Original subtitles

the great war

"surely we have perished" (Wilfried Owen)

Ypres, a market town in Flanders,

a beleaguered fortress, guarding the last free corner of Belgian soil.

Ypr�s to the British army,

or Ipps, Wipers, to the newspapers and the upper classes.

The British first came to Ypres in Oct. 1914.

We pass over the moat through Vauban's 17th century ramparts by the Lille gate

The large cobbled square is full of British and Belgian troops.

We pay a too brief visit to the wonderful Flemish Cloth Hall and St. Martin's Church.

It's a gem of a town with its lovely old-world gabled houses,

red-tiled roofs and no factories visible to spoil the charm.

The first battle of Ypres in 1914 began to demolish the charm.

In 1915 still heavier bombardments beat upon the ancient town.

This was the 2nd battle.

Ypres crumbled steadily but held out.

Through it lay all communication to the salient.

The salient was a vast British slaughterhouse.

Everywhere the Germans looked down on the British positions from the so-called ridges.

It was in the salient in April 1915 that the Germans first used the new weapon of gas.

I ... don't want to admit it that I didn't think much of the urinating on a handkerchief. I didn't think it was sufficient protection.

So I went into one of the trenches' latrines, you know, just a bucket stuck in a hole,

and I stuck my head in the bucket.

And made sure of it.

And in the salient, at Hooge,

two months later, the British first encountered the horror of flame-throwers.

The first idea that flitted through my mind was,

that the end of the world had come,

that this was the day of judgment.

Because suddenly the whole dawn ...

had turned a ghastly crimson.

All through 1916 the outline of the salient barely altered.

100 yards here, 1/4 of a mile there,

fruits of what was called the "crater fighting".

Scraps of ground were captured, lost, recaptured

at a cost never measured against real gain.

In the salient the guns were never silent.

Labour was unending.

Death and pain were always present.

By 1917 the whole area had become an immense disgusting sty,

a ravaged vista of splintered trees, wrecked farms

and craters which quickly filled with water.

In this low country drainage was all important.

But years of shelling had burst the drains and broken the banks of the streams which flowed through the salient.

Rough plank roads and treacherous duck-board tracks zigzagged through the mires.

All supplies had to be carried along them, mostly by night.

All of them, day and night, were death traps.

To the British Army, Ypres had become what Verdun became to the French:

a symbol of absolute determination,

of fatal endurance.

By the summer of 1917 General Robert Nivelle's offensive on the Aisne had collapsed,

and the French Army had collapsed with it.

Russia, swept by revolution in March, was now an unknown quantity.

As Britain's Prime Minister, Mr. Lloyd George said:

The British Army was the one allied army in the field which could be absolutely relied on for any enterprise.

Upon this army now fell the burden of the war.

Not until June was the first stroke ready, under General Plumer,

veteran commander of the British 2nd Army.

And now one of the war's most deadly methods reached its climax:

the underground war.

the war of mines and tunnels groping beneath no-mans-land towards the enemy lines.

in which men dug and crouched and fought and blew each other to pieces.

The essence of mining the area was silence and secrecy.

We wore felt slippers, rubber-wheeled trolleys, wooden rails and we spoke in whispers.

And when the Germans blew us we never answered back, we suffered casualties and said nothing,

tried out to give away where we were.

Under the Messines ridge which shut in the southern side of the Ypres salient,

the British had driven 19 deep mine tunnels, containing nearly 1 million pounds of high explosives.

Some of these mines had been begun as far back as 1915.

By 1916, some 20.000 British, Australian, Canadian and New-Zealand soldiers

and about as many Germans,

were tunnelling towards each other.

The date was June 7th,

the time was 3:10 a.m.

Nightingales were singing in the woods.

Then suddenly the whole earth heaved,

and up from the ground came what really looked more like two enormous Cyprus trees,

silhouettes of great dark cone-shaped lifts of earth, up to 3, 4, 5.000 feet

and we watched this and then a moment later we struck the repercussion wave of the blast,

and it flung us right away backwards.

The whole hill, the whole hillside, everything rocked like a ship at sea.

The noise from the artillery was deafening.

The thunder from our charges was enormous.

The infantry dashed forward under a barrage

and went forward and kept sending back thousands and thousands of prisoners.

Over 7.000 German prisoners were taken at Messines.

