#Battle of Cambrai

[captain-price-unofficially]

Destroyed British tank in Rumilly, France during the Battle of Cambrai. Nov/Dec, 1917

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Ανδρείη τας άτας μικράς έρδει.*

- Democritus

Courage makes misfortunes seem small.*

After the German advance on 30 November 1917 during the Battle of Cambrai, the British counter-attacked on 1 December. 4th Battalion Grenadier Guards attempted to recapture Gonnelieu, just south of the Péronne-Cambrai road, south-west of Bonavis, which had fallen to the enemy the preceding day. During this action, Acting Captain G H T Paton commanded the support company. The attack failed but it prevented the Germans from advancing out of Gonnelieu. Meanwhile to the south, the British mounted several cavalry attacks south of Gauche Wood towards Villers-Guislain which had also been captured by the Germans the day before. One of these involved 2nd Lancers (Gardner’s Horse), 5th (Mhow) Cavalry Brigade.

They came under very heavy fire and were soon pinned down. Lance Dafadar Gobind Singh volunteered three times for carrying the messages over open ground under constant fire.First, he carried a report on the position to Brigade HQ and brought back the reply. He then carried another report back to the HQ but was refused permission to return to the front. His regiment eventually completed a successful withdrawal after nightfall.

Gobind Singh received the Victoria Cross, the highest British and Commonwealth award for gallantry in the face of the enemy.

[theworldofwars]

Tank F4 poised on top of a rise which it is about to descend at the Tank Driving School during the special training for the Battle of Cambrai at Wailly, 21 October 1917.

[herprivateswe]

Image: IWM (Q 7278) Photograph taken at the Tank Driving School during the special training for the Battle of Cambrai at Wailly, 20 October 1917. Over 400 tanks were gathered for that training.

[scrapironflotilla]

"The Boche is managing his attack another way; he is practicing it very much like he did at Cambrai. First they have a creeping barrage, probably like ours. Next to that he is going to have a smoke barrage made by hand grenades. After that he is putting his eggs in the Storm Trooper basket. These fellows are specially trained and they are really very fine men. These Storm Troops and machine gunners are the only good people on foot in the German Army. All infantry Battalions are skinned of their best men to put into the Storm Troops. It is therefore important that you should defeat these Storm Troops; one Storm Troop knocked out is worth a lot."

"In the German scheme they and the light machine guns are to go straight ahead and not stop for anything; they will not stop in your line. They are followed immediately behind (about 200 yards behind)  by masses of Infantry, so that if you massacre the Storm Troops and get the SOS going you will have a fine time. The Hun idea is that the Storm Troops will make holes and continue their advance past our strong points. They having been training them to go 12 kilometres about 7 miles, the first day. That might do for the Italians and the Russians, but it will not do for you. Not if you are in depth. "

"Then the Infantry following behind is to mop up, moving right and left from the breaches thus made.  There will be a very careful reconnaissance and these will now move up the hollows to avoid being seen by our artillery. That is what they did at Cambrai. One lot goes one way and another lot the other way and the Storm Troops go right on. They expect to paralyse you by the sudden onslaught of these Storm Troops, but you have only got to watch properly and have your men to shoot and then you will be alright."

"With the wire you have in front of you and the arrangements we are making, provided you will patrol No Mans Land and will teach Musketry to your Sections I don’t think the Boche has a dog’s chance." Lieutenant-General Ivor Maxse on the lessons learnt from the Battle of Cambrai, 12/2/1918.

Maxse's 18th Corps was part of the British Fifth Army that bore the brunt of the German Spring Offensive in March 1918. Maxse's training had paid off, and despite suffering heavily they withdrew in good order and never broke the same way much of the rest of the Fifth Army did.

[scotianostra]

On November 21st 1917 Lt Ewart Alan Mackintosh, author of the poem Cha Till Maccruimein, was killed on the second day of the Battle of Cambrai.

Although born in Brighton, of Scottish parents, Mackintosh learned to speak Gaelic and was an accomplished piper. Fishing trips with his father to the Alness area and Highland holidays with two university friends nurtured his sense of Scottishness.

In 1916 during a raid, north of Arras three of his men had arms or legs blown off; despite his struggles to carry them back in, they all died. The action brought him the Military Cross, though he wrote that he would ‘rather have the boys’ lives’. It also inspired one of his best-known poem, ‘In Memoriam’.

