubbed the North Russian Relief Force. The UK government pressured Australia (as well as Canada, New Zealand and South Africa) to contribute units to this force but the multiple requests were rejected. Australian (like the other Dominions) did infact voice their strong opposition to the British decision to send more troops to Russia. Nonetheless, the Australian Government did allow AIF troops to enlist in the British Army on a voluntary basis. These troops were first discharged from the AIF and then enlisted into the British Army (primarily the 45th Battalion Royal Fusiliers, and the 201st Special Battalion, Machine Gun Corps.

The NRRF once in Russia trained and organised white Russian forces, conducted small scale military operations and planned, executed and supported a large scale (and very successful) white Russian offensive.

The last Allied troops in North East Russia (from the NREF and the NRRF) were eventually withdrawn on 12 October, 1919.

Note:
- two Victoria Crosses were awarded during the Russian Civil war, both to Australian soldiers.

- in Nov/Dec 1918, at the bequest of the British Military Mission in Russia, HMAS Swan was engaged in an intelligence gathering mission in the Black Sea.

- in addition to troops from Britain, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, South Africa, France and the USA, soldiers from Greece, Czechoslovakia, Romania, Estonia, Poland, Serbia, Italy, Japan and China also took part in the Russian Civil War.

British and Dominion forces first arrived in North Russia in June 1918. US forces arrived in September 1918 and withdrew in early June 1919.



For some like Churchill ideology was a significant consideration. The primary goal of western intervention however was initially to try and open a new Eastern Front and to stop military supplies falling into German hands.



In truth the British pulled out as after 4 years of total war the government were deep in debt and there was a lack of support from the public who just wanted all of the boys to return home. There was also a lack of public support in the US as people questioned why the country was involving herself in a civil war on the other side of the world.



This is really interesting. Personally I think a revolution in Russia was always a strong possibility under the rule of Nicholas II for a variety of reasons. It is true that WW1 most likely hastened the revolution but as stated I think such a revolution was already on the cards. Indeed I think that without WW1 taking place the Romanov dynasty would have struggled to have ridden out the Great Depression (if it had not already fallen by this time).

I do agree that the rise of the far right in Italy and Germany was in part a response to the rise and expansion of communism in the East. I personally don't understand though why a non communist Russia would have meant that "there's a good chance that WW2 would not have happened". Hitler was obviously the driving force towards WW2. His rise to power was in many ways made possible by the very harsh penalties imposed upon Germany at Versailles. These penalties humiliated Germany and caused significant economic and social hardships which in turn bred anger and resentment. These are feelings that Hitler was able to exploit. Hitler's rise was further aided by the Great Depression that hit Germany harder than any other western country for a number of reasons. In many ways the Treaty of Versailles really made a second world war a distinct possibility. Now the threat of communism undoubtedly garnered Hitler some important support but I believe nonetheless that such support was supplementary rather than primary re his rise to power. Still, having said that, you take away one factor and who really knows what the outcome would have been.

Now of course the interesting thing is that without the Soviets the allies would never have had the strength to defeat Germany. Some 90% of all German infantry, armoured and artillery units were deployed against the Soviets. Around 91-93% of all German military casualties were suffered at the hands of the Soviets. Of course had the Russian empire not fallen (or at least not fallen to the Bolsheviks) Hitler may still have invaded in 1941 and the course of the war might therefore still have followed a similar course (assuming Hitler made the same blunders). But, as you have suggested, what might have been different was the post war world. Maybe there would not have been a cold war had the old Russian Empire not fallen or had it fallen instead to more moderate forces...

Second Battle of Bullecourt, 3-17 May, 1917

As part of the final throes of the British Army's Arras offensive, a renewed attempt was made to secure the fortified village of Bullecourt in the period 3-17 May. The Australian 2nd Division (5th and 6th Brigades) and the British 62nd Division attacked at 0345 hrs on 3 May 1917. The Australians penetrated the German line but met determined opposition which frustrated the envelopment plan. Drawing more and more forces in, renewed efforts on 7 May succeeded in linking British and Australian forces, but inspired a series of ferocious and costly German counter-attacks over the next week and a half. Following the repulse of the counter-attack of 15 May, the Germans withdrew from the remnants of the village. Although the locality was of little or no strategic importance, the actions were nevertheless extremely costly: AIF casualties totalled 7,482 from three Australian Divisions.

Australian lieutenant Wilfred Barlow, a volunteer, schoolteacher, husband and father of four, was killed at Bullecourt on 12 May, literally smashed to pieces by an artillery shell. Shortly before his death he wrote to his wife, "I hope the war will soon be over because it is destroying the best men and everything that is beautiful and civilized in life."

The Battle of Messines, 1917
Precipitated by the detonation of 19 enormous mines under the German front lines (made famous in the Australian feature film Beneath Hill 60)...

Launched on 7 June 1917, the Messine offensive was designed to force the German enemy to withdraw from the main battlefront of Vimy – Arras.” The Battle exemplified tactical success through careful planning and overwhelming firepower.