Men shaken and unnerved by the huge explosions which had swallowed up many of their comrades.

In one concrete shelter four German officers were found sitting round a table,

killed by shock.

For miles around it seemed like an earthquake.

It was distinctly felt in London.

General Plumer's 2nd Army had won a clear-cut victory.

In April Vimy,

in June Messines,

the two strongest bastions of the German front had been stormed by the British Army.

All the omens seems favourable for the great offensive.

Breaking out of the salient seemed to be only a matter of time and preparation.

The army had trained and laboured at the massive build-up required for a set-piece battle in 1917.

They were in good heart

they did not know that ugly clouds were gathering about their enterprise.

On June 19th Haig was summoned to London

to discuss the campaign with the Cabinet.

The meetings were charged with ill feeling

Distrust between the nation's political leaders and its generals had never been higher.

When Sir Douglas Haig explained his projects to the civilians, he spread on the table a large map

and made dramatic use of both his hands

to demonstrate how he proposed to sweep up the enemy.

First the right hand brushed along the surface, irresistibly

then came the left,

the outer finger ultimately touching the German frontier,

with a nail across.

It is not surprising that some of our number were so captivated by the splendor of the landscape opened out to our vision,

that their critical faculties were overwhelmed.

Lloyd George remained sceptical.

But there was a shock in store for him.

A most serious and startling situation was disclosed today:

at the day's conference Admiral Jellicoe as First Sea Lord

stated that owing to the great shortage of shipping due to the German submarines

it would be impossible for Great Britain to continue the war in 1918.

This was a bombshell

for the Cabinet and all present.

Jellicoe insisted that Zeebrugge must be cleared of U-Boots.

Lloyd George was in a dilemma.

It was decided that I should once more sum up the misgivings which most of us felt:

and that the responsibility for decision should be left to Sir William Robertson and Sir Douglas Haig.

Reluctantly, the Government gave its authority to the Flanders offensive on the advice of the Naval and Army leaders.

Now the time for talking was drawing to an end.

On June 21st one of Haig's staff officers wrote:

the longest day of the year,

and we have not yet begun the really big effort.

we fight alone here.

the only army active.

we shall do well

of that there is no reasonable doubt.

have we the time to accomplish?

time was inexorably passing.

time while the staffs worked out their detailed plans

time while roads were laid

mended, re-laid and re-mended

time while new divisions, including a whole French army

poured into the salient

time while training received its finishing touches.

As each day passed the signs of coming battle multiplied.

Veterans knew now how to interpret them.

Until yesterday, most of those addressing us with a comprehensive sweep of the pointer across the map

have declared that by zero hour all the German trenches will be obliterated by our shells.

A tale we've heard before.

The last lecturer however, ominously omitted to provide this comforting assurance.

The men of 1917 were less easily deluded.

less trustfull than earlier generations of the war

Too many things had gone wrong.

Good morning, good morning, the General said,

when I met him last week on our way to the line.

Now the soldiers he smiled at are most of 'em dead,

and we're cursing his staff for incompetent swine.

"He's a cheery old card," grunted Harry to Jack,

as they slogged up to Arras with rifle and pack.

But he did for them both by his plan of attack. [S. Sassoon]

The last days of July were running out.

A certain uneasiness made itself felt

in the line and behind it.

A staff officer wrote:

My one fear is the weather

I do not think that we can hope for more than a fortnight's or at best 3 weeks of really fine weather.

Through the stinking smoking ruins of Ypres and the shattered villages around it

the troops marched to their positions.

Because soldiers like to sing and because they were still a long way from the end of hope,

they marched in, singing.

but the songs were changing

the sardonic note was more emphatic now

"we're here because we're here"

The entire Ypres salient to a depth of some 8 miles from the front line is alive with infantry, artillery, repair workshops, hospitals and ambulances of Gough's 5th Army.

in billet, bivouac, mottle painted tent or hut

the sheds and yards of buildings, copses and all other cover hide tanks, long-range guns, heavy howitzers and ammunition

tonight we must bivouac

and there seems to be scarcely a bit of vacant ground the size of a football pitch clear of troops, gear and stores.

halted against the shade of a last hill they fed

and lying easy, were at ease

and finding comfortable chests and knees,

carelessly slept.

but many there stood still to face the stark blank sky beyond the ridge.

knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