Where Did General Pershing Get His Initial Division For the AEF?

When the U.S. Army began the conversion to brigade combat teams in 2004, it started to move cautiously away from the combined arms division, the Army’s building block for nearly ninety years. The first permanent divisions were created amid the crisis conditions of 1917, and the first among these new formations was the 1st Division, today’s 1st Infantry Division, the famous Big Red One.

Its formative experience preparing for combat on the Western Front in World War I challenged soldiers of that day in ways their counterparts of today might recognize—raw recruits manning a new organization; extreme personnel turbulence; unfamiliar technology; precarious relationships with allies; doctrinal uncertainty; harsh living and training conditions; and the prospect of imminent combat with a hardened and dangerous enemy. The organization they honed did more than break a path for the forty-two divisions of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF) that followed—it set the foundation for the modern, permanently organized, combined arms divisions that characterized the U.S. Army for the rest of the twentieth century.

The idea of permanent divisions percolated throughout the U.S. Army for at least twenty years prior to 1917. The basic formation for more than a century had been the single arm regiment. Temporary “divisions” had been formed in the Civil War and the Spanish-American War to consolidate commanders’ span of control and to combine infantry and field artillery.

While the major European powers organized divisions in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the U.S. Army had no similar compelling need as it policed the western frontier and America’s new colonial holdings. Wartime divisions were codified in the 1905 Field Service Regulations (FSR), but the central argument for forming permanent divisions between 1900 and 1917 was for the unlikely contingency of continental defense against a major power.

From 1910, instability in Mexico provided opportunities to experiment with divisions. In 1911, the War Department assembled a provisional “maneuver division” of Regular and National Guard units in San Antonio, Texas. The assembly itself required nearly the entire period of the call-up, from March to August. The event provided relevant experience, leading to a more efficient mobilization of the 2d Division in Texas in 1913 and deployment of a brigade to Vera Cruz, Mexico, in 1914. Meanwhile, an Army War College study recommended reorganizing the Regular Army as a “mobile army” of divisions ready for immediate service. Moreover, the 1914 FSR called the division the basic organization for offensive operations.

16th Infantry Marching Into Mexico, 1916

The FSR further defined a division in modern terms: “A self-contained unit made up of all necessary arms and services, and complete in itself with every requirement for independent action incident to its operations.” The War College plan, however, was never completely adopted or funded. The onset of World War I in Europe led to the National Defense Act of 1916, which expanded both the Regular Army and the National Guard and called for the organization of both into permanent tactical brigades and divisions. Events overtook this plan as well. In response to Pancho Villa’s raid on Columbus, New Mexico, in March 1916, 8th Brigade, 3d Division, commander BG John J. Pershing received orders to organize a force to apprehend Villa’s gang.

Pershing assembled the “Punitive Expedition,” a provisional division of two cavalry and one infantry brigades and, for the next year, conducted the first modern division operations in the Army’s history. Although ultimately unsuccessful, the expedition integrated radio and telephone communications, airplanes, and partly motorized logistics with ground maneuver and provided Pershing and others a taste of the complexities of twentieth century warfare.

While Pershing led his expedition through the wilds of northern Mexico, events in Europe brought the United States into World War I. Germany’s leaders decided to strangle Great Britain with unrestricted submarine warfare and, clumsily, to arrange a Mexican attack on the United States in the event of the latter’s entry on the Allied side. President Woodrow Wilson requested and received a Congressional declaration of war on 6 April 1917. Great Britain and France immediately pressed for the deployment of an American division.

It is hard to exaggerate the crisis of 1917 for the American Army. Pershing’s expedition had only been withdrawn from Mexico in February, having consumed most of the Quartermaster’s meager stocks. The four extant divisions were administrative groupings, not trained, deployable units. There were no plans for manpower or industrial mobilization, no stocks of weapons and munitions, and no plans for transporting a significant military force over contested seas.

General Pershing and His Key Staff Arrive in France, 13 June 1918

No American officers had ever served in anything like the European divisions then fighting on the Western and Eastern Fronts. America’s new allies themselves were in near desperate straits: the British Somme Offensive of 1916 had failed; the French “Nivelle Offensive” was failing; and Russia was in the throes of revolution. The British and French delegations dispatched to the United States, which included France’s hero of the Marne battles Marshal Joseph Joffre, implored the American government for immediate assistance.

The Europeans, however, did not like the War College plans for American divisions nor the timetable for organizing them. Led by MAJ John McAuley Palmer, the War College planners posited a 28,000-man division of three brigades of three regiments of three battalions. Designed for continental defense, this division required nearly twenty miles of road space for movement and, in the Europeans’ view, lacked the integrated artillery, machine guns, and trench mortars necessary on the Western Front. Moreover, the War College plan called for raising and training such divisions in the United States before deploying them, a process that would delay the arrival of American troops in France to 1918 or even 1919.

The British in particular wanted instead the dispatch of American troops to the front as replacements for European formations, a prospect totally unacceptable to the Americans. Army Chief of Staff GEN Hugh L. Scott directed the planners to develop another division organization on the French model of two brigades of two infantry regiments that reflected the best advice of the British and French officers.