The primary objective was the strategically important Wyschaete-Messines Ridge, the high ground south of Ypres. The Germans used this ridge as a salient into the British lines, building their defence along its 10 mile length. Winning this ground was essential for the Allies to launch a larger campaign planned for east of Ypres. General Sir Herbert Plumer’s Second Army was chosen for the task, with three Corps allotted to secure the objective. Australian involvement came under Lieutenant General Sir Alexander Godley’s II Anzac Corps (25th British, 3rd Australian, and the New Zealand Division) which was to capture the village of Messines and advance to the flat ground beyond. The 4th Australian Division was reinforcement for II Anzac for the attack and was to complete the second phase of consolidation.

Plumer’s reputation was one of caution and thoroughness in every aspect of operational planning and training. Battle plans were drawn from mid-March 1917, using large models so troops could familiarise themselves with the terrain and their objectives.

The 3rd Australian Division, commanded by Major General John Monash, was the last of the Australian Infantry Divisions to join the front line in December 1916. The II Anzac Corps formed part of a 12 division attack; supported by 1,500 field guns and 700 heavy guns; relying on photographs of the enemy’s defensive positions taken by the Royal Flying Corps.

For two years Australian, British and Canadian miners had engaged in subterranean warfare digging an intricate tunnel system under the enemy’s front line. The Allies used these tunnels to further tactical advantage, packing massive charges of the explosive ammonal to obliterate enemy defences. The main Australian effort was at Hill 60 where Tunnelling Companies worked for months, reinforcing and protecting the large mines in its region. The professionalism and skill of all the Allies was demonstrated by the Germans’ inability to locate mines.

The attack, codenamed ‘Magnum Opus’, was set for 7 June 1917 with ‘Zero’ hour at 0310 hrs. A seven day preliminary bombardment was conducted to put pressure on the enemy during the days leading up to the infantry assault. Battalions were brought forward from their billets in Pont de Nieppe to the farms around the south and west of Ploegsteert Wood. Raiding parties regularly captured enemy prisoners to extract vital intelligence on German preparedness for an attack. Battalion working parties prepared for the impending battle, digging assembly or communication trenches, stockpiling shells (gas, shrapnel, High Explosive and mortar) and assisting in the bringing up of supplies to forward positions.

The Germans were aware of the impending offensive, but it was coincidence that they shelled the Wood with gas while attacking troops were forming. At 2300 hrs on 6 June, the 3rd Division was subjected to a gas attack, causing between 500 and 2000 casualties.

Every German gun seemed to be pouring gas shells over, and the air was full of the whine peculiar to the aerial flight of a gas-shell. They burst all round the columns, and a number of men were killed or wounded by flying nose-caps. Occasionally the monotonous whine and pop of impact was relieved by a high explosive or an incendiary shell, and the casualties were fairly heavy. The remainder of the approach march was like a nightmare. The actual wearing of a small box-respirator is a physical discomfort at any time, but on a hot dark night for men loaded with ammunition, arms, and equipment, it is a severe strain. Wounded and gassed men were falling out, and officers and non-commissioned officers were continually removing their respirators to give orders. A shell would burst in a platoon, the dead and wounded would fall, and the rest of the platoon would pull themselves together and move on, for above everything was the fixed determination to be in position at the Zero hour, and the realisation that this terrible gassing, if it prevented the Australians arrival on time, might easily result in the failure of the whole operation.

Messines was the first time Australians and New Zealanders had fought side by side since the Gallipoli campaign of 1915. The 3rd Division’s attacking front line stretched from St Yves to La Petite Douve Farm. They were to capture the ground to the east of Messines village all the way to the final Green Line objective. The 10th Brigade was on the left of 3rd Division’s front (alongside the New Zealand Division) and the 9th Brigade on the right, forming the southernmost flank of the great Messines offensive. The 10th Brigade was tasked with fording the La Douve River. Bridges were constructed to reach the enemy’s front line. The New Zealand Division was tasked with the capture of Messines and onwards until the Black Line was reached, whereupon the 4th Division passed through them up to the final objective of the Green Line.

At 0309 hrs, eyes peered nervously through the darkness at watches as the final seconds ticked down. Along the front line, men waited anxiously for the subterranean cataclysm that signalled battle had commenced. At 0310 hrs on 7 June 1917, the detonator switches were triggered. The earth erupted into pillars of fire and earth, instantly obliterating the thousands of German troops above them.

The detonation of nineteen mines along the Messines/Wytschaete ridge signalled the start of an attack designed to capture the strategically important high ground to the south of Ypres; a vital precursor to the larger Third Battle of Ypres (known to history as the battle of Passchendaele). Despite General von Kuhl suggesting the withdrawal of the German front line troops away from the ridge as it had become apparent a major British offensive was to be launched, front line commanders argued vehemently against this. Consequently, many thousands of German troops were simply obliterated as the earth erupted beneath them. As the historian of the 37th Battalion wrote, “Nothing could have withstood such an onslaught; and nothing did.”

