Victory on the Western Front Reviewed by David F. Beer

Victory on the Western Front: The Development of the British Army 1914-1918

by Michael Senior

Pen and Sword, 2016

By the end of the Great War in 1918 there were almost two million British troops on the Western Front. Few—if any—were remnants of the initial BEF force of 125,000 who had left England for France over four years earlier, and just as their numbers had grown drastically over the years of fighting, so, the author argues, had tactical and technical innovations gradually been developed and improved. In this book, Michael Senior identifies and analyzes these developments and shows how they led to the British Army becoming an infinitely more efficient force by 1918 than it was in 1914.

1918: British Artillerymen with the Look of Victory

Although written in an impressively lucid style, this is not a quick read. The author is meticulous in assembling his evidence, refers to numerous political and military figures, and analyses details scrupulously. The army's gradual transformation was never a foregone conclusion, but, as Senior shows, was often a case of muddling through to improvement:

The development of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) between 1914 and 1918 was extraordinary. Its growth was rapid and largely unplanned and its composition and character evolved piecemeal through the course of the war. Altogether, it was an outstanding, and eventually successful, masterpiece of improvisation (p. 7).

The first "improvement" of course was to get enough men to fight this war. Britain's 1914 army was insignificant compared to the German and French armies—and half of it was stationed in the colonies. The tremendous recruiting efforts that took place right away are the topics of the book's opening chapters, including the difficulties of finding enough experienced officers and NCOs, uniforms, and rifles. Even seasoned generals lacked the experience the new situations demanded, hence their learning curve was steep (and sometimes hindered by rivalries, feuds, resentments, intrigues, and hostility).

Most of the book consists of chapters devoted to technical improvements within the Royal Flying Corps, munitions, trenches, tanks, artillery—all combat elements that were to adapt in various ways as the war developed. One thing that didn't change until it was too late for innumerable souls on all sides was the traditional idea that an outright "offensive spirit"—the courageous frontal attack with guns and bayonets—was the only way to win the war. Not the best of ideas in the age of the machine gun. But as Senior shows, even this concept was reworked by the last year of the war when "bite and hold" tactics combined with careful aerial and artillery coordination came into use.

You will meet a lot of British politicians, industrialists, and generals in Victory on the Western Front, including many whose names are not much remembered today. All played a part in developing the British Army into the complex and efficient organization that it became by 1918. One caveat: although the author doesn't ignore French or American efforts, or even the Portuguese (they were "of doubtful morale and fighting capability" (p. 181) there's a danger, I think, of a reader unfamiliar with the truly global nature of WWI coming away from the book with the impression that this war was primarily Britain's war. This can be remedied of course by reading one of the full histories of the war.

Ultimately, Victory on the Western Front is a convincing antidote against the popular "Lions led by Donkeys" attitude toward the Great War that has sometimes been in vogue. It's a well-written and well-organized book of seven chapters, introduction and conclusion, notes, bibliography, index, and an appendix listing the main events of the war. The seven maps at the front of the book are clear and will be useful to some readers. Four pages of "plates" contain 24 black-and-white photos of significant people and scenes.

All in all, this book is an excellent read for those whose WWI interests include the workings of the British Expeditionary Force from 1914 to 1918.

David F. Beer

Plan XVII Failed Worse and Earlier Than the Schlieffen Plan

2014 Tour "Opening Moves on the Western Front" at Fort de Leveau, Maubeuge
(That's an Unexploded Big Bertha Shell That Hit the Fort and Didn't Detonate)

In 2014 I led this group on a battlefield tour of the sites of the opening actions of the Great War in the west. It was part of my Centennial Series of WWI Battlefield Tours. It included my first visit to the multiple battlefields of the Ardennes, where the fighting came to a head on 22 August 1914. On that day, inclusive of other fighting along the frontiers, the French Army suffered its greatest single day's loss of the war, and Joffre's Plan XVII was utterly shattered. The full scope of the French disaster that day hit me for the first time during this visit. Going from hot spot to hot spot, I began to see a pattern, a sameness, to almost all the French defeats. At a tactical level, the German Army was simply better in the conditions of that day, as both armies were advancing with aggressive intentions but with the movements and mass of the enemy forces not fully known. In most situations, the Kaiser's forces exhibited better reconnaissance, more agility in adapting to local terrain in the variety of surprise encounters, and a vastly superior ability to deploy and focus their artillery.

Even if the French operational skills were equal to their enemy's that day, however, I saw that there was an even greater handicap for the French forces in the Ardennes. They were saddled with a fatally flawed deployment plan. The maps and charts below should help to demonstrate this.

Above is the Ardennes section of a larger map that shows the Battles of the Frontiers. The Ardennes was just one of the areas of fighting on these days. The struggle in the Ardennes was the largest and most critical of these battles, involving concurrent offensives by two full armies from each belligerent, roughly facing off against one another along a 50-mile front. This map however, though geographically accurate, is misleading in a dynamic sense. 

This schematic shows the actual directions of both offensives that day with the black bars indicating the relative positions of the nine corps of the two French armies attacking that day. They were arrayed in a formation known as "Echelon Left." In some fit of geometric obsessiveness, the divisions within each corps were similarly staggered, and within each division, the brigades were also offset with the units to right about a half-day's march behind the unit on its left.