Meanwhile, recognizing the imperative of an American presence in France to bolster French morale, President Woodrow Wilson promised Joffre a division immediately. He directed Secretary of War Newton Baker and GEN Scott, who in turn ordered MG Pershing, now commander of the Army’s Southern Department, to select four infantry regiments and one artillery regiment for immediate “foreign service.”

A transport ship carrying soldiers of the First Expeditionary Division
enters the harbor of St. Nazaire, France, 27 June 1917

Unsurprisingly, Pershing, designated to command the expeditionary force, selected Regular Army regiments with excellent records on the Punitive Expedition or along the Mexican border: the 16th, 18th, 26th, and 28th Infantry Regiments and the 5th and 6th Field Artillery Regiments. Pershing would later be promoted to general in October 1917 and appointed commander of the AEF.

As the infantry regiments prepared in great haste for their movement to Hoboken, New Jersey, and shipment overseas, they filled their vacant ranks with many enthusiastic but untrained volunteer recruits and “emergency” officers selected from the Officer Training Camps springing up around the country.

The new division’s commanding general, BG William L. Sibert, and brigade commanders BG Robert L. Bullard and BG Omar Bundy, like their hastily selected staff, met their commands for the first time at the port of Hoboken, New Jersey. There, on 8 June 1917, War Department orders established the headquarters of the First Expeditionary Division.

According to newly appointed general staff officer CPT George C. Marshall, “…the staff of the division…met for the first time aboard the boat [ the Tenadores…where] most of us were informed of the organization prescribed for the division…We found that the infantry regiments had been increased about threefold in strength and contained organizations previously unheard of, which were to be armed with implements entirely new to us.”

BG William Silbert, Initial Commander of the First Division

Marshall’s confusion stemmed from the fact that the 1917 Provisional Tables of Organization for the First Division were only some two weeks old. Huddling with their French counterparts, Palmer’s team at the War College revised their organization of three brigades to a French model “square” organization of two brigades of two regiments. The basic division numbered about 14,000 troops, but the addition of artillery, machine guns, and trench mortars urged by the French, as well as an aviation unit, ample trains and special service troops brought the number up to about 24,000. Acting Chief of Staff GEN Tasker H. Bliss approved this organization only for the initial expeditionary force, recognizing that further changes may be desired by the AEF commander.

Bliss also knew that no more divisions would be deployed as hastily as the First; the War Department would need time to refine the organization of the follow-on divisions. Such refinement was indeed underway. While crossing the Atlantic, Pershing put his staff to work on organizing a one million man AEF. A similar effort was underway at the War Department, led by COL Chauncey Baker. The two efforts coordinated their conclusions in the General Organization Project, producing by August 1917 a plan for a 27,000-man division. However, the rationale for this division foreshadowed a doctrinal tension between the United States and the Europeans that continued throughout the war.

Whereas the French division organization was optimized for rotating forces in and out of trench works, the Americans wanted a robust division for sustained combat to force the enemy out of his trenches and into “open warfare.” The convoys carrying the First Expeditionary Division sailed from New York on 12 June 1917 and arrived largely without incident at St. Nazaire, France, between 26 and 30 June.

Company K, 28th Infantry Regiment, was the first organized unit to set foot on French soil. Billeted in a former prisoner-of-war camp dubbed Camp Number 1, and without motor transport or horses, the troops made daily marches of eighteen miles to the ground designated for drill. Almost immediately, officers were levied to Pershing’s headquarters in Paris or for duty elsewhere in the AEF infrastructure.

16th Infantry in Paris, 4 July 1917

On 4 July, the 2d Battalion, 16th Infantry, paraded through Paris to the cheers of a war-weary public in need of good news, while the remainder of the division boarded trains for their first permanent encampment near Gondrecourt in Lorraine. On 6 July, the First Expeditionary Division was redesignated the 1st Division. The task that faced Sibert (promoted to major general on 27 June) and his officers upon arrival in their designated training area was daunting indeed.

They had to create, from the whole cloth of four infantry regiments manned mostly by untrained recruits, a combined arms division in which none of them had experience, according to an uncertain doctrine, to perform missions never before undertaken, against a seasoned enemy. Moreover, they had to do it in a manner that could be presented as an example to all follow-on divisions and as a showcase of American military competence to European observers and enemy intelligence.

A Few Weeks After Paris, 16th Infantry in Bayonet Training at Gondrecourt

In a future posting, we will present the next section of Paul Herbert's article on the First Division in which he discusses how the "Fighting First" trained for battle on the Western Front.

Sources:  Excerpted from "America’s First Division 90 years ago",  U.S. Army Historical Foundation

A Floatplane Reconnaissance Over Beersheba—April 1915

Nieuport N.16 aboard Rabenfels. Pilot is Lt. V Cintré and observer Captain R.E. Todd, 11/12 April 1915. (Credit : Association pour la Recherche de Documentation sur l’Histoire de l’Aéronautique Navale, ARDHAN)

By Ian M. Burns

Excerpted from Float Planes Over The Desert

In April 1915, a French naval floatplane launched from a converted British cargo ship attempted one of the war's most ambitious reconnaissance flights to date – a 55-kilometre journey inland from the Mediterranean coast to Beersheba, the staging point for the recent Turkish attack on the Suez Canal. Engine failure over hostile territory tested both pilot and observer to their limits.