Climbing out of the trenches, waves of attacking British, Australian and New Zealand soldiers of Godley’s II Anzac Corps sought to capitalise on the shock of these explosions and the accompanying artillery barrage and occupy the enemy’s positions before they had the chance to form a new defensive line. The scale of the mine explosions neutralised both the enemy’s guns and disrupted their planned counterattacks. One mine had detonated in front of the British 25th Division’s sector, while three detonated in front of the 3rd Australian Division’s sector with a fourth just to the right of that. A great machine gun barrage fired over the heads of the attacking infantry and pioneers as they moved forward in the pre-dawn darkness, with choking smoke and dust in the air from the great disruption of earth further hampering visibility. German troops directly above each of the mines had been wiped out by the blast along lengths, Bean estimates, “of some 150 yards of trench.”

The German survivors in II Anzac’s sector were largely stunned and demoralised due to the great concussion of the blasts, the heavy artillery barrage and the heavy machine gun fire that now poured upon them. Many German prisoners were taken during this phase.

The 3rd Division’s objective was to push all the way through to the Green Line. This was achieved comparatively easily, especially in light of the AIF’s battle experiences on the Western Front, the highly developed tactical skills of the Australian infantry, and to the overwhelming firepower of the allied assault. Rigorous training on Salisbury Plain and in France had prepared them as well as possible for the ensuing attack – including training in preparations for consolidating craters such as they would encounter at Messines.

One of the only places of resistance along the 3rd Division’s frontage in this early phase of the attack was found on the extreme southern edge, where the 33rd Battalion (under command of LTCOL Leslie Morshead) faced some determined German opposition from beyond the flank of the attacking line. Following some accurate sniping to keep the enemy back, the position was consolidated.

From approximately 0430 hrs, the barrage halted for an hour to allow fresh battalions to move forward in preparation for the second phase of the initial attack. Prior to this, battalions had moved relatively unimpeded through the choking smoke and dust to their objectives, in line with the various lifts of the creeping artillery barrage. The halt gave the Germans a chance to regroup, and after the initial onslaught, they began to provide greater resistance to the attack, slowing down the rate of the infantry’s advance. The New Zealand Division was tasked with the capture of the village of Messines. Their battalions passed through and around the village ruins, subduing enemy activity where they found it. The 25th Division on their left similarly achieved its objectives. The long halt in the middle of the day saw success throughout II Anzac’s sector.

Plumer planned to resume the attack at 1300 hrs, however delays by the central IX Corps (to II Anzac’s left) in moving their troops up meant that the afternoon attack did not go in until 1500 hrs. When the attack was pressed forward again, two brigades of the 4th Australian Division moved through the 25th and New Zealand Divisions to the final objective (Green) line. Their success was only possible because of the successful capture of the ridgeline by the British 25th, the New Zealand and 3rd Australian Divisions. The New Zealand Division had captured and held the village of Messines with comparatively little difficulty, while pill-boxes were able to be isolated and destroyed.

In the afternoon, the 12th Brigade of the 4th Australian Division pushed up to the Oosttaverne Line, capturing and holding sections of it as the remainder of the attackers made their way to that objective. It was here that German resistance hardened significantly. The capture of the remainder of the Oosttaverne Line in II Anzac’s sector took another four days and nights of hard fighting.

By the evening of the 7 June, Plumer’s bite and hold attack to take the Messines ridge-line was a tactical and strategic success. Along the entire attacking front, the three Corps offensive had been a success and the salient south of Ypres had been eliminated. Two Australian Victoria Crosses were awarded from the battle at Messines – to Robert Grieve and John Carroll. Such a spectacular victory came at a price, with some 26,000 casualties sustained, while II Anzac suffered 13,500 of that total figure. The Germans sustained an equivalent number of casualties. The Battle of Messines was the most complete success of any major Western Front attack by the Allies to that stage of the war.

- AAHU

Battle of Passchendaele

Officially known as the Third Battle of Ypres, Passchendaele became infamous not only for the scale of casualties, but also for the mud.

Ypres was the principal town within a salient (or bulge) in the British lines and the site of two previous battles: First Ypres (October-November 1914) and Second Ypres (April-May 1915). Haig had long wanted a British offensive in Flanders and, following a warning that the German blockade would soon cripple the British war effort, wanted to reach the Belgian coast to destroy the German submarine bases there. On top of this, the possibility of a Russian withdrawal from the war threatened German redeployment from the Eastern front to increase their reserve strength dramatically.

The British were further encouraged by the success of the attack on Messines Ridge on 7 June 1917. Nineteen huge mines were exploded simultaneously after they had been placed at the end of long tunnels under the German front lines. The capture of the ridge inflated Haig's confidence and preparations began. Yet the flatness of the plain made stealth impossible: as with the Somme, the Germans knew an attack was imminent and the initial bombardment served as final warning. It lasted two weeks, with 4.5 million shells fired from 3,000 guns, but again failed to destroy the heavily fortified German positions.

The infantry attack began on 31 July. Constant shelling had churned the clay soil and smashed the drainage systems. The left wing of the attack achieved its objectives but the right wing failed completely. Within a few days, the heaviest rain for 30 years had turned the soil into a quagmire, producing thick mud that clogged up rifles and immobilised tanks. It eventually became so deep that men and horses drowned in it.