Closing one's eyes for a moment to the German movements that day, one can still imagine some problems in the offing. Advancing with an open right flank through unfamiliar country is chancy at best. Then, what happens when the unit in advance runs into a substantial enemy unit straight ahead? Does the French commander maneuver by himself, or call for help from the unit to his left — which may be having its own problems or be successfully advancing and moving ahead, beyond summoning range—or wait that half-day until he gets support on the right? By the way, about those forces on the right — suppose they, too, are blocked and fighting for their lives. They are never going to arrive in time to support the chaps on their left. 

All these issues could be serious problems with the echelon left scheme, if the opposing forces were approaching each other straight on. But on 22 August 1914 the great encircling movement of the Schlieffen Plan was being executed and the German forces were pivoting and coming from the very worst direction for the French—directly toward those open right flanks. Many French units suffered from some of the flaws in this deployment plan that day. But on the roads around Bertrix and Ochamps, Belgium, the 33rd Division of Infantry (DI) of XVII Army Corps (CA) experienced all of them. Their defeat provides a case study, I believe, on why the French failure this day was total and probably inevitable given the tactical competence of their opposition. 

The first failure that day was due to the lack of reconnaissance. French cavalry, controlled by the corps, failed to notice both that several batteries of enemy artillery had been deployed ahead in the village of Ochamps and that a German division was heading their way from the northeast. As the 66th Brigade of the the 33rd DI was advancing on Ochamps from the south, the divisional artillery, protected by a regiment of infantry, was traveling down the main road into Ochamps in a forested area when the German batteries in the village opened fire. The French 75s were unable to advance, deploy in the woods, or return fire.

Subsequently, just after the brigade's infantry had failed in a first attempt to take Ochamps from the flank, disaster struck. The previously undetected German 21st Division arrived on the scene. Its officers quickly saw that a ridge running roughly north to south from Ochamps to Bertrix with a second road along its crest dominated the French position. They quickly deployed artillery and machine guns along its length. Though the Germans themselves, being exposed on the ridge, suffered heavy losses, their fire annihilated almost all the French artillery and much of the infantry. Furthermore, as the 33rd DI's other brigade finally began to arrive at Bertrix, the German forces simply turned their guns and began similarly devastating fire on the new arrivals. It was a total defeat for the 33rd DI. Its parent command, the XVII CA—with its second division, the 34th DI, now in peril—soon ordered retreat. The hasty withdrawal left a huge gap in the French position, which, fortunately for them, the Germans were not able to fully exploit. 

This is a photo of the open right flank of 33rd DI. Ahead on this road is Ochamps. The German artillery in the village halted any further advance down the road, trapping all the French artillery in its forested section, which is just behind our photographer. Subsequently, the German 21st Division deployed along the ridge line visible in the distance. From there it was able to inflict devastating fire on the 66th Brigade, and later to do the same to the division's sister brigade coming up from the south. 

After my visit to the Ardennes and reading what I could find about the fighting there. I have concluded that action on the Bertrix-Ochamps road was a microcosm of the whole French disaster in the Ardennes. All the vulnerabilities of the echelon-left deployment were exposed here, and the pattern of superior reconnaissance, greater tactical agility, and effective use of artillery by the Germans played a factor as well. No wonder it was a greater disaster than the first day on the Somme.

For France, there was a single silver lining in the catastrophe.  Joffre had learned over a week earlier than his opponent, Helmuth von Moltke, that he had gone to war with a near-fatally flawed plan. While the German Army was pushing ahead in late August 1914 Joffre could conceive a new strategy and get ready while his forces were retreating to the Marne.

The Buddies Memorial of Jaffrey, New Hampshire

By Mark Levitch, Founder and President
World War I Memorial Inventory Project

The Buddies Memorial Today

Of the hundreds of World War I memorial sculptures across the country, none has a more compelling origin story than Buddies—a deep relief of a soldier carrying a wounded comrade by Danish-born sculptor Viggo Brandt-Erichsen.

While working in Paris in the 1920s, Brandt-Erichsen married Dorothy Caldwell, a wealthy American who had spent summers in Jaffrey.  Both Caldwell and their newborn daughter died soon after the child’s birth, but before she died, Caldwell had asked to be buried in Jaffrey.  The sculptor crossed the ocean with his loved ones’ ashes and spent nearly two years carving an elaborate marker for his wife and daughter in the town’s Old Burial Ground. He quickly became a beloved figure in town.

The Boulder Being Transported to the Jaffrey Town Common, 1928

In 1928, Brandt-Erichsen proposed to create—gratis—a massive World War I memorial relief for the town.  A partly buried but suitable 40-ton boulder was located a mile west of downtown; it took six weeks to transport it on rollers over frozen ground to the town common, where it was placed behind a World War I honor roll that had been erected in 1919.  Volunteers constructed a rough shack around the boulder to protect the sculptor from the elements as he worked.

Sculptor Viggo Brandt-Erichsen at the Dedication, 11 November 1930

Brandt-Erichsen worked with an electric chisel and hand tools for two years to complete the relief. He used two local World War I veterans (both of whom are listed on the honor roll) as models. The eight-foot-tall standing soldier carries his wounded comrade even as he aims a pistol gripped in his right hand.  The memorial’s title is engraved at its base: Buddies. 