The French naval aviation unit l'escadrille de Port-Saïd spent much of 1915 operating from two British seaplane carriers, HMS Rabenfels and HMS Aenne Rickmers. These were converted German cargo ships, requisitioned at the outbreak of war and fitted with cargo booms to hoist floatplanes in and out of the water. Their role was to extend the reach of British and French naval forces patrolling the eastern Mediterranean and Red Sea coasts, watching Turkish troop movements in Sinai and Palestine.

The ships' operational routine was similar across most cruises. A section of two Nieuport floatplanes would be hoisted aboard, along with pilots, observers, and four mechanics. The observers – usually British Army intelligence officers – prepared maps and charts, took notes during flights, and wrote the post-flight reports. The ship would sail to its station, often anchoring off landmarks like the mosque at El Arish to confirm position. Once conditions allowed, the floatplanes would be lowered into the sea, engines hand-cranked to life by observers crammed into tiny cockpits, and the machines would buzz across the waves attempting to gain enough speed to unstick from the surface.

Rabenfels at Port Said shortly after having been converted to a seaplane carrier. Canvas shelters for the Nieuport floatplanes are rigged on the forward and aft well decks.

On 7 April 1915, Rabenfels departed Port Said carrying Nieuports N.15 and N.16. Only one pilot was aboard: Lieutenant de vaisseau Alfred Louis Marie Cintré. The observers were Captain Todd and Second Lieutenant Paul. After arriving off El Arish the following morning, Rabenfels remained in the area for three days. Poor weather prevented flying until 10 April.

The morning flight by Cintré and Paul reached Beersheba, where they found a large camp capable of housing up to 7,000 men, including a hospital and what appeared to be an aircraft hangar. Their report prompted a bombing raid by the Egyptian Defence Royal Flying Corps six days later.

The following morning, 11 April, Cintré advised attempting a flight to Beersheba despite low coastal clouds. He and Paul departed at 08.50 in N.15, crossed the coast 15 minutes later, and followed the main road straight to Beersheba, arriving at 09.38 at 900 meters altitude. The garrison had shrunk considerably since the Suez Canal attack – Paul reported just 2,000 to 3,000 men and a few tents. They turned for home at 09.50.

Map of Beersheba after another reconnaissance flight in
 November 1915

When approximately 25 kilometers from the coast, an exhaust valve rod broke, blowing a hole in the engine cowling. Revolutions fell from normal to between 1,000 and 1,100, and the floatplane began losing altitude. As they neared the coast, Paul reported: 'A body of 30 men with Maxim gun apparently waiting for seaplane's return, as not noticed on outward journey. They did not hit us though they fired at us while within range, although at the time the plane was only at 200 meters.'

Cintré managed to land the damaged floatplane short of Rabenfels, which quickly steamed up and hoisted them aboard. Captain Todd, as senior observer, commented in his final report: 'One cannot but comment on the coolness and skill of the pilot Lieutenant de V Cintré. Indeed, on this his maiden voyage as a pilot, the only one on board, his flying has been admirable. This with his cheeriness, which is unfailing, made him a most desirable companion.'

Shortly before their return, Rabenfels had been joined by the French pre-dreadnought Saint Louis. That afternoon Cintré and Todd attempted to direct the ship's fire onto camps near Gaza using smoke signals – the floatplanes lacked wireless. Both available Nieuports suffered engine problems and could not gain sufficient height. A morning attempt on 12 April proved more successful. Cintré and Todd directed Saint Louis' 138.6mm broadside guns onto the Gaza camps. 'I was able to confirm the observations made during my reconnaissance,' Todd wrote. 'After the ship first fired, the camps swarmed with men scattering for cover in all directions. There could not have been less than 12,000 to 15,000.'

A Nieuport floatplane being towed away from the ship
prior to starting up

Rabenfels sailed for Port Said that evening, arriving just after dawn on 13 April. Cintré was subsequently awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for the Beersheba flight – one of several DSCs and Distinguished Service Medals earned by French naval aviators operating with the Royal Navy in 1915.

This article is adapted from Floatplanes Over The Desert by Ian M. Burns, available HERE from Little Gully Publishing, a small press specializing in Gallipoli and the First World War in the Middle East. Little Gully offers firsthand accounts, new histories, and quality reissues. 

"She Was Glorious"—The Pre-Sinking History of RMS Lusitania

First Class Dining, RMS Lusitania

Inception

The Liverpool-based shipping company Cunard ordered the R.M.S. Lusitania and its sister ship, the R.M.S. Mauretania, in 1902. Lusitania was built by the shipyard of John Brown & Co. in Scotland. For Cunard, the two ocean liners had a shared purpose: to restore Britain’s dominance in the transatlantic passenger travel industry by beating its German (and, to a lesser degree, American) competition. To build the Lusitania and Mauretania, Cunard secured a £2.6 million, low-interest subsidy from the British government (in today’s currency, that’s about £300 million). Cunard also received an annual operating subsidy of £75,000, or about £8.6 million today, for each ship, and a contract worth £68,000 each, or £7.8 million today, to transport mail. The ships were designed to accommodate 563 first-class, 464 second-class, and 1138 third-class passengers, plus 802 crew.