On 16 August the attack was resumed, to little effect. Stalemate reigned for another month until an improvement in the weather prompted another attack on 20 September. The Battle of Menin Road Ridge, along with the Battle of Polygon Wood on 26 September and the Battle of Broodseinde on 4 October, established British possession of the ridge east of Ypres.

Further attacks in October failed to make much progress. The eventual capture of what little remained of Passchendaele village by British and Canadian forces on 6 November finally gave Haig an excuse to call off the offensive and claim success.

However, Passchendaele village lay barely five miles beyond the starting point of his offensive. Having prophesied a decisive success, it had taken over three months, 325,000 Allied and 260,000 German casualties to do little more than make the bump of the Ypres salient somewhat larger.

- BBC

The Third Battle of Ypres was the major British offensive in Flanders in 1917. It was planned to break through the strongly fortified and in-depth German defences enclosing the Ypres salient, a protruding bulge in the British front line, with the intention of sweeping through to the German submarine bases on the Belgian coast. The battle comprised of a series of limited and costly offensives, often undertaken in the most difficult of waterlogged conditions - a consequence of frequent periods of rain and the destruction of the Flanders' lowlands drainage systems by intense artillery bombardment. As the opportunity for breakthrough receded, Haig still saw virtue in maintaining the offensives, hoping in the process to drain German manpower through attrition. The main battles associated with Third Battle of Ypres were:

- Pilckem, 31 July to 2 August
- Langemarck, 16-18 August
- Menin Road, 20-25 September
- Polygon Wood, 26 September to 3 October
- Broodseinde, 4 October
- Poelcapelle, 9 October
- Passchendaele (First Battle), 12 October
- Passchendaele (Second Battle), 26 October to 10 November.

Australian Divisions participated in the battles of Menin Road, Polygon Wood, Broodseinde, Poelcapelle and the First Battle of Passchendaele. In eight weeks of fighting Australian forces incurred 38,000 casualties. The combined total of British and Dominion casualties has been estimated at 310,000 (estimated German losses were slightly lower) and no breakthrough was achieved. The costly offensives, ending with the capture of Passchendaele village, merely widened the Ypres salient by a few kilometres

- AWM

My, my, Aussie....What ARE you going to do after November next year, when there will be no more 100 year war'celebrations' to get excited about for 21 years.

I don't know if there are any Australians left who took part in WWI, but it has died out of living memory here. The "Last Tommy" died in 2009 and as he was 16 when WWI started, and a further 8 years have passed since his death, it's unlikely that there is anybody left alive here with conscious memories of the war itself.

It will be the same in 2039 when we begin the whole tiresome business for the WW2 100 year circus.

But hey... it's a profitable business right now. Battlefield tours are a big money spinner for tour operators and the more they can keep the hype going, the more they'll make out of Grief Tourism.

But such morbid curiosity is nothing new. The Belgian town of Waterloo attracted tourists for many years to see the grave of the Duke of Uxbridge's leg which was blown off during the 1815 battle.

Rumour had it (probably apocryphally) that when the Duke's leg was severely damaged by grape shot from an exploding shell, he turned to the Duke of Wellington who was nearby and calmly said "By Gad sir, I believe I've had my leg blown off" to which Wellington, looking casually down at the wound replied "By Gad sir, I believe you have."

When the limb was fully amputated by a surgeon, the owner of the house where the surgery took place asked if he could keep it. He buried it in his garden under a commemorative stone. When the story of the exchange between Uxbridge and Wellington became popularly known, tourists flocked to Waterloo to view the burial place. M'sieure Tremblant, the owner of the property is reputed to have become a very wealthy man out of it.

Remembrance Week was instituted in Britain after WWI to be a period when families bereaved by the war and the public in general could give due and solemn commemoration for the loss of so many in the war. It was appropriate, fitting and dignified.

I think we've lost sight of that. The 100 year point for so many terrible battles has become a licence to print money for those who know an opportunity when they see one and have no scruples about exploiting it.

Apart from the hard-core of British Legion enthusiasts who can't get their blazer, beret and medals out of the wardrobe quick enough, commemoration has become, for a large part of the public, a shallow, Just-For-Show exercise that most participants conform with only because they just want a quiet life and don't need public opprobrium from any uber flag-wavers that may be in the vicinity.

And god help the football team that doesn't hold a silence before a match in any period between the end of October and Mid December. If the papers got hold of that it'd give them Outrage Material for the front page for weeks.

An gullible public, relentlessly bombarded by a seemingly unending stream of promotional material in the form of news media output ensures that nobody is allowed to switch off from the war. Looking through my TV guide recently, I found that the BBC and major commercial channel here devoted more than 100 hours of programming to Passchendale in one week.

Rather than one week of official Remembrance in the autumn now, it seems to begin in late October, runs through the entire month of November and stretches well into December... is given over to Remembrance. Every football match... every rugby match.... every rock concert held.... every public event... whenever Parliament sits.... EVERYTHING must be preceded by a two minute silence to remember the fallen. My nephew told me that last year he lost count of the number of times he had to stand silently for two minutes in a football ground or at school or even going to the cinema..!! He said it got boring in the end and he was sick of it.

