205191 L/Cpl. John Cook British Army 9th Btn. Yorks & Lancs Regt from:Trimdon, Co.Durham. (d.30th Sep 1918) My great-uncle, Jack Cook, had volunteered in the early days of the war and by summer 1916 was in the 9th battalion, the York and Lancaster Regiment. On Midsummer’s Day 1916 the great artillery bombardment opened on The Somme. In theory the German front line was to be so pulverised that the British troops, whom Haig seems to have considered incapable of little more than obeying simple instructions, could walk across and occupy the enemies positions.
On the night of 29-30 June 1916, Jack's battalion moved forward to their assembly position. They had to wait over a day, but then July 1st dawned fine but misty, and at 6.25 the final bombardment began. At 7.30 all along the line of 15 divisions men went over the top, each carrying 66lb of kit, and expecting little if any resistance. In reality, as John Keegan in 'The Face of Battle' so elegantly shows, there was a race on for the top of the German front lines. Whoever arrived first had won: the loser would face annihilation. The awful reality was that that the Germans had largely survived the bombardment and were able to bring their machine guns to bear upon the advancing infantry struggling with the barbed wire that had also defeated everything the artillery could throw against it.
Unusually the wire in front of the 70th Brigade was completely cut and the first and second German lines on Thiepval Ridge were captured, with some troops even reaching the third line. Meanwhile the 9th York and Lancaster’s were coming up in support. By then the German barrage was intense: one of the four companies losing 50% of its men before it left its assembly position. Ahead and to both left and right was severe machine-gun fire but the first wave gained the German line. By 10 am. all communication between British lines and the brigade headquarters had ceased since every telephone wire was cut and it was impossible to stand-up in no-man’s-land.
During the night they were relieved. Out of 25 officers and 736 other ranks of the 9th York and Lancs who went into action, 22 officers and 556 men were casualties in the bloodiest day the British Army has ever known, with 31 581 killed, wounded or missing. Behind them was the sound of countless men lying out in no-man’s-land, described by one survivor like 'enormous wet fingers screeching across an enormous pane of glass'. Some of the wounded screamed, some muttered, some wept with fear, some called for help, other shouted in delirium or groaned in pain. Their Brigade Commander wrote, 'I cannot speak too highly of the gallantry and determination of officers and men. Artillery could not stop them, but with nothing on their flanks save German machine guns, with the support exhausted and German reinforcements coming up, they fought for over six hours in positions won by them from the enemy, until they died'.
My grandfather was also to take part in the Somme with his regiment, the Northumberland Fusiliers, a little later. In his own words, 'at daybreak, 14th July the barrage of constant very heavy shell fire lifted and our men went over to take the village of Bazentin-le-Petit from the occupying Germans. The stretcher bearers follow and we left at intervals of one minute, knowing that our journey would not be in vain. Before my particular stretcher had reached the village we saw Number One coming back but with only two men carrying. The third man had been hit in both legs and the fourth shot though the throat (a particularly disturbing event for the company for this man had had a clear premonition of his own death, apparently so unusual that my grandfather clearly remembered it 50 years later).
'The village was now the centre of a bitter battle which was often hand-to-hand with the Germans putting up stiff resistance. Pratt (a chum since he joined up in early 1915) was going forward with his section when they were held up. He could not be dissuaded from going forward alone to clear a house which had already cost us dear when he was killed outright.
'By mid morning the scene at the dressing station was pitiable in the extreme with Captain Glyn (the M.O.) and Corporal Burns (his dresser) working without a moments relaxation as we brought in a stream of wounded. There were no priorities here as they lay where we put them (outside) in their dozens to wait their turn. Those who were known to have no possible chance of recovery had to be put into a nearby dugout to wait a merciful death. Captain Mellish VC,(the Chaplain) gave them the comfort only such a man as he could.
Walking wounded went straight off under their own strength to reach some aid in the back area, but many must have died on the way for the whole area was shell ridden. The gun crews worked ceaselessly loading and firing, paying no regard to the hail of shells seeking them out and bursting all around. The horse-driven ammunition columns rode up at full gallop, discharging their loads and turning about to bring still more from the rear.
'There was no time for panic. Carrying one man shoulder high we heard a large shell coming very close indeed. I actually saw it plunge into the ground almost at my feet and burst. We walked on out of the black cloud of smoke, hurling earth and metal unscathed...
He then described how their sergeant, a hard-bitten pre-War veteran, had been reduced to tears to have to bring out a very badly wounded lad of sixteen who started crying for his mother.
'To add to our emotional worries we noticed a tall figure running around in circles alone and in a very exposed place. I ran over to him; he was dazed but knew me. "Cooky, where are the others. They can't go on like this, its sheer hell and we'll never get them back again. Poor Tim (the man shot through the throat), he knew all the time what was going to happen by his dream and went in like the man he was.... He got to his feet and I walked him back to the dressing station. He left for hospital and it was not for some weeks that he overcame his shell-shock.
'Withdrawal on the 19th to the divisional reserve brought a letter from home to tell me that Jack had been wounded on the first day of the battle and had returned to England. Later I was to learn that he had been shot through the body almost immediately he left the trench. The bullet had missed his spine by fraction of an inch yet he walked down to the first aid post alone. It was not expected that he would ever be A1 again but such was his strength that he later returned to his battalion.
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