The completed memorial was dedicated on Armistice Day, 1930. Featured speakers included the governor and General Clarence Edwards, commander of the 26th (Yankee) Division, in which most of the Jaffrey men had served. Mrs. Carrie Humiston, the mother of the only Jaffrey soldier to be killed in action, unveiled the monument before an estimated crowd of 7,000.

Crowd at the Dedication Ceremony, 11 November 1930

The memorial is not an unqualified success aesthetically. The figures are ponderous and somewhat awkwardly proportioned. But what it lacks in polish is more than made up for in sincerity. 

Richthofen's Last Take-Off

“It is impossible to fly across the Ancre in a westerly direction on account of strong enemy opposition. I must ask for this aerial barrage to be forced back, so that a reconnaissance may be carried out as far as the line Marieux-Puchevillers."

These were the instructions that reached Richthofen on 20 April 1918 from the commander of his group at Cappy, overlooking the River Somme. Richthofen knew that the matter was urgent but not so urgent as to compel his personal intervention. He did not intend to fly on Sunday, 21 April, because he trusted no one to deal with the "strong opposition," and he had so much business to do on the ground before he could leave with a clear conscience.

The sky was veiled in a thick haze which would prevent the German reconnaissance machines from fulfilling their mission, even if there were no Englishmen to stop them. It looked like a day of "airmen's weather," but Richthofen ordered his pilots to stand by in case it cleared. He sniffed the strong east wind that blew across the aerodrome, and it warned him that his machines would be heavily handicapped if they had to fight their way back.

But no English aircraft had been reported from the front, and the pilots of Jasta 11 were not worried about the east wind. Feeling in the best of spirits, they let off their superfluous energy in jovial horseplay. Then the east wind suddenly blew the mist away, and Richthofen saw English machines over the front. If the weather was good enough for the enemy to fly, it was good enough for his pilots. He gave orders to take off.

Then he thought of the east wind again. The job was going to be more difficult than he originally anticipated, and he felt that he ought to see it through himself. "Bring out my machine," he commanded on a sudden impulse. Then, just as he was buttoning up his overcoat, while one mechanic adjusted his helmet and another attended to his flying boots, one of the eternal pressmen came up with his camera to snap the champion of 80 victories making ready for his 81st.

A shiver ran through the two mechanics and the bystanders. In the superstitions of the German airmen a photograph taken before a flight foreboded the very worst of all bad luck. Many an ignorant cameraman had been prevented just in time from committing this ill-omened act; if he succeeded in getting the photograph, nothing would induce its involuntary subject to take the air on that occasion.

But Richthofen thought such fears childish, even though he had to recognize their effect on his subordinates. He determined to give them a lesson that day. He turned his head and deliberately faced the cameraman.

Afterward he saw a little dog playing at the entrance to a hangar. As he stooped to pat it, a sergeant came up with a postcard he had written to his son at home and asked him to sign it. Richthofen smiled at him. "Why are you in such a hurry?" he asked. "Don't you think I'll come back?" Then he signed the postcard with the preferred fountain pen.

He led a group of five into the air. With him were Wolff and Karjus, two good men, and Sergeant-Major Scholz, who was not so experienced. The fifth pilot was another Richthofen—a cousin who had just joined the Staffel and was under strict injunctions to keep out of dogfights. They took off at about 11:30 a.m.  The Red Baron headed west. Parallel to the Somme his destiny awaited him.

Source:  "Vigilent."  Other details unknown about the text.  Photos: Tony Langley and Steve Miller

100 Years Ago: General John J. Pershing Appointed Commander of the American Expeditionary Forces

One hundred years ago this week, Secretary of War Newton Baker notified John J. Pershing that he would command the American Expeditionary Forces to Europe. The appointment was made public four days later.  His résumé at the time made him to the best-qualified America soldier to lead the mission.  Here are some of the key moments in Pershing's storied career.

The Career of John J. Pershing

13 September 1860

Young Pershing

Born at home Laclede, Missouri, in Linn County, son of a railroad section boss. The family was of Alsatian origins, originally spelling their name "Pfirsching."

1877

To help the family finances which were still reeling from the depression of 1873, JJP begins teaching at a Negro school in Laclede. He gains a reputation as a firm disciplinarian.

1879

Moves to Prairie Mound school district ten miles away.

1881

Finishes first out of 16 in competitive examination for an appointment to the Military Academy at West Point.

June 1882

After attending a tutoring academy run by former Confederate officer Colonel Caleb Huse for six months, JJP enters the academy.

June 1886

JJP graduates as First Captain, ranking 30th in his class. 

September 1886

2nd Lt. Pershing reports for duty with 6th Cavalry at Fort Bayard, New Mexico. Participated in the tragic Wounded Knee campaign.

Lt. Pershing Commanding a Company of Sioux Scouts

1891

Assigned to the University of Nebraska as military science professor where he serves for four years meeting future U.S. vice-president and subordinate general officer, Charles Dawes. He studies the law at Lincoln.

1895–96

Various cavalry assignments in the West, including the 10th Cavalry, the black Buffalo Soldiers.

1897–98

Assistant instructor of tactics at West Point. It was at West Point that he receives his nickname "Black Jack." The actual sobriquet was cruder and not at all complimentary.

May, 1898

JJP re-assigned back to the 10th Cavalry as quartermaster.

In Cuba with Future President Theodore Roosevelt

1 July 1898

With 10th Cavalry in assault on San Juan Hill in Cuba where he is photographed with Lt. Col. Theodore Roosevelt. JJP is singled out by his commander, Lt. Col. T.A. Baldwin, a Civil War veteran, as "the coolest man I ever saw under fire..."