I wonder how long it would go on if Christmas didn't intervene at the end of December and put a brake on the whole thing by giving the media something else to fill their schedules with..!!

Some time ago, I wrote that I only respect the two minute silence on Remembrance Sunday. At 11 AM on that day, the nation stops. That occasion is poignant, respectful, dignified and is led by the Queen, which is how things should be.

We wear our poppy, we take part in a national commemoration to pause for reflection and then we get on with our lives. Life must go on. I think that's what the fallen would have wanted. But that's just my opinion.

But constantly.... endlessly.... determinedly.... regugitating it over and over and over and over.... without pause or cessation renders commemoration meaningless.

I know that a battle took place at Passchendale in 1917. I know this because I paid attention in History class at school (I got an A Grade at GCSE). I don't want to visit the place of the slaughter and I get a bit irritated when constantly exhorted to do so by so-called 'news' items or documentaries which are little more than thinly disguised sales pitches for battlefield tours.

in fifteen months time, the final 100 year commemoration point will be passed and hopefully all of this will die down. World War I can finally be consigned to the history books.

Where it belongs.

7 facts about the Battle of Pilckem Ridge

Monday 31 July marked 100 years since the Battle of Pilckem Ridge began in 1917. Here are 7 facts about the battle:

1. The Battle of Pilckem Ridge was the opening attack of the Third Battle of Ypres – which later became known as Passchendaele.

2. The battle began at 0350 hrs on 31 July 1917, when 2,000 Allied guns opened fire on German lines and 14 British and two French divisions attacked along 15 miles of the front.

3. The most significant success was achieved in the north, particularly across Pilckem Ridge. Welsh and Irish troops played an important role, and among their dead were two highly regarded poets: Ellis Evans (better known by his bardic name Hedd Wyn) and Francis Ledwidge. Both are buried at CWGC Artillery Wood Cemetery.

4. French troops fought alongside British forces, regaining Bixschoote from German control.

5. The British Army captured St Julien, Frezenberg, Bellewaarde Ridge, Hooge, and Sanctuary Wood.

6. On the afternoon of 31 July, rain began to fall on the battlefield. Over the following days the shell-damaged ground became a quagmire, severely hampering the advancing troops, and making the movement of artillery, casualties and supplies very difficult.

7. After three days, the Allied advance was half of what had been planned. The British Army had suffered some 27,000 casualties wounded, killed and missing.

The Battle of Pilckem Ridge, on 31st July, involved the II, XIV, XVIII and XIX Corps of General Sir Hubert Gough’s Fifth Army taking the lead, east of Ypres, with flanking operations on the right by the X Corps of Commander General Sir Herbert Plumer’s Second Army and on the left by the French First Army. Furthermore, the entire British tank force available in France at that time, three brigades of 72 tanks each, were committed to support the operation, and were dropped by rail several days ahead of the battle to assemble in the nearby Oosthoek Wood four miles west of Ypres.

The preliminary barrage was exhaustive, starting on 16th July and using up 4.5 million rounds by the time the troops advanced. In fact, it was by far the most vicious of the whole campaign, but then it needed to be to crush the barbed wire surrounding six lines of deep, well-protected German trenches. When the soldiers finally did set off, they were protected by a rolling barrage. The attack was towards Pilckem, St.Julien, Zonnebeke and the Gheluvelt Plateau, en route to Passchendaele, and the Allies initially met with little resistance from the pulverised German front line.

By midday they were already moving beyond the former line, with the objective of the higher ground of Pilckem Ridge, when German counter-attack divisions mounted the ridge and bore down on them. The British were by now low on artillery ammunition, and whilst some battalions were able to hold their ground others were pushed back. Heavy rain then fell which brought the bloody fighting to a close. By that time the Allies had gained just 2,000 yards at the cost of 3,000 casualties.

The tanks, meanwhile, completely floundered. The expected ‘firm, level ground’ of the area was anything but, and it was very difficult to navigate when the terrain was sopping and featureless. Often the drivers were forced to go along roads rather than cut through the countryside, which left the vehicles extremely vulnerable to enemy attacks. A huge number were rapidly crippled or drowned in the mud, with 88 out of 107 tanks from the two southern Tank Brigades disabled, blown up or broken down by the end of that first day of fighting.

From then on, the troops on both sides endured the worst rains seen in the region for 30 years. These, combined with the churning of the ground (and drainage ditches) by the artillery barrages and the flatness and low altitude of the ground, turned the battlefield into a thick gluey mass of mud. The lack of altitude also proved problematic in that, by simply keeping control of a 180-400ft ridge, the Germans were able to view the full layout of the Allied advance. The Calvary, so useful in other battlefields, were completely unable to operate and spent the time instead forming working parties to patch up fast crumbling bridges, roads, rail links and trenches.