As another part of the loan arrangement, Cunard guaranteed that both ships would be able to cruise at a speed of at least 24.5 knots (about 28 mph). That would make the Lusitania and Mauretania faster than the speediest German liners, which could run just over 23 knots. To meet this challenge, Cunard installed four steam turbine engines, each with its own screw propeller, a first for ocean liners. The new technology in the Lusitania required “68 additional furnaces, six more boilers, 52,000 square feet of heating surface, and an increase of 30,000 horsepower.”

An Arrival in New York

The Very Best Accommodations

The ship was promoted as a "floating palace," featuring a two-story dining salon, a veranda café, a smoking room, electric lighting, and elevators. First class passengers enjoyed lavish suites. Each class of passenger accommodation featured dining rooms, smoking rooms, ladies’ lounges, nurseries, and other public spaces. They ranged in opulence from plush Georgian and Queen Anne styles in the first-class compartments to plain but comfortable in third class. The Lusitania was also the first ocean liner to have elevators, as well as a wireless telegraph, telephones, and electric lights.

Onboard dining included dozens of dishes at each seating for the most discerning Edwardian gastronomes. A luncheon menu from January 1908 suggested appetizers like potted shrimps, omelette aux tomates, lamb pot pie, and grilled sirloin steak or mutton chops. A variety of cold meats—Cumberland ham, roast beef, boiled ox tongue, boar’s head, and more—was served next. For dessert, guests could nibble on fancy pastry, compote of prunes and rice, cheeses, fruits, and nuts.

First Class Sleeping Accommodation 

Prewar Operations

On 7 September 1907, the Lusitania departed Liverpool on its maiden voyage enroute to New York with a stop in Queenstown (now Cobh), Ireland. “She presented an impressive picture as she left with her mighty funnels and brilliant illuminations,” the Manchester Courier and Lancashire General Advertiser reported. “Throughout the day there was a continuous stream of sightseers on board, and the departure was witnessed by about 200,000 people.” 

Cunard desperately wanted to win back the Blue Riband, an unofficial title for the fastest average time on a crossing of the Atlantic Ocean, from the German superliners. Bad weather prevented the Lusitania from reaching its top speed on the first try, but on the voyage from 6–10 October 1907, the ship reached an average speed of 23.99 knots, breaking the Germans' record. She soon became known as the "Greyhound of the Seas."

Lusitania's popularity would grow throughout her early service. The ship provided a combination of unmatched speed and reliability, an ever-growing reputation for safety, luxury, and comfort, and the gold star status for its passengers of having traveled on the world's most stylish and fastest ocean liner.

R.M.S. Lusitania would complete 101 round-trip voyages (202 crossings) between Liverpool and New York, between 1907 and 1915.

How the Ship Would Have Looked During the War

Wartime Service

Instead of being fully converted into a military vessel, Lusitania continued when war broke out to operate as a luxury passenger liner to maintain passenger, mail, and trade routes between Great Britain and the neutral United States. Sister ship Mauritania, meanwhile, did perform unambiguous military service as a transport vessel for Canadian troops and as a hospital ship. 

Nevertheless, the Lusitania was registered as an armed auxiliary cruiser with the British Admiralty, designed for quick conversion if needed. While never officially fitted with guns, she was modified with hidden cargo spaces for ammunition, additional compass platforms, cranes, and dark paint to mask her funnels

One major controversy broke out during her wartime operations. At times its captains ordered the American flag to be flown to deter submarine attacks. British diplomats, naturally, defended the practice, while their American counterparts strongly disagreed, as expressed in a 10 February 1915 memorandum:

Assuming that the foregoing reports are true, the Government of the United States, reserving for future consideration the legality and propriety of the deceptive use of the flag of a neutral power in any case for the purpose of avoiding capture, desires very respectfully to point out to His Britannic Majesty’s Government the serious consequences which may result to American vessels and American citizens if this practice is continued.

At some point, the Lusitania began carrying war contraband. While long denied, on its final voyage, Lusitania carried 4.2 million rounds of Remington .303 rifle ammunition, 18 cases of fuses, and 125 cases of shrapnel shells. Presumably, the last voyage was not the first occasion of this practice. Of course, the public was never made of aware of any of this activity.

The Departing Lusitania Passengers of 1 May 1915

The Passengers at Wartime

Early-war travel on Lusitania was not without excitement, although U-boats were not yet a consideration. When war broke out in Europe, Lusitania was under way for Europe. One voyager aboard later described arriving from America in the war zone: 

When we arrived off the Welsh coast at night we had a sterner omen of strife, for searchlights from the shore were constantly played on us. But there was no apparent anxiety among the passengers, since that was before the days of submarine ” frightfulness,” and we docked safely.

By 1915, however, the passengers were quite conscious of the U-boat danger. Californian Will Irwin was aboard a February 1915 eastbound trip.

The “state of war” begins, in fact, at the pier. This was no common sailing of an Atlantic liner, anyone could see that with half an eye. There was much excitement in the crowd which came to bid us goodbye, much emotion expressed and suppressed. Wives clung emotionally to their husbands; a few women, blinded by their tears, refused to wait to see us off, but ran away down the pier before the deckhands drew up the gangplank.