Fall 1899

JJP sails to the Philippines where he is assigned to the Eighth Army Corps. His mission was mainly to subdue the combative Moro tribesmen. Eventually promoted to captain. He serves as an adjutant, engineer, customs officer, and cavalry commander.

1903

After returning to Washington for service with the War Department, JJP meets Frances Warren, daughter of Wyoming senator Francis E. Warren

26 January 1905

Frances and JJP marry at the Church of the Epiphany and hold their reception at the Willard Hotel in Washington.

14 February 1905

Capt. & Mrs. Pershing sail for JJP's new duty, military attache in Tokyo.

March–September, 1905

Serves as observer to Russo-Japanese War.

September 1906

First of four Pershing children, Helen Elizabeth, is born; President Roosevelt gives Captain Pershing a jump to brigadier general over 862 senior officers to command the Department of California and Fort McKinley.

1909–13

Back in the Philippines, JJP leads successful assault on Moro stronghold at Mount Bagsak, Island of Jolo. Subsequently writes the adjutant general that he did not believe he was entitled to the Medal of Honor for which he was being considered. Served as governor of Moro Province and, later, commander of Mindanao.

1914–15

JJP takes command of the Presidio of San Francisco and the 8th Brigade. Subsequently the brigade is assigned to the Mexican border with Pershing second-in-command to Maj. Gen. Frederick Funston.

Pershing's Family—All But Son Warren Would Perish in the Presidio Fire

August 1915

Frances and all three Pershing daughters die in a fire at the Presidio. JJP returns to San Francisco to attend the funeral and arrange for bringing his surviving son Warren to Fort Bliss in Texas.

9 March 1916

Pancho Villa raids Columbus, New Mexico. Within days Pershing is sent with a force of nearly 10,000 in pursuit of the bandit.

February 1917

After ten frustrating months, U.S. president Wilson and Mexican president Carranza reach an understanding and the punitive expedition is sent home. Meanwhile, Germany resumes unrestricted submarine warfare and America starts down the final path to World War.

6 April 1917

The United States declares war on Germany.

10 May 1917

JJP, recently made a major general after the death of his immediate superior, Frederick Funston, is called to Washington. At 10:30 a.m, Secretary of War Newton Baker informs him that he is to command the American troops to be sent to Europe.

19 May 1917

President Wilson instructs JJP "to proceed to France at as early a date as practicable."

28 May 1917

JJP and staff leave for Europe aboard White Star liner Baltic.

8 June 1917

JJP arrives in Liverpool, England.

June 1917–September 1919

In France as Commander of the American Expeditionary Force

Pershing Between Marshal Foch and Mrs. & Marshal Joffre

1 September 1919

With Marshal Foch personally bidding him adieu, JJP departs for home aboard the liner Leviathan.

8 September 1919

JJP arrives in Hoboken, New Jersey.

17 September 1919

JJP leads a victory parade down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington. Two days later he addresses a Joint Session of Congress.

1 July 1921

JJP named Army Chief of Staff

1923

JJP appointed to the newly formed American Battle Monuments Commission by President Warren G. Harding, and was elected chairman by the other members. He served as chairman until his death in 1948. 

13 September 1924

On his 64th birthday, JJP retires from the Army. The night before, he had become the first chief of staff to address the nation coast-to-coast on the radio.

General Pershing at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

13 May 1937

JJP attends the opening of the Meuse-Argonne Monument on Montfaucon culminating his post-army active leadership and ongoing support for the American Battle Monuments Commission.

February 1938

While vacationing in Tucson, Arizona, JJP is stricken with a severe coronary/renal ailment and lapses into a coma. He subsequently makes a near-miraculous recovery, and the planning for his funeral is halted. 

1939

Pershing warns that the United States active and reserve forces were no longer adequate. He makes his last visit to the cemeteries and memorials in France just before World War II begins.

1940–1948

In declining health, JJP takes up permanent residence at Walter Reed Hospital. There he receives distinguished visitors and his former subordinates heading off to fight another war, while occasionally making quotable observation about the military situation.

General of the Armies John J. Pershing
Lying in State at the Nation's Capitol

15 July 1948

General of the Armies John J. Pershing, commander of the American Expeditionary Forces of World War I dies in the early morning hours. He is buried at Arlington with his men, beneath a standard gravestone.

Official War Artist Captain Harvey Dunn, U.S. Army

Harvey Dunn (1884–1952) A brilliant and prolific illustrator of America’s Golden Age, Dunn was a protégé of legendary artist Howard Pyle and an admired teacher in his own right. Born on a homestead near Manchester, South Dakota, he left the farm to study at the South Dakota Agricultural College and the Art Institute of Chicago before becoming one of Pyle’s most accomplished students along with N.C. Wyeth and Frank E. Schoonover—and eventually opened his own studios in Wilmington, Delaware, and in Leonia and Tenafly, New Jersey. Of his mentor, Dunn said, “Pyle’s main purpose was to quicken our souls so that we might render service to the majesty of simple things.”

In 1906 Dunn obtained his first advertising commission from the Keuffel and Esser Company of New York, and throughout his prodigious career, he created painterly illustrations for the most prominent periodicals of his day, including Scribner’s, Harper’s, Collier’s Weekly, Century, Outing, and the Saturday Evening Post. 