To add to the Allies’ misery, this was the first battle in which the Germans used mustard gas, the horrible weapon that was to inflict the vast majority of the gas injuries for the rest of the Great War. In trenches and woods, the places where sunlight couldn’t penetrate, the deadly mist lingered. The fact that this gas rarely killed made it all the more terrifying. Instead it maimed, inflicting at best excruciating blisters on the skin, at worst great gaping wounds to the bone causing permanent scarring. Lungs were eaten away, eyes blinded, and such awful pain experienced that the afflicted soldiers couldn’t help screaming and moaning while men with whole limbs blown off stayed resolutely silent.

The tanks largely continued to perform badly throughout the battle, which was not surprising considering that they were not built to cope with such conditions. General Gough, along with several other senior commanders, lost all faith in the Tank Corps, and suggested that it be abandoned. However, one or two tanks proved absolutely instrumental in securing rapid victories with little loss of life in several small skirmishes. This fact alone led High Command to give the tanks another chance - and, come the Battle of Cambrai, they’d certainly be glad they did!

Once again,

Everyone, please take note that this thread is not in the politics forum. It's in the History subforum of Society and Lifestyles and per the OP's request, please keep the discussion relevant to facts about the history of the topic.

If a discussion is desired about the justification or lack thereof of war in general, or whether commemoration is hackneyed or justified, anyone is more than free to create a thread regarding those topics. I will happily moderate any such thread fairly and with any reasonable request by the OP of them in mind.

The OP of this thread is very interested in not turning it into an all out argument that draws away from its original intent.

This is the second time I have had to make mention of this. A third time will result in the banning of those who cannot abide that simple request.

Thank you in advance.

THE BATTLE OF LANGEMARCK, 16-18 August, 1917

At 0445 hrs, as the first light showed through the grey mist, the British barrage came down upon the German’s front line beyond Steenbeek, and the British battalions pushed forward to the attack...

Until July 1917, the village of Boesinghe (now Boezinge) directly faced the German front line over the Yser canal, but at the end of that month, the Battle of Pilckem Ridge pushed the German line back and Artillery Wood, just east of the canal, was captured by the Guards Division.

The British (and Dominion) troops made modest advances in a number of areas on the 16th of August and that night the troops began digging in and improving their positions under intermittent fire. During this time local counter attacks were attempted by the Germans with little success. Beyond the railway embankment the 20th Division had captured Langemarck, but on their right the 11th Division had found progress more difficult.

The German’s foremost defences opposing the 48th Division consisted of a chain of posts in strong concrete block houses. Of those little forts the most important were the Maison du Hibou, Hillock Farm, Jew Hill, and Border House. Further back were other supporting posts, Triangle Farm,
Vancouver, Springfield and Winnipeg. Those posts, supported each other by machine gun fire, had effectively stopped the attack.

On the right of the 48th Division the 36th (Ulster) Division had successfully over run the enemy’s front system of defence, and gained the line of the Steenbeek from Border House southward to Pommern Redoubt. But that effort had exhausted the 36th Division, and the 61st Division was now brought up in relief.

On the following night of Saturday the 18th of August the 47th (London) Division came up to take over part of the line.

Fighting continued for some time afterward with the allies making little progress. Poor weather and problems with communication effected both sides as the battle became a stalemate. Casualties were once again sadly high...

Some inventions developed or made popular during World War One...

- Paper hankies/tissues, paper towels
- Sun Lamps
- Tea bags
- Daylight savings
- Vegetarian sausages
- Wrist***ches
- Stainless steel
- Zips
- Pilot communications and Air Traffic Control
- Blood banks
- Plastic surgery
- Drones
- Industrial Fertilizer
- Portable X-Rays

Menin Road and Polygon Wood

The Australian infantry divisions joined the Third Battle of Ypres which had been going on since 31 July when they took part in the battle of Menin Road on 20 September 1917. Fortunately a change in the weather brought for them better fighting conditions. The side-by-side advance of the 1st and 2nd Australian Divisions took them up to the splintered remnants of Polygon Wood not far from Zonnebeke. The 4th and 5th Divisions then took over and, as part of the wider effort, they attacked on 26 September. In both cases the fighting was bloody. German concrete pillboxes often blocked the Australians' progress, and many men fell under shell and machine-gun fire. However with heavy artillery support the objectives were taken and enemy counter-attacks held off. These systematic step-by-step advances, staying within range of the supporting artillery, pushed the line forward by a few kilometres, but they were made at a heavy cost; in just over a week there were almost 11,000 Australian casualties.

"It was on the Menin Road that I first noticed the condition (of) our men coming back. A couple passed us, going very slow. They were white and drawn." C.E.W. Bean.

The 1st, 2nd and 3rd Australian Divisions captured Broodseinde Ridge on 4 October 1917. It was a vital victory. But, then it began to rain. Five days later the 2nd Australian Division suffered heavily in a further attack in the mud. Finally, on 12 October, another attack, involving the 3rd Division assisted by the 4th, was made against the village of Passchendaele atop the main ridge. In the face of heavy fire, the men fought in the mire while struggling to keep up with their artillery barrages...

For Australia, 1917 was by far the worst year of WWI with more than 21,000 dead and around 150,000 wounded.

Written in 2007...