Journalist Charles Edward Russell described the passengers' mindset on an April 1915  crossing:

Nobody talks about submarines, battleships nor sunken vessels. By some secret psychology the whole subject is dropped. Also we bear ourselves with an elaborate unconcern. But one thing betrays us. At dinner there is some crash of machinery somewhere below, and half the company jump up breathless. Tension–we all feel it.

Multiple Warnings

Cunard and the passengers and crew of RMS Lusitania received multiple warnings regarding the danger of German submarine attacks before its departure on 1 May 1915, though the final attack in the Irish Sea would come without warning from the captain of U-20. Public warnings from the German Embassy in Washington D.C. were published in newspapers as early as 22 April. On the day the Lusitania departed New York, another notice was published in 50 American newspapers warning that vessels flying the British flag were liable to destruction and that travelers on these ships did so at their own risk reminding them that "vessels flying the flags of the Allies are liable to destruction in the war zone around the British Isles." 

When the Lusitania sailed on 1 May it had aboard 1,210 passengers. A number of the passengers received telegrams at the pier, signed by names unknown to them and presumed to be fictitious, advising them not to sail as the liner was to be torpedoed by submarines. Among the persons who received such a telegram was Alfred G. Vanderbilt. He destroyed the message without comment.  Overall, though, the Cunard office received only a typical number of last-minute cancellations.

The first six days of her last crossing were typically uneventful for the passengers. However, Captain William Turner received at least three specific warnings from the British Admiralty regarding submarine activity ahead in the area off the southern coast of Ireland.

Where the Last Voyage Would End

Then the World Changed

In the early afternoon of 7 May, able seaman Leslie Morton began his scheduled watch at 2 p.m. He later  told the BBC:

It was a beautiful day; the sea was like glass. And as we were going to be in Liverpool the next day, everybody felt very happy. We hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to the threats to sink her because we didn’t think it was possible. . . Ten past two, I saw a disturbance in the water, obviously the air coming up from a torpedo tube. And I saw two torpedoes running toward the ship, fired diagonally across the course. The 'Lucy' was making about 16 knots at the time. I reported them to the bridge with a megaphone, we had torpedoes coming on the starboard side. And by the time I had time to turn round and have another look, they hit her amidships between No. 2 and 3 funnels.

Last Photograph of the Lusitania

We have a number of articles on the sinking  of RMS Lusitania and the event's influence on America's march to war HERE. 

Sources for this article:  The Liverpool National Museum; Mental Floss, 3 May 2022; Office of the Historian, Department of State; Gare Maritime

Remembering Maj. (ret) J.H.G. Corrigan MBE, FRHistS, FRAS: Soldier, Historian, TV Star, Lecturer, and Battlefield Tour Leader

By James Patton

I've just learned that Gordon Corrigan passed away 26 February. Although we were personally acquainted, as I was with him on one of his tours, I was neither a friend nor a colleague. However, for convenience’s sake, I am going to take the liberty of herein calling him Gordon. 

Born in 1942, Gordon was educated first at the Royal School, Armagh, in Northern Ireland, and commissioned from Sandhurst in 1962. He then served in the British Army until 1998; most of his field service was with the 6th (Queen Elizabeth's Own) Gurkha Rifles. The Gurkhas took him to Hong Kong, Borneo, Berlin, Cyprus, Belize, and Belfast. Not an academically trained historian, he nevertheless published 11 excellent books about historical subjects, ranging from the years 1337 to 1945. 

The Soldier

Later, with his droll wit apparent, he wrote about how he became a historical writer. “I was well aware that working for a civilian would get me sacked in the first week, probably for telling the boss that he was incompetent or corrupt or both, so whatever I did I had to be self-employed. As there is not a great call for the skills of killing people and blowing things up in civilian life, at least not if one wishes to stay inside the law, I calculated that the only things that I knew a great deal about, and which might earn me a living, were horses and history. As working with horses is a recipe for going bust [he had been involved in horse racing in Hong Kong] … it had to be history. I thought I could write … and while I was still serving I sat down each evening and bashed out what became my first published book, Sepoys in the Trenches, about the Indian Corps on the Western Front…  It sold well for a niche market work, but there was no advance and it made me little money…” Sepoys did make some ripples in the pond of WWI literature, and he was able to sell his next work Wellington: A Military Life (2001), about Sir Arthur Wellesley, which began Gordon’s life-long interest in the duke. His big splash came next with Mud, Blood and Poppycock – Britain and the First World War (2003), which became a UK non-fiction  best seller, with 10,000 hard back sales and  90,000 in  paperback, still in print and also available in audio books and Kindle. Other works followed: Loos 1915: The Unwanted Battle (2005), Blood, Sweat and Arrogance (2006), The Second World War: A Military History (2010), A Great and Glorious Adventure: The Hundred Years War (2013), Waterloo: A New History (2014), Haig: Defeat into Victory (2015), England Expects: The Battle of Sluys (2016) and The Battle of Stalingrad (2022). 