These lines from Mackintosh’s poem ‘A Creed’ are engraved on the Scottish American War Memorial in Princes Street Gardens in Edinburgh:

"If it be life that waits I shall live for ever unconquered, If death I shall die at last strong in my pride and free"

Cha Till Maccruimein* (Departure of the 4th Camerons)

The pipes in the street were playing bravely, The marching lads went by, With merry hearts and voices singing My friends marched out to die; But I was hearing a lonely pibroch Out of an older war, ‘Farewell, farewell, farewell, MacCrimmon, MacCrimmon comes no more.’ And every lad in his heart was dreaming Of honour and wealth to come, And honour and noble pride were calling To the tune of the pipes and drum; But I was hearing a woman singing On dark Dunvegan shore, 'In battle or peace, with wealth or honour, MacCrimmon comes no more.’ And there in front of the men were marching, With feet that made no mark, The grey old ghosts of the ancient fighters Come back again from the dark; And in front of them all MacCrimmon piping A weary tune and sore, 'On the gathering day, for ever and ever, MacCrimmon comes no more.’

Ewart Alan Mackintosh (1893-1917)

[lavender-romancer]

I'd Do Anything

Part Four Tommy Shelby x Reader

You met when you were sixteen and from there, your lives ebbed and flowed closer and further away from one another but there was always something that brought you together.

”*°•.˜”*°•. ˜”*°•. ˜”*°••°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜.•°*”˜

previous chapter

September 1918

It had now been three and a half years since you'd seen Tommy in person and some parts of you debated whether you fit into one another's lives anymore. Whenever you would eventually be reunited, nothing was guaranteed. The love you had before wouldn't be the same, you wouldn't be the same people or know how to interact like you did before. Everything would be so different. It was incredibly daunting but you didn't give too much time to those thoughts. You knew being close to the front of the second 1918 battle of the Somme was as close as you would get to Tommy for a while now. Assuming he was even in those trenches, the two of you hadn't spoken through letters for so long by this point.

You'd been writing to Polly the last few months. After many attempts to create a dialogue between you and Tommy you gave up, he wouldn't write back and soon you lost track of where his battalion was stationed. It seemed futile to try anymore so you wrote to others who wanted to hear what you had to say. Polly told you to focus on your work and not think about him. But it seemed harder with every day that passed, the more you felt disconnected from him. The string that had attached the two of you together since you were young felt like it was fraying.

Every small thing that had happened in your life felt insignificant when you looked into the eyes of soldiers. Your pain, your anguish paled in comparison to theirs. Even their eyes looked haunted, it was the worst at night on the ward when men would wake up screaming and then they would be sent back to the front once again. Sometimes they would beg to not be sent back, praying to God for their death to be quick and every night you seemed to be haunted by the possibility that Tommy longed for the release of death.

He didn't think he would be so close to the same front for so many years. He was only 25 miles away from where the Battle of the Somme had taken place. Digging out trenches for infantry and doing all the grunt work tunnelers preferred to their normal role underground. Tommy was just glad to not be back in La Bassée digging deep concrete dugouts during the cold winter last year. He was lucky he hadn't got frostbite on most days, it was relentless hours with few breaks and the constant anxiety that they would hit a mine or a water source that would flood the dugout.

Tommy never thought he'd be glad to be digging out trenches but he was, there was order and a method to all of it. After the Germans stabilised their trenches clay-kickers and engineers were ordered to dig stronger defenses with even deeper dugouts. All he could do was pray to a God he knew didn't exist that they wouldn't put him back underground. Mines weren't being used anymore but Tommy wouldn't believe he was free of the torment until the war was over. He couldn't do it again, he refused to hear the shovels again.

The Second Battle of the Somme ended in early September and you were reassigned to Hèbuterne. As you approached late October there were more and more whispers that a peace deal might be reached- irregardless of how impossible that seemed with the amount of casualties being reported.

The unlikely outcome of peace talks was reaffirmed when you were relocated again to Cambrai. There to give medical assistance to the allied forces pushing the German forces using tanks and other heavy machinery. In two days 12,000 allied men lost their lives and it was a victory. This fatality toll was better than earlier battles and you couldn't quite believe the brutality of it all. Soldiers recovering discussed how they had breached the Hindenburg Line. You wished you could talk to Tommy about it all, where was he? No one knew where tunneling units were given; it was supposed to be more secretive.