Ninety years after the terrible battle that claimed the lives of so many, Elizabeth Grice traces her great-uncle’s final moments

New foliage is being ripped from the trees and scattered across a sea of bone-white headstones. Clumps of torn cherry, ginkgo, willow and maple are strewn among the grave plots, disturbing the orderliness of this terrible place. Small, hesitant knots of visitors to Lijssenthoek Military Cemetery bend themselves into the wind. It's noticeable that most of them are groups of three, one from each generation. Some are holding a piece of paper to help them navigate the field of death. The child in the group has brought a small wooden cross with a poppy. Like me, they are looking for something: a plot, a row number, a white slab that is different from the other 11,000 white slabs.

Why are we here in Flanders, 90 years after these soldiers died in a swamp of mud? Most of us don't remember the person we are looking for. But we have family stories of what it was like when the news came through: the official telegram, the disbelief, the blinds of the front windows being drawn down and a woman's hair turning white overnight when she heard that her son had been killed in the Great War.

We are part of the living consciousness of this apocalyptic conflict - but only just. We heard it from the people who knew. So we are looking for our connection to an event that, for us, is more than a history topic. I think we are proof that this most pitiful of wars did not end, not absolutely. It is deep in our national psyche.

Four months of commemorative events start in Flanders on July 12 to mark the 90th anniversary of the Battle of Passchendaele, a prolonged war of attrition that epitomises all the horror and suffering concentrated in the Ypres Salient in that waterlogged summer and autumn of 1917. Of the million British and Empire troops killed in the Great War, a quarter lie in a tight few miles around Ypres, in cemeteries such as Lijssenthoek, which sprang up around the casualty clearing stations where men died in overwhelming numbers.

One of them was Private John Francis Cheesewright, a banker's clerk who joined the Territorials at the outbreak of war and was drafted to France early in 1917 with the 2/9th Manchester Regiment, part of the 198th Infantry Brigade of the 66th East Lancashire Division. He was 40, old for a soldier, but the British Expeditionary Force was desperate for men. He had a wife, Jennie, but no children. In Lijssenthoek, he is a man among boys.

No one ever mentioned the word Passchendaele in our family. All we knew was that John Cheesewright died "in France" on November 29, 1917, after being wounded by a shell. Actually, it was Belgian Flanders.

By the time I became interested in my great-uncle, only one of his eight brothers and two sisters was still alive. If my great-aunt Hilda knew that her brother had survived one of the bloodiest, most obscene battles of the whole war, only to die defending the British advance, she preferred not to say. "I died in Hell - they called it Passchendaele," wrote the poet Siegfried Sassoon. Who, so close, would want to be reminded?

Her reticence was typical of her generation. So was her sense of familial responsibility. She saved everything that was passed down to her as the longest-lived of the 10 children.

There were his last letters from the Western Front, written in pencil on cheap Army-issue paper, worrying about his wife and asking for thick socks and "any sort of tobacco". His medals and commemorative scrolls were still in their original cardboard tube, with a beautifully handwritten label and red sealing wax on the lid. Then there was the letter to Jennie from Nurse Annie Coulter at No 3 Canadian Casualty Clearing Station, saying her husband had been brought in, wounded but in a "fair" condition, and had asked her to write and send his love.

A mollifying letter from the regimental chaplain remarked on Pte Cheesewright's cheerfulness but was unable to disguise the truth that both his legs had been shattered and he had died in the night after what must have been a double amputation. "Afterwards [he] seemed to have lost his strength for he sank very rapidly and died peacefully in two hours, hardly, I think, being conscious."

Finally, there was the letter that came, two months after his death, from his commanding officer to one of his brothers, who had asked for information. "He was hit about dawn on the morning of the 28th [November]," wrote Kieran Lund, "his left foot being blown off by a shell splinter. There was a very heavy strafe on at the time but he was attended to immediately and sent down to the dressing station on a stretcher." The word "cheerful" appears again, one of those kindly, threadbare euphemisms that runs through all the official letters of condolence, along with "died instantly" and "did not suffer".

With this personal archive and extracts from the war diaries of his regiment in my bag, I arrived in Flanders to try to find out more about the last months of this ordinary man, a weekend soldier caught up in the catastrophic Third Battle of Ypres - Passchendaele, as it became known.

I wanted to see the battlefields where he fought and the places where he was billeted when his shattered company was sent down from the front. I needed to understand why it took 12 hours to get him the 15 kilometres from the stinking, cratered wasteland where he fell at Zonnebeke to the canvas field hospital at Remy Siding (Lijssenthoek) barracks. I wanted to see Plot XXVI, row A, grave 20a, for myself.

The natural flood plain of Northern Flanders was never a beauty spot. At peace today, it is a flat landscape of villages, isolated farmsteads and wide, uninteresting views pricked by the steeples of rebuilt churches. The few points of high ground are hardly "hills", but it was these insignificant ridges around the Salient that gave the Germans their crucial advantage and their names are full of menace: Passchendaele, Broodseinde, Gheluvelt, Messines.