Dunn's most powerful and best-remembered work was for the American Expeditionary Forces, recording the unforgettable realities of combat. During World War I, Dunn was one of eight war artists assigned to the American Expeditionary Forces in France. Prior to leaving for France, Dunn also created posters for the United States Food Administration. In this article I'm presenting a mixed selection of some of the artist's official paintings and magazine illustrations. 

After returning from the war, Dunn moved his family to Tenafly, NJ and reestablished himself as an illustrator. He also became more involved in teaching. Former student Saul Tepper wrote, "Though he resumed his professional career with his usual energy, he began more and more to turn to his second role; that of teaching."

Although Harvey Dunn moved far away from the prairie of South Dakota and became a successful illustrator and teacher, he never forgot the land of his birth. He made many summer trips to South Dakota and continued to produce paintings capturing the Dakota pioneer heritage for magazines illustrations and covers, but most notably for his own gratification.

On October 29, 1952 Harvey Dunn died at his home in Tenefly, NJ. Harvey Dunn once told his students that a picture should have four dimensions: length, breadth, depth and an undefinable quality called spirit. He painted as he taught, thus spirit of Dunn lives on in his paintings which he left to people of South Dakota – and to the world.

Sources: Norman Rockwell Museum, South Dakota State University, U.S. Army Military Heritage.  Thanks to Kathy Compagno for additional research.

Greetings from the Ypres Salient

Hail Gentle Readers,

Essex Farm, Ypres

Today, I am in Wipers with my Flanders 1917 tour group.  One of the highlights of today's itinerary is a visit to Essex Farm, just north of Ypres.  It's one of the must-see sites in the Salient.  I'll ask one of the group to read "In Flanders Fields" at the site where McCrae was resting from a busy day at his Casualty Clearing Outpost and was inspired to write a poem.  I wonder if you know that there is a statue of McCrae in Ottawa? Here's some information on it. Personally, I think there ought to be a matching figure here at Essex Farm.

Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae was the Canadian soldier, doctor, and poet who wrote "In Flanders Fields" during the First World War. Born in Guelph, Ontario, in 1872, he served with an artillery battery in the South African War and had a successful civilian medical career. When the First World War broke out in 1914, the patriotic 41-year-old enlisted again and would be appointed brigade-surgeon to the First Brigade of the Canadian Field Artillery.

During the 2nd Battle of Ypres in the spring of 1915, McCrae was tending to the wounded in a part of Belgium traditionally called Flanders. On 2 May, a close friend was killed in action and this painful loss inspired McCrae to write "In Flanders Fields" the next day. It would be published in Britain’s Punch magazine and quickly became one of the best-known poems of the war, helping make the Flanders poppy an international symbol of remembrance. Sadly, Lieutenant-Colonel McCrae would not survive the conflict, dying of illness in January 1918.

The Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae Statue in Ottawa features a large likeness of McCrae in the uniform of an artillery officer, with his medical bag at his feet and poppies growing nearby amidst the destruction of a battlefield. Designed by Canadian artist Ruth Abernethy, it was erected by the Royal Regiment of Canadian Artillery in collaboration with the Royal Canadian Medical Service. This beautiful monument stands beside the National Artillery Memorial and was unveiled on 3 May 2015—the 100th anniversary of the writing of his renowned poem.

The Inscription:

Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae

Some of the heaviest fighting of the First World War took place in the trenches near Ypres, Belgium. It was during the Second Battle of Ypres that the German Army first used deadly chlorine gas against Allied troops. Despite the debilitating effects of the gas, Canadian soldiers fought relentlessly and held the line. Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae was inspired to write the poem In Flanders Fields after presiding over the burial of a friend during this battle.

Source: Veterans Affairs of Canada

The First Twenty-Four Hours Reviewed by Jane M. Ekstam

The First Twenty-Four Hours

by A.H. Bolitho

CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2014

Arthur Bolitho's The First Twenty-Four Hours is written as a novel but is based on actual experiences and events. It was written just ten years after World War One. Bolitho hoped to find a publisher for his novel but was unsuccessful (his grandson, Mark Bolitho, who has edited The First Twenty-Four Hours, believed that this was because people were tired of reminiscences on the war). The manuscript was passed on to Bolitho's son, and then to Mark Bolitho.

Pvt. Arthur Bolitho

Who was Arthur Bolitho? A short biography is provided at the beginning of The First Twenty-Four Hours, in which it states that Bolitho joined the 2/5th Royal West Kents in June 1915, at the age of 20. He was wounded in October 1917, served in a Pioneer Company in the Ypres Salient and continued to serve as a private until the end of the War. Bolitho died on 25 August 1988, at the age of 93. As its title suggests, the novel condenses the first 24 hours of Bolitho's experiences at the front. In his foreword, he argues that it was during the first 24 hours that soldiers learned what war was actually about. War changes soldiers "in mind, body and speech" (p.12), he writes—a process that starts on the very first day.