Your station didn't change for a while, you were to act as a walking wounded CCS and also a rest station for the XXII Corps. You always hated being a walking wounded CCS, it often felt like sending lambs out to slaughter after you had looked after them. Looking into those soldiers' eyes as you cleared them for duty after stitching them back up when all they wanted was to go home. Their eyes would plague your dreams more than when they would plead for a quick death, some of these men you had seen multiple times and by this point they wouldn't even plead.

After a week or so you walked into the huts to check on new patients as walking wounded was essentially a rotating door.

“Bullet only grazed you I see?” you asked, walking up to the first man.

“Y/n?” The voice asked and you looked up from your tray of sterile needles and implements. It was Arthur. The Arthur who had teased you and treated you like a brother for so many years, he looked like a frail shell.

“I-” you faltered before your eyes began to well up, it had been so long since you had seen anyone you loved that you didn't know how to react. Arthur just reached out and held your shaking hand.

“Come on, let's get this sorted and we can talk.” Arthur said softly, in the kindest voice you had ever heard. It refocused your brain, you went into an autopilot state of mind. You became a sister again, devoid of identity and there to help. After he was patched up your hands started shaking again and you both walked out to get some extremely watered down tea-it was essentially hot water.

The two of you sat down on a bench together, your dress covered in mud and a bit of blood on your sleeves, Arthur didn't look much different. There was a respectable distance between the two of you but you wanted to hug him so badly it was infuriating.

“I'm so glad you're alive.” Was all you could say.

“I could say the same for you. A lot of these places get bombed.” Arthur stared out at the littony of men under makeshift tents on stretchers.

“I'm not unfamiliar with it.” You paused, “Where have you been? Do you know where the brothers are?”

“I've been all around it feels like. Pulled from one place to another getting patched up and sent out again, it's a never ending cycle until I finally get shot on the head.” He spoke plainly and without emotion, every now and then bringing the mug to his lips.

“Cigarette?” You asked, offering him one. “I'm not exactly supposed to smoke but I don't know if it will matter after long, we could all be dead tomorrow.” Arthur brought out some matches and lit both of your cigarettes as you simultaneously breathed out smoke.

“I'm glad you're not in the trenches. I'm glad you're here but not any closer. I don't think I could take losing someone else, I haven't seen either of the boys in months, maybe years I can't remember.” Arthur looked up at the sky and placed his empty mug next to him on the bench. “It feels like time just throws you along, I don't think I've felt like a person until this very moment. I know I'll have to go home at some point but I don't think I'll ever feel human again.”

“Don't say that.” You turned to him.

“There's never just one direction, it's this fight then, this battle, then this wound, then this hospital and all of it round and round and round. My life is stuck in this fucking loop and my head… my head can't fucking live with it, I- I think I might be broken, Y/n.” Arthur looked at the ground with a sad expression, maybe it was pity for himself you weren't sure.

“There's rumors of peace talks.” You offered and he scoffed.

“It's just more fucking words. Words won't save anyone until they fucking mean something.” Arthur stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. “I need to report back, I think-” before he could finish you enveloped him in a hug that was so tight you thought he might burst. You held you close and sighed.

“I feel like a child when I hug you, like it all goes away and we're playing together in the street again.” You said quietly before drawing apart.

“It will never be like that again, Y/n. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you can try to live.” Arthur said with such sadness in his eyes before turning and heading towards his commanding officer to report back.

It was only a month later when the bloody thing ended. Even later than the 11th of November when you could finally go home. Transport was full, boats even fuller and you feared catching some sort of illness so you stayed. Liaising with nurses near Cambrai to help locals with any medical issue, writing to Polly and even traveling around in a mobile medical vehicle to make sure no one was left behind. It took close to two months and you all but forgot that you'd missed Christmas when you arrived back in Birmingham.

At no point had you ever taken leave. You didn't see the point since you knew you wouldn't want to go back to the front and it was your duty to be there. What could you do in Birmingham? Run the betting shop? What would be the point when everyday people were dying and you could have helped prevent some of it? No, you had made the right decision.