Gordon's Bestseller, Still Available HERE

Quoting Gordon again: “I got into television purely by accident, when David Chandler, Britain’s leading Napoleonic scholar, had a stroke and recommended me as his replacement–have a dinner party and you can bore ten people, write a book and bore ten thousand, get on telly and bore millions. . . I enjoy TV and I do not find it difficult, and nor would anyone who has been a soldier and spent most of his life speaking on the hoof [one of his outstanding traits was his ability to go off-script], but fortunately the makers of TV films do think it is difficult and pay accordingly.” His television appearances included The Gurkhas (BBC 1995), Battlefield Detectives (History Channel 2003-6), Tanks! (PBS 2004), Great British Commanders (Syndicated—The Conqueror’s Series 2005 ) and Napoleon’s Waterloo (BBC 2015). He has 14 lectures available online, including a series on the current Russia-Ukraine War. Also in the online world, he ran a blog. He also delivered hundreds of in-person or Zoom lectures, in both the UK and the USA, as well as on Silver Sea Cruises and Golden Eagle Rail Journeys. 

The Battlefield Guide

Although over the years  I have reconnected with Gordon through his lectures for the Western Front Association and by following his blog, Foremost though, I will remember him because of my aforementioned tour. About tour leading, Gordon wrote “My  books have … earned me respectable amounts—but still not enough to keep a hunter [horse], a decent wine cellar and a wife, so other sources of income had to be found. Shortly after leaving the army I began to conduct battlefield tours: fairly modest ones at first, to the Western Front, Normandy, Waterloo and the like, but which repertoire expanded to include Slovenia (Lt Rommel’s hunt for the Pour Le Mérite), India (the Mutiny, the Mahratta and Mysore Wars), Pakistan, Nepal, North Africa, Tunisia and, of course, Spain and Portugal for the Peninsular War. Battlefield tours are hard work. There is not just the requirement to carry huge amounts of information in one’s head (I try to avoid using notes) but the constant questions and the need to be sociable in the evenings.” Among other operators, he was a stalwart tour leader for Holts and later The Cultural Experience. He led dozens of tours in France, Belgium, Germany, Italy, Slovenia, Holland, Spain, Portugal, India, Nepal, Pakistan, Egypt, Libya, Tunisia, and even the USA. As a tour leader, he was energetic, fascinating, and fun.

My most memorable Gordon Corrigan story is from my tour with him. Since he was a former jungle soldier, he was comfortable with topo maps. He found a track that would cut driving  time off of our trip, but after we had gone a few miles it started to narrow. Gordon was urging the driver onward, even appealing to his national pride, but after a few miles he refused to go farther. There was nothing for it; the bus would have to back out, and instead of saving time it was going to cost time—a lot of it. Gordon proposed continuing on foot. He  again consulted his map and sussed out a course that most of us could hike. The tour manager was tasked with calming the hysterical Italian bus driver, and it was set for the two groups to reunite at the CWGC Granezza cemetery. 

A Discovery on One of Gordon's Tours

So off we went, at a brisk pace, as befitting Gordon. Two events on that trek stand out. First, we found what appeared to be an un-detonated artillery shell that was mostly buried in the ground. We decided to leave it in situ. Then we saw a man-made depression that Gordon told us to avoid, as it was not a trench, but a “waste pit” (not his exact wording). We got a quick, off-the-cuff lecture on battlefront “waste” management. We rejoined the bus group as planned, and by accident found a monument to Lieut. Col. James M. Knox DSO(2) (1878–1918) and his 143rd (Warwicks) Brigade. It turned out, as it often seems on British tours, that said Lt. Col. Knox was a relative of a tour member, who had not known that this monument existed. 

Gordon rose to a respected position in the historian ranks: a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society, an Honorary Research Fellow of the Universities of Birmingham and Kent, and a Member of the British Commission for Military History. And, of course, there is his MBE.  I’ve  known only two MBEs in my lifetime.

The Historian

This is my favorite Gordon Corrigan quote, taken from his autobiographic statement: “Someone once said that he who fails to study history is doomed to repeat it. I prefer to compare history to map reading—how do you know where you are if you don’t know where you’ve been, and how do you know where you are going if you don’t know where you are?”

  Requiescat in pace, Gordon 

• Source of Quotes: https://gordoncorrigan.substack.com/p/ramblings-of-a-military-historian 
• Read about his funeral here: https://everesttimes.net/archives/63156  (pay no attention to the Gurkhali)

Living Off the Land or Looting?

Lt. Balck, Just After the War

During the First World War, Lt. Hermann Balck, who would later become a notable Panzer commander in the Second World War, saw action on nearly every front.  In October 1918, he found himself leading a company of Alpenkorps troops in the Battle of Caporetto. As is  wellknown, the combined Austrian-German attacking force achieved a tremendous breakthrough against the demoralized Italian Second Army. In his outstanding 1981 memoir about his experiences in both World Wars, Order in Chaos,  Balck matter-of-factly includes a description of the plundering and pillaging carried out by his soldiers as they went charging into northern Italy after the successful opening attack. I can't remember reading such a candid description of such events, so I thought I should share it with our readers. 

Along the whole front line white sheets popped up and three hundred men came running and jumping toward us. “Eviva Germania, la Guerra finite, la Guerra finite! A Milano, a Milano!”  Laughing, they slapped us on the shoulders. The only one real danger was being trampled to death by them. “Mort a te Cadorna” was written in large letters in countless spots in the Italian trenches. The Italians were completely demoralized. They fled toward the rear, leaving everything behind—artillery piece next to artillery piece, supply wagon next to supply wagon, and as many rations as we could have wanted. Prisoners by the thousands marched toward us, constantly yelling “Eviva Germani! Eviva Germania!” 