On the 50th anniversary of the war, Bolitho painted three pictures of his experiences at the front. These are included in the published novel. Each depicts a war-torn landscape that enhances the individual soldier's vulnerability and loneliness. The protagonist is Private Smith (it is no coincidence that he bears one of the most common surnames in Britain; Smith stands for all privates). Much of the novel is in dialogue form, interspersed with short passages of narrative in which the narrator "talks" to his reader. It is as if we are walking beside Private Smith. We envisage the harrowing scenes and empathize with Smith. The passage below is a case in point:

Tramping on, the stimulant of nerves, fear, and excitement gradually wore off. Re-action began to set in, making itself more and more effective with every few yards covered. His recent almost frenzied exertion had drawn heavily on his reserve of physical strength. Nature, with the aid of the dead weight of a load which would be exacting even under the best of conditions, was now exacting a penalty. His boots became heavier and heavier. His leg muscles soon felt as though they were being cut with knives. Why the devil were his feet so sore? Had he rubbed the skin off his toes? How much farther had they to blasted well go? (p. 133)

The dialogue, like the narrative, is also direct. It is also strongly dialectal, evoking the tenseness of the soldiers' situation and emphasizing the difference between the more educated officers and their less educated men. The following comments, which are part of a conversation between a corporal and a private, are representative: "Gawd! Ain't it the last blink' word. They must be fair sick o' seein' us alive. What'd they care 'oo gits conked art s'long as 'arf-a-dozen blasted sandbags is filled?" (p. 214). Interestingly, however, Smith himself, though only a private, uses neither dialect nor swear words. He stands for the ordinary private—and yet he is not completely ordinary. This is a compromise for the sake of the reader, who needs to understand everything that Smith says.

Both the dialogues and the short narrative passages create a picture of extreme tension, in which thoughts and actions enhance the soldiers' close proximity to danger. On one occasion, for example, Smith and a group of soldiers are out with their NCO. The narrator describes the episode as follows:

Suddenly they stopped. Without a sound, the NCO pressed himself flat, at the same time making frantic signals with his hand for the others to do the same. Smith's jaw dropped. Rigid and with eyes wide open, he lay there and stared. Jerkily he breathed a little air into his lungs and held it there. The merest flutter and it would be the end. The rounded top of a steel helmet was moving along, a few inches above ground level, under their very eyes (p. 237).

We are drawn into the action. The tension mounts as the first twenty-four hours are almost over. At the end of the novel, Smith is returning from the front; at the same time, even newer recruits are about to face their first twenty-four hours. They are marching in the opposite direction. The story concludes with the foreboding words: 'Smith watched with mixed feelings as their laden backs grew smaller and smaller as the files passed up the road. Thank God he was going the other way!' (p. 329).

Tired British Soldiers Taking Their Rations

The story is finished, the day is finished, but the War goes on. The First Twenty-Four Hours is not a story about one individual; it is a communal story shared by millions on both sides. The photograph of Arthur Bolitho at the end of the novel depicts a young man with glasses, sitting next to his brother, Jack Bolitho. The feeling of intimacy and authenticity is further enhanced by extracts from the original manuscript, which are reproduced in both hand- and type-written form. The First Twenty-Four Hours is a novel and a testimony that is all the more powerful because it does not describe exceptional events but ordinary experiences as these were felt and understood by ordinary men—men who knew very little about what to expect at the front but who must learn fast. The First Twenty-Four Hours is a highly readable and deeply moving novel. It is also a labor of love on the part of a grandson who wishes to ensure that his grandfather's experiences will not be forgotten.

Jane M. Ekstam
Østfold University College, Norway

How Did the Triple Entente Come About?

By Editor Michael Hanlon

Reference sources like my handy Columbia Desk Encyclopedia tend to equate the early 20th-century European Triple Entente of Russia, France, and Britain with the Triple Alliance of Germany, Austria-Hungary, and Italy, identifying them as the "two opposing international combinations of states that dominated Europe's history from 1882 until they came into armed conflict...in World War I." But for the Entente powers, relations were much looser than those of their rivals. "Triple Entente," a term never used in any diplomatic documents, was how the press and public, and, later, the politicians and diplomats, characterized a series of bilateral agreements, a number of which were based neither on security nor even European matters. As crisis followed crisis in the prewar run-up, these relationships intensified over time and became more directed at the Central Powers. There would not be a formal three-party agreement among the Allies (the Entente powers), however, until after the start of hostilities in 1914.

Beginning in the 1890s, Russia and France negotiated the hardest-edged of these accords, a series of understandings covering military matters, the maintenance of the European balance of power, and—later on—imperialistic aims. In 1904, Britain—ending an era of diplomatic "Splendid Isolation" primarily to defend her empire more effectively negotiated the second understanding, the Entente Cordiale (friendly understanding) with France, to resolve outstanding colonial differences over Morocco and Egypt.

Three years later, in similar fashion, Britain and Russia executed a third arrangement covering their own colonial disputes in Tibet, Afghanistan, and Persia. It was not negotiated to oppose Germany or the Triple Alliance. As historian Keith Neilson has written: "The Anglo-Russian Convention... resulted from the coincidence of two endeavors: [Foreign Minister] Izvolskii's effort to ensure Russian security after the Russo-Japanese War and the long-standing British attempt to come to terms with Russia." The important terms for Britain involved the security of their empire, especially India. 

Russian interests in the accord were as described in James Joll's The Origins of the First World War: "The Russians...were anxious if possible to avoid antagonizing Germany and were by no means as yet committed to challenging her, as they had still not recovered from the military, economic and political strains resulting from the defeat by Japan. The agreement with Britain remained for them primarily one which would strengthen their hold on their Asiatic empire without fear of British interference—even though in fact disagreements about Persia and the Far East never completely disappeared. The agreement, however, also gave the Russians hopes of British support for their aspirations in the Balkans. Within little more than a year it became clear that the satisfaction of these aspirations was bound to lead to a confrontation with Germany."