Tommy didn't know what to do with himself. He stared up at his ceiling with a blank mind, his eyes sunken with dark circles. How could he sleep when he heard the same thing, the shovels. The war hadn't killed him but he was convinced that he could be the one to do it.

“Thomas,” Tommy heard Polly call “Come downstairs.” He regrettably stood up and rubbed a hand down his face before walking downstairs, hearing surprisingly happy voices.

“I thought you'd never come back!” Finn yelled excitedly before jumping into someone's arms.

“She wasn't going to leave any of us, were you dear?” Polly asked with a raised eyebrow and then he heard your laugh- there was less emotion behind it.

“How could I ever leave such a troublemaker like you! Someone's got to give Polly a break.” You put Finn down and smiled at him.

Your gaze rose to the man in front of you, Tommy. Your Tommy. He didn't look like the man you remembered but you didn't care, you walked toward him and enveloped him in the same hug you gave Arthur months ago.

“I'm so glad you're alive.” You whispered close to Tommy's ear and his arms wrapped around you timidly at first before pulling you even closer.

It was your smell that made Tommy emotional. Not replying to letters kept home at an arm's length but when he had come home for a weekend's leave it would always be Finn asking for you that left a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew it was wrong to thrust you away with a lack of replying but he just couldn't do it.

“Tom, where is she?” Finn asked in a quiet voice as Tommy sat by the fire still in his uniform taking his boots off.

“She might not have been allowed to come home yet.” Tommy answered.

“But you're here? Are you not together?” His eyes looked even sadder.

“We both have important jobs but they don't work together,” Tommy paused. “I miss her too.” He replied looking into the fire.

“Why couldn't you come home?” Tommy buried his face in your neck and his words were slightly muffled. Polly pulled Finn by the hand and took him into the kitchen to give both of you some time.

“What did you say?” You asked softly, pulling back slightly. Tommy's head was bowed a small dim beam of light highlighting his jaw perfectly- his hair flopped over his face and you noted to take him to the barbers soon.

“Why didn't you come home?” He asked quietly and your breath hitched in your throat. “I understand what it's like out there. Polly and Finn won't understand but I do, even more so and I came back.”

“I couldn't bear it.” You said after a few moments, you walked forward and sat down on one of the steps of the creaking stairs. “I didn't know if any one of you was alive, I couldn't face this house without any of you. If I focussed on my work, on my routine, then I didn't think about if you were dead.” You looked at Tommy as he sat next to you, “You stopped writing. I thought you might be dead and Polly didn't have the heart to tell me.”

“Writing to you gave me solace at the start. When we all thought it would be over soon with some fucking diplomatic intervention,” he laughed coldly. “The further it got into the nightmare the more I didn't want to bring you into it.”

“Everything has changed from who we were before. But we can trust one another like never before.” You put your hand over his.

“And why can we trust one another more than before?” He asked with a slightly concerned face.

“Because at one or multiple points in the last few years, we have seen death or thought we were about to die. We're both broken.” Your finger traced up and down the top side of his hand.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, until Tommy turned his head to look at your face and the both of you hadn't realised how close you were. You had both aged and matured in different ways, both of you had a sadness behind your eyes that had never been there before. Being plagued by memories of such intense suffering had an impact, long hours and lack of proper nourishment making the two of you look very different to how you remembered. But it didn't matter, you were each other's person in one way or another. Leaning your foreheads against one another, your head's went quiet for a moment- you couldn't hear the screams of agony and Tommy could no longer hear the shovels.

Peaky blinders taglist: @queenofkings1212 @severewobblerlightdragon @cl5369 @fairypitou @stressedandbandobessed7771 @shadow-of-wonder @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns @curled-hair-red-lips @lucystivinsky1315 @lovemisshoneybee Series taglist: @swordofawriter @jessimay89 @globetrotter28 @marcysbear

[bacony-cakes]

they're adding the battle of cambrai to the next super smash bros as a stage

[pinturas-gran-guerra-aire]