We descended the steep hillsides and into the plains. The situation remained one of total collapse, with fleeing automobile convoys and at one position a battery firing off its last rounds. We could see the crews servicing the guns, and then it was every man for himself. White flares were being fired off to the right and to the left as far as one could see. They marked the forward line of our troops, aggressively advancing along a wide front. . . There was no stopping us now. The morale was fabulous. Everything had the aura of an event of world historical significance. Added to that, our losses had been minimal—only 224 dead, wounded, or sick in the entire Alpenkorps. The bag for the first day alone was forty howitzers and thirteen thousand POWs.

We reached the plains. Italy was supposed to be the best supplied front line of the Allies, and it certainly was. After a few days there were no more skinny horses in the company. My company became unrecognizable, with everyone decked out in the newest, best-quality Italian trousers, boots, and clothing. Our quarters were excellent, often in substantial castles.

The Conquering Invaders Arrive in Udine

 

[At first] the weather conditions  meant a few days of rest for us. I took advantage to make a small detour to Udine, which had been cut off by a German brigade. Actually, no one was allowed to enter the town, but I finally got permission. It was the most maddening sight I had ever seen. Every window was broken; all the stores were looted; and there were heaps of broken glass everywhere. You could not even identify the original purpose of any of the stores. Everything was a black, tamped-down mass, covered with the stench of vomit and red wine.

In March 1918, I [would later sit] on a court-martial board in Mörchingen in Lorraine. A supply NCO from the logistics command of the Alpenkorps had brought goods back to Germany from Udine valued at 50,000 marks. He was caught in Munich. When he had arrived in Udine, tens of thousands of people were looting, half of them Italians and the other half Austrians. The NCO bought a truck full of fabrics worth 20,000 marks by paying 20 kronen 42 and one hundred cigarettes. Truck drivers were earning between 20,000 and 30,000 kronen on the road from Udine to Bled. Along the railroad lines commercial companies had sprung up that were making incredible profits—thankfully all without German participation. [Note: This does not exclude Austrian involvement, and label me skeptical about zero German participation. MH] But because the trucks were being used for other things, ammunition did not get forward.

German Troops in Udine, Apparently After Discipline Had Been Restored

 

[Back to the court martial:] Reaching a verdict proved difficult. The defense argued that when the man reached Udine, he saw tens of thousands of people looting and breaking into the stores. How could this one man stop anything? We finally acquitted the NCO, because in Udine the principle of “unclaimed merchandise” could be applied, and because the defendant had not acted with criminal intent. He just had a different perspective on business matters. It was a somewhat convoluted rationale, because war booty technically belongs to the state. But the verdict was just. The judges. . . concurred.

[Heavy rains during the post-Caporetto breakthrough did not hinder the looting] We would slosh ahead for three minutes, then stop for a half an hour, then move ahead for another minute, and then stop for an hour. This went on for three days and the rain just kept pouring down. But soldiers are inventive. After a little while everybody had a chair and an umbrella and sat down happily during longer halt periods under the cover of the umbrella. When it came time to march on, they moved the couple of steps that the column would actually move, taking their chairs and umbrellas with them. This was the famous “night chair march” of the Alpenkorps across the Tagliamento River. 

Spoils of War at the Tagliamento River Bank Left by Retreating
Italian and Pursuing Central Powers Forces

 

In his memoir, besides a brief segment on looting and drinking during Operation Michael in 1918, Balck also included a related strong endorsement of military-operated brothels:

We did have our own abuses that were the signs of a long war. There was pillaging and a number of rapes. Bordellos were established only very late. Wherever that had been done early on, no problems existed. As St. Augustine wrote a long time ago, “Whoever chases the whores out of town drives everything into a morass of passion.”

ORDER IN CHAOS: The Memoirs of General of Panzer Troops Hermann Balck can be ordered HERE.

As War Broke Out in Europe, America Lost a First Lady

 

A Soon-to-Be First Family
Helen Wilson, Center

U.S. First Lady Ellen Axson Wilson died of Bright's Disease on 6 August 1914. She had been born on 15 May 1860, in Savannah, Georgia. She was the first of four children born to Presbyterian minister Samuel Axson and Margaret “Janie” Hoyt Axson. Ellen spent most of her childhood in Rome, Georgia, and attended Rome Female College from 1871 to 1876.  Although she studied numerous subjects, her favorite was art. Following graduation, Ellen continued to study art and later began selling her portrait drawings. 

In April 1883, Ellen attended First Presbyterian Church, where her father preached, and caught the eye of a young lawyer, Woodrow Wilson. Her father, who suffered from severe depression died in 1884 by suicide. After his death, Ellen enrolled at the Art Students League in New York City where she continued her arts education. 

Ellen and Woodrow’s engagement lasted nearly two years, and on 23 June 1885 they married in Rome, Georgia. As her husband took teaching positions at various universities, Ellen gave birth to three daughters: Margaret (1886), Jessie (1887), and Eleanor (1889). She also brought her younger brother, Eddie, to live with her family in 1886 and later her sister, Madge, during the summers.