While diplomat/historian George Kennan dramatically labeled the French-Russian arrangements "The Fateful Alliance," it would be the British-Russian convention that set in place some subtle structural elements, the importance of which was not universally understood at the time. First, although relations among the three powers would always be prickly and sometimes icy, the Ententes provided a "talking circle" through which they discussed, evaluated and responded to the prewar diplomatic confrontations with the Triple Alliance over crises from Bosnia to Morocco to the naval competition. Second, the three dual-understandings completed the dim outline of a new power arrangement, unthinkable in the 19th century when France and Russia were either enemies or competitors of the British Empire. Recall that Germany's Schlieffen Plan of 1905 was based on opposing a Russian-French coalition. Adding Great Britain and her empire's population, vast financial resources, and industrial potential to the list of enemy assets made that plan riskier to the point of infeasibility. But this potentiality of a Triple Entente opposing the Central Powers did not become evident until very late in the July Crisis of 1914.

Images of the Flanders Battlefields

In brushing up for my forthcoming battlefield tour, Flanders 1917, I re-discovered the wonderful collection of the Imperial War Museum.  I've looked at hundreds of photographic images.  Here are some of my favorites.

Source: All found at the Website of the Imperial War Museum: LINK

The Failed 1917 Root Mission to Russia

Elihu Root

In April 1917, President Woodrow Wilson appointed a mission to go to Russia, chiefly for the purpose of ascertaining whether Russia's active participation in World War I could be continued after the March revolution that had ousted Tsar Nicholas II. The mission, headed by 72-year old former Secretary of War and State Elihu Root, arrived in Petrograd (now St. Petersburg) in June. Greatly under estimating the strength of Nikolai Lenin and the Bolshevik party, the Root mission concentrated on developing contacts with moderates such as Aleksandr Kerensky. 

In their final 29-page report, issued soon after the mission returned to the United States in July 1917, the mission thus reached the erroneous conclusion that an American-funded propaganda campaign could keep Russia in the war. The Bolshevik Revolution of November 1917 exposed the flawed strategy behind the Root mission and caught the Wilson administration almost completely unprepared. In March 1918, the Bolsheviks signed the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk, which established a separate peace between Russia and Germany, precisely what the Root mission had been intended to prevent in the first place.

Source: Dictionary of American History 

Endangered: Fort Wayne Memorial Park—A Call for Support from Our Readers

By Mark Levitch, Founder and President
World War I Memorial Inventory Project

Fort Wayne Memorial Park's World War I memorial arch with two figures
by sculptor EM. Viquesney (dedicated 1928)

A recent proposal by the Indiana Institute of Technology (Indiana Tech) to build extensive athletic facilities at Fort Wayne Memorial Park threatens the integrity of a World War I memorial of national significance. Fort Wayne Memorial Park is one of only six examples of an entirely new commemorative form that emerged in the U.S. in the wake of the war—a multi-acre municipal park designed specifically, and in its entirety, as a World War I memorial. 

While hundreds of small existing parks were renamed memorial parks in the aftermath of the war, only Fort Wayne, El Paso, Houston, Jacksonville (FL), Muskegon, and Salt Lake City elected to pay tribute to their World War I veterans by designing from scratch large landscaped parks intended from the outset to serve as Great War memorials.  Of these, only the memorial parks at Fort Wayne, Jacksonville, Muskegon, and Salt Lake City contain additional World War I memorial elements, such as memorial groves and monuments, that are integral to the park’s design and purpose.  

The Art Smith monument in Memorial Grove
(sculptor James Novelli, dedicated 1930)

Fort Wayne Memorial Park stands out among these for having three memorials dedicated to the memory of World War I servicemen and women. These include Memorial Grove; a large memorial arch at the front of which stand E.M. Viquesney’s “Spirit of the American Doughboy” alongside his less common “Spirit of the American Navy”; and an allegorical sculpture, “Memory,” dedicated to Olen J. Pond and other Fort Wayne World War I veterans (a statue that has been headless since vandals damaged it in the 1980s). A fourth memorial, the Art Smith monument, honors a local aviator who, among other deeds, trained combat pilots in World War I.

The most insensitive and injurious aspect of Indiana Tech’s proposal is the leveling of Memorial Grove for the construction of a new track facility. Memorial Grove—the park’s oldest memorial and topographically most significant element—embodies the park’s memorial function. The grove, set on a hill and demarcated by an elliptical drive, originally contained a tree for each of the 125 Fort Wayne men and women who lost their lives while in military service during the war—including Kurt Jaenicke, the son of the park’s designer. 

Indiana Tech’s plans for Memorial Park
(Click on Image to enlarge)

Adolph Jaenicke’s original plan called for an obelisk at the center of the grove.  The Art Smith monument, by sculptor James Novelli, fulfills that role spectacularly (and appropriately, given Smith’s ties to the park and his World War I service).  The grove and memorial were conceived together as the park’s hallowed focal point; destroying the site of the grove and moving the Smith memorial (as Indiana Tech has proposed) will effectively destroy the park’s uniquely powerful memorial character.  