The 66th East Lancashire Division crossed to France early in 1917, after being inspected by King George V in Colchester on February 22. The 2/9th Manchesters first saw action at La Basse Canal (French Flanders), then in June moved to Nieuport on the coast of Belgium. By the time Pte Cheesewright and his comrades arrived in the Salient in October, it was a desolate, shell-pitted bog contaminated by mustard gas - used as a weapon for the first time that year - and decomposing bodies.

The war was deadlocked. General Haig, the British Commander-in-Chief, had embarked on his "Flanders Offensive" to relieve the exhausted French troops in the south and stop the Germans deploying U-boats from the Belgian ports. But, by the summer of 1917, his controversial objective had shrunk to the pointless taking of Passchendaele, a ruined village on a ridge.

October 1917 was one of the wettest months of the century. On the 8th, the 2/9th Manchesters moved up from their bivouac at Ypres. Unremitting heavy rain had created a quagmire and, under the weight of battle equipment, many men sank into the mud as they tried to reach their assembly position. In the inky blackness, they made painfully slow progress along narrow tracks already torn up by pack animals, while shell storms burst around them. Frequent halts were made to save the men blown off the slime-covered duckboards into the waterlogged waste, putting them hopelessly behind schedule. The order went out that they were not to stop for any reason, so they marched on, trying to ignore the screams of comrades drowning in mud.

It took 11 hours to reach their jumping-off lines. For the final two miles, there were no tracks at all and the men struggled on through driving rain, knee-deep in mud. At 5.20am on October 9, barely able to see their feeble barrage, let alone follow it, the Manchesters attacked with the 198th Brigade - everything they did pitilessly observed by the enemy on the Passchendaele Ridge. What followed rapidly descended into tragic chaos as German artillery and machine-gun fire picked them off. Most of the action took place near Tyne Cot (today the largest military cemetery in Europe), with Passchendaele in view.

By the end of the Battle of Poelcapelle - the name given to this wretched episode of Passchendaele - the 2/9th Manchesters' casualties numbered 18 officers and 322 men. The four territorial battalions of the Lancashire Fusiliers counted 307 dead, of whom 247 have no known grave. Though the Canadians went on to liberate Passchendaele on November 6, when they got there they found the dead bodies of Lancastrians from the 66th Division who had fought their way through, in ever-dwindling numbers, on October 9. The ravaged Manchesters were relieved by the Anzacs in the early morning of October 10 and struggled back to what was once the village of Vlamertinge.

The poet Wilfred Owen wrote to his mother: "I have suffered seventh hell… the ground was an octopus of sucking clay… I allow myself to tell you all these things because I am never going back to this awful post. It is the worst the Manchesters have ever held." Neither of John Cheesewright's surviving letters home gave the smallest indication of what he had been through. In a letter to his mother, Floretta, from their training base at Le Rons, on November 4, he frets about not having heard from his wife and hopes "Father's knee will soon be quite well again". He adds: "Parcels will be very acceptable. Any sort of tobacco will do. Thick socks are also very useful." On November 11, from a dugout in Ypres that was under constant shell bombardment and where 10 of his comrades were killed or wounded, he wrote apologetically to his mother: "I know I don't let you have a letter as often as I should like to, but we have to write under such disadvantageous conditions that letter-writing is horrible." Disadvantageous! No life above ground was possible in Ypres and below ground it was unspeakably squalid, yet he assures her: "I am quite well so far." By the time this letter reached her, he was dead.

His ravaged battalion returned to the front on November 19. The Passchendaele offensive was over but the shelling and killing continued. Pte Cheesewright was hit during a dawn strafe on November 28, a day on which the regimental War Diary laconically records "no special activity". The place where he fell, at Zonnebeke, close to the Memorial Museum Passchendaele, is today a peaceful vista of maize and beet fields. But human remains and the detritus of war are ploughed up every year.

His 12 comrades who were killed outright were buried in one long row at Dochy Farm Cemetery, near Ypres, but he was expected to survive. So began a nightmare journey through the battle zone to No 3 Canadian Casualty Clearing Station near Poperinge. In such a blighted landscape, it required Herculean efforts to follow the medical evacuation procedure. A team of stretcher-bearers took wounded men over the duckboards and through the mud, usually under fire, to a primitive underground bunker with an earthen floor. It was called a first-aid post, but there were no doctors and no beds.

Here the men would be crudely patched up and transferred by a new team of stretcher-bearers to a relay post further back from the front. At the relay post there might be morphine. The last stage of the journey to a casualty clearing station was often by lorry over pot-holed roads. But there was also a light railway line from Ypres to Poperinge, with a small spur to Remy Siding. Whichever way Pte Cheesewright travelled, the journey was too long to save him.

John Cheesewright made a will on September 11, 1917, half way through the three-month struggle for Passchendaele but surely more than half way to grasping the horror still to unfold. He left everything (£511 9s. 9d) to his wife, Jennie. She at least had the consolation of knowing what happened to him - the families of 90,000 missing soldiers commemorated on the Menin Gate, Ypres, and at Tyne Cot cemetery did not - and had a burial place to visit. But I am glad she did not know the things I learned in Flanders, as I carried her husband's letters back to where he had written them.