As the wife of a professor and later president of Princeton, Ellen kept a busy social schedule, despite her preference for privacy. Ellen gradually returned to her role as a professional artist and spent several summers at an artists colony in Old Lyme, Connecticut. She exhibited her artwork in several shows, including at the Art Institute of Chicago, the Herron Art Institute, the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts, and Philadelphia’s Arts and Crafts Guild.  

Prospect Garden, Helen Axson Wilson, 1910

When her husband became the governor of New Jersey in 1911, Ellen supported his political career by hosting events and advising her husband. The following year, Woodrow won the presidential election and Ellen moved into the White House with her family in March 1913. 

As first lady, Ellen focused her attention on several projects, including the West Garden, the forerunner to the modern Rose Garden. She worked with landscape architect George Burnap to redesign the space, adding a “President’s Walk” between the West Wing and the White House, and planting an assortment of rosebushes, narcissus, pansies, and boxwood hedges.

She also planned two weddings at the White House. Her daughter Jessie married Francis Bowes Sayre in the East Room on 25 November 1913. Just a few months later, on 7 May 1914, daughter Eleanor married Secretary of the Treasury William Gibbs McAdoo in the Blue Room. Ellen also continued painting and in 1913 installed a skylight at the White House for her art studio on the third floor. Today, one of her paintings, Princeton Landscape, is part of the White House Collection. 

In addition to her role hosting White House receptions and dinners, Ellen also advocated for the local community in Washington, DC. As first lady, she began touring the city’s alleyways, where many of the capital’s Black residents lived in slum-like dwellings. She became the honorary chairman of the Women’s Committee of the National Civic Foundation and devoted herself to improving alley life in Washington, advocating for sanitary conditions, visiting residents, and even touring members of Congress through these alleyways. Her efforts eventually resulted in a push for legislation to remove these alleyways in the hopes of replacing them with public parks. 

Mourners at the Burial of Helen Wilson, Rome, Georgia

While Congress debated this legislation, Ellen’s health significantly deteriorated, and she was diagnosed with a chronic kidney inflammation called Bright’s Disease. Ellen Wilson died on 6 August 1914. One of her dying wishes was for the alley legislation to pass. Congress adjourned in honor of her death and ultimately passed the bill. She was buried in Rome, Georgia, at Myrtle Hill Cemetery. 

Preferring not to be a news maker, herself, she is somewhat overshadowed in the history books by her husband's second wife, Edith Wilson. She is, nevertheless, considered one of the more underrated, intelligent, and influential First Ladies of the early 20th century.

Source: The White House Historical Association

Remembering the Landings at Anzac on Anzac Day

The Beach at Anzac, Frank Crozier

"Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, and asks no omen,
but his country's cause." Homer

The Landing

On 25 April 1915, some 16,000 Australians and New Zealanders, together
with British, French, and Indian troops, landed on the Gallipoli Peninsula. 

"2 men to every oar we rowed like ---- for the shore"   Private John Adams

“Boats missed their bearings in dark inclined about 2 [miles, or just over
3 kilometers] to [the] North getting us under the very difficult country there.”
General William Birdwood

"It was a great fight while we were getting out of the boats and a good many got shot but a bayonet charge soon shifted the Turks and things got pretty lively. Towards 12 noon they were knocking us over pretty often and I stopped a bullet in my pocket book after it had been through my arm."   
Private John Croft,

Anzac by George Lambert

"Confronting the fugitives [retreating Turkish Soldiers], I shouted to them, 'What is the matter? Why are you running away?'. . . 'They come, they come sir, the enemy'. . . 'You cannot run away from the enemy,' I shouted. 'We have no ammunition, they said.'  'If you have no ammunition you still have your bayonets." 
 Lt. Colonel Mustafa Kemal

The Fallen of That First Day

Three of the Fallen

Pvt. Stirling Barnett (Aus), Pvt. Thomas Ellefsen (Aus),  Lt. Harold Allen (NZ)

Stirling Barnett

Barnett went ashore at ANZAC with Lieutenant Balfe of A Company, 6th Battalion. He advanced with a group of men from Shrapnel Gully until they were forced to take cover from Turkish machine gun fire. Barnett was among those killed at this time. His brother served in the AIF for three years but died of illness before returning to Australia.

Thomas Ellefsen

A 25-year-old farm laborer before joining the 7th Battalion, Ellefsen was reported missing on the first day of the landing. Only hours before going ashore he had written a letter to his father. "He stated that they had just received word … to be ready to land anytime." That would be the last word he received from his son.

Harold Allen

Son of a family that had immigrated from Liverpool, England, 2nd Lieutenant Allen of the Auckland Infantry Battalion was only 21 when he was killed during the fighting around Plugge's Plateau.  His body was later found, identified, and buried in the Baby 700 Cemetery,

Shrapnel Gully Cemetery
On 25 April 1915, approximately 2,000 Australian and
New Zealand (ANZAC) soldiers were killed or wounded. 
Included are 650 Australian Deaths and 147 New Zealanders.

Remembrance 

First Anzac Day

Brisbane, Australia, 25 April 1916

Memorabilia