While Fort Wayne Memorial Park’s historic character has been eroded over the years, the bones of the original memorial are still in place.  Rehabilitating the park, including replanting trees in Memorial Grove and conserving the park’s other World War I memorials (especially the long-headless Pond memorial), would be a fitting tribute to those from Fort Wayne who sacrificed their lives a century ago.  Transforming the park created in their honor into an athletic facility—on the centennial of U.S. entry into the war, no less—would not. 

Olen J. Pond memorial featuring the sculpture “Memory”
(now headless) by Frank Hibbard (1930)

Taking Action

Fort Wayne’s mayor and Parks Department director support the plan and aim to break ground in June. The city’s Planning Commission is holding a critical hearing on Monday 8 May to discuss the proposal, which is opposed by several preservation groups. The best way to voice opposition to the proposed changes at short notice is to email the interested parties:

Al Moll, Parks Director: al.moll@cityoffortwayne.org
Richard Samek, President, Parks Board of Commissioners: samek@carsonboxberger.com
Dr. Arthur Tyner, President, Indiana Institute of Technology: presidentsoffice@indianatech.edu
Tom Henry, Mayor of Fort Wayne: mayor@cityoffortwayne.org

Remembering a Great War Veteran: Artist Max Beckmann, Military Nurse

As a soldier, the artist Max Beckmann (1884–1950) experienced the First World War near the front as a hospital worker. Beckmann's wartime service led to a series of frescoes illustrating the brutality and cruelty of war. In the passages below, the reader can glimpse the horrors and surreal sights and sounds of industrial war. 

20 April 1915 

Self Portrait as a Nurse, 1915

How happy I am that Peter is doing better once again. I am working intensely on my fresco. At the moment I am somewhat nervous, so I feel myself surrounded by enemies all the time, which is very unpleasant. There is probably no reason for this. 

Here things are very dramatic again. Just nearby the English are definitely trying to break through. Today everyone was on alert. In the evening there was an insane thundering of cannons. Now it is quieter—but that is the worst, for now they are attacking. Just now, I walked up the hill once again. At the top sits a white villa, which has been turned into a military hospital. I climbed up onto the roof, and from there I had a perfect view of the whole immense front. Cold, narrow, dark, gray clouds against the setting sun. In the distance the Ypern hills and along the whole horizon the horrible explosions of grenades and shrapnel. 

Beneath me, in the military hospital, lay many wounded from the last few days. One had just been brought in and lay there dying. He had a huge bandage around his head, which was already dark again from blood, although it was changed every half hour. Such a young face with such fine features. It was terrible how the face suddenly became transparent near the left eye, just like a broken china pot. He groaned heavily in his unconsciousness and moved his hands back and forth restlessly. He was lying in the sort of wooden box used for typhus patients. 

Morgue, 1915

At the open window, the less seriously wounded were sitting and watching the battle. Their eyes wandered restlessly over the enormous expanse. Then I went slowly across the green fields back home. I went by an old farmhouse with a small pond in which willows were reflected. Hard, black, cold silhouettes.

Bavarian Soldier, 1915

Down below near my villa the Bavarians were marching in position, accompanied by music. They had been alerted a couple of hours earlier, and as I had done so many times before, I watched these closed, dark ranks of human beings, who had gathered together under the thunder of their fate. Now they were off. And the howling of the guns mixed with the sound of their instruments to make wild, crazy music. 

I wandered about for a long time. I had the feverish desire simply to run after them. This fire-spewing line on the horizon exerted an ungodly pull on me. It made better sense, however, that I was not officially allowed to do this, and thus today ended like so many others with letter writing. Hu! There was just a shot that shook not only the windows but also the walls and doors.

– – – – – 

My hairdresser friend is both the bath attendant and the hairdresser. He watches over our villa like a guard dog—for he sleeps here and is supposed to be here from 7 a.m. on. He does this, however, only for a couple days after his weekly dressing-down. Otherwise, in accordance with a habit that is too pleasant to give up, he comes at 9:30 a.m. A real nice fellow, who just talks a bit too much. But truly genuine and—despite having the mannerisms of a hairdresser—quite the man. 

Source: Max Beckmann, Briefe im Kriege (1914/1915) [Wartime Letters (1914/1915)]. Munich, 1993, pp. 43–45. Trans. Jeffrey Verhey

Scottish Memorial Frezenberg Ridge

In brushing up for my forthcoming tour of Flanders 1917, I've learned a bit more about a newer monument that I've neglected on past visits, this Scottish monument on Frezenberg Ridge between Ypres and Passchendaele.

Between 31 July and 10 November 1917, all three Scottish Divisions were on the Western Front. The 9th and 15th Scottish Division and the 51st Highland Division were engaged in the Third Battle of Ypres—better known today as Passchendaele. In addition, many Highland and Lowland battalions served in mixed British divisions.

The Fallen of a Kilted Regiment

The Scottish Memorial in Flanders was dedicated in August 2007 to commemorate the soldiers of the 9th and 15th (Scottish) Divisions who died at the Battle of Passchendaele. It is located on the Frezenberg Ridge on the site of that battlefield close to the village of Zonnebeke. For the centenary of the battle, the organizers are extending the Memorial Park by creating larger-than-life steel silhouettes in the form of marching Scottish soldiers from Highland and Lowland regiments.

Sources: The Falkirk Herald, Visit Flanders