1918 08 10 Amiens, Dogfight RAF 32 Sqn vs Jasta 15 - Peter Dennis

repost better colors

The air operations in support of the ground battle reached their zenith of intensity on 10 August. By this time the RAF effort was shifting back towards the original intention of interdicting the German lines of communications by attacking the key railway centres through which any reinforcements would need to transit. Twelve DH9s from 27 and 49 squadrons were tasked with bombing Peronne railway station escorted by SESas of 32 Squadron and Bristol Fighters of 62 Squadron. As they approached the target from the south-west they were attacked by 14 Fokker DVlls from Jasta 15 led by the ace commander of JG II, Rudolf Berthold. In order to maintain the advantage given by a higher position both attackers and defenders normally split their force with one element placed above the other to act as 'top cover'. Once under attack a defender would attempt to execute a climbing turn towards the attack to bring his own guns to bear, prevent the attacker form getting on his tail and to get above the attacker. As a consequence each combat soon degenerated into a rolling maul of aircraft climbing and turning in search of a killing shot. Flying with 32 Squadron was Second Lieutenant J. 0. Donaldson of the USAS on attachment to the RAF. Donaldson was flying as top cover as 'B5' in SESa E5939 when: " "observed 9 Fokker biplanes, at 13000ft over Peronne, at 1130hrs dive on 3 SE5a). Pilot coming to their assistance, fired 150 rounds into first EA [enemy aircraft) at close range, EA turned over on its back, and went down in a flat spin, and was observed to spin, out of control about 10000ft. Four Fokker biplanes dived on Pilot, who made a climbing turn, firing 50 rounds into second EA without results. Pilot did half roll and dived again, two EA continued to follow, pilot then made another climbing turn, firing 50 rounds into EA without result. Pilot turned and dived under some Bristol Fighters ". Combat report, Second Lieutenant J. 0. Donaldson, 10 August 1918

A passing patrol from the elite 56 Squadron joined in the melee to stack the odds against Jasta 1 5, however, the powerful DVlls were faster and more agile than their opponents and exacted a severe toll from the RAF as one DH9 and four fighters were shot down for the loss of only one German aircraft. Unfortunately for JG II the loss was Berthold who was seriously injured after having his aircraft shot out of control. With no one able to confirm Donaldson's victim's crashing he was only credited with a 'shot down out of control' rather than a kill. Donaldson's luck ran out three weeks later on 1 September at Cambrai where he became the 11th victim of Leutnant Theo Quandt of Jasta 36 and was taken prisoner.

[captain-price-unofficially]

WWI, 28 July 1914 – 11 November 1918 (4 years, 3 months and 2 weeks)

[thecrystallinecrowssystem]

Almost 500 British tanks took part in the first battle of Cambrai, France, on November 20th, 1917

The war ended a year later

(More under the cut)

So many people think tanks were a driving force of ww1

No

Ww1 was fought by artillery and infantry

Tanks only came into the equation as the war was grinding to a halt

Most of the tanks were disabled due to mechanical issues or destroyed by artillery as the Germans took back most of the land they had lost

What few did survive are now being painstakingly preserved and taken care of in museums, to my knowledge

Though many of the advancements made to help speed the fight along only came into the equation when the war was ending, such as tanks, or the widespread use of man portable machine guns that didn't require a crew to use

They changed warfare forever

It was

For a brief 2 decades

The bloodiest conflict in human history

More than 37 million casualties, comprised of both military and civilian alike

How much impact can one man have on the world?

How many young men left thinking it was their grand adventure

That they'd come home telling stories of valor and heroism

Only to be taken out by a random artillery shell, or, if they did come home, come home with PTSD and shrapnel permanently embedded in them

And these old men continue to bicker amongst themselves and expect us to throw ourselves to our deaths for them

To fight *their battles*

[madnessofmen]

Cavalrymen resting in a shell hole on the Arras-Cambrai Road during the Battle of the Scarpe, April 1917.

[theworldofwars]

The British front line west of Trescault before the Battle of Cambrai, 10 December 1917.

[herprivateswe]

IWM (Q 7278) Photograph taken at the Tank Driving School during the special training for the Battle of Cambrai at Wailly, 20 October 1917. Over 400 tanks were gathered for that training.

[scrapironflotilla]

“It has been a wonderful war and perhaps the most remarkable part of it is the fact that the allies have gained a complete victory without ever winning a decisive battle.”

Putting to one side the view that the Great War was “wonderful”, on a military theory level this is a really interesting aside. 

Historians and military thinkers have written a lot about the mindset of WW1 generals and how most viewed battle in what was essentially still a Napoleonic way, at least in the early part of the war (although some argue Haig continued to think this way the whole time). 

But strategic thinking and planning still looked for decisive battlefield victory that would lead to a dramatic change in the strategic situation. The idea of the break through followed by the cavalry pursuit and a general offensive that turns into a German rout is the epitome of this kind of view.

This was pretty much abandoned by most generals in 1916 in favour of the attritional approach (although still debated). Attrition would wear down the enemy which lead to the adoption in 1918 of the hammer blow method of short set piece battles up and down the line, none of which aimed for a complete breakthrough.

This is the earliest account I’ve seen (mid 1919) of a British general clearly identifying the lack of decision in what’s still a victorious war. Even really successful battles like Cambrai in 1917 and Amiens in 1918 were very limited in scope and didn’t fundamentally change the course of the war on their own. It was the accumulation of these smaller successes over months that made the difference. In big industrialised wars from 1914 onwards, achieving a decisive battle became less possible as its size increased and its results became less decisive. 

Theorists like JFC Fuller and Basil Liddell-Hart picked up this strand later on and wanted to bring decision back through a variety of technological means, but by 1945 it seemed apparent again that decision in the Napoleonic sense had almost disappeared.

[scotianostra]

On November 21st 1917 Lt Ewart Alan Mackintosh, author of the poem Cha Till Maccruimein, was killed on the second day of the Battle of Cambrai.

Although born in Brighton, of Scottish parents, Mackintosh learned to speak Gaelic and was an accomplished piper. Fishing trips with his father to the Alness area and Highland holidays with two university friends nurtured his sense of Scottishness.

In 1916 during a raid, north of Arras three of his men had arms or legs blown off; despite his struggles to carry them back in, they all died. The action brought him the Military Cross, though he wrote that he would ‘rather have the boys’ lives’. It also inspired one of his best-known poem, ‘In Memoriam’.

The first of the pics show a sculpture by Andy De Comyn Longueval, France, it depicts a piper in full battle dress, kilt and tin helmet climbing up and over the parapet of a trench encouraging the men on with the sound of his pipes. The plaques around the base of the statue show the emblems of regiments who lost pipers during the Great War…the bottom pic is The American War Memorial in Prices Street Gardens Edinburgh.

The plaque has words from the poem Cha Till MacCruimein

The pipes in the street were playing bravely,

The marching lads went by,

With merry hearts and voices singing

My friends marched out to die;

But I was hearing a lonely pibroch

Out of an older war,

'Farewell, farewell, farewell, MacCrimmon,

MacCrimmon comes no more.'

And every lad in his heart was dreaming

Of honour and wealth to come,

And honour and noble pride were calling

To the tune of the pipes and drum;

But I was hearing a woman singing

On dark Dunvegan shore,

'In battle or peace, with wealth or honour,

MacCrimmon comes no more.'

And there in front of the men were marching,

With feet that made no mark,

The grey old ghosts of the ancient fighters

Come back again from the dark;

And in front of them all MacCrimmon piping

A weary tune and sore,

'On the gathering day, for ever and ever,

MacCrimmon comes no more.'

Lines from Mackintosh’s poem ‘A Creed’ are also engraved on the Scottish American War Memorial in Princes Street Gardens in Edinburgh:

“If it be life that waits I shall live for ever unconquered,

If death I shall die at last strong in my pride and free”

the full poem reads.........

Out of the womb of time and dust of the years forgotten,

Spirit and fire enclosed in mutable flesh and bone,

Came by a road unknown the thing that is me for ever,

The lonely soul of a man that stands by itself alone.

This is the right of my race, the heritage won by my fathers,

Theirs by the years of fighting, theirs by the price they paid,

Making a son like them, careless of hell or heaven,

A man that can look in the face of the gods and be not afraid.

Poor and weak is my strength and I cannot war against heaven,

Strong, too strong are the gods; but there is one thing that I can

Claim like a man unshamed, the full reward of my virtues,

Pay like a man the price for the sins I sinned as a man.

Now is the time of trial, the end of the years of fighting,

And the echoing gates roll back on the country I cannot see.

If it be life that waits I shall live for ever unconquered,

If death I shall die at last strong in my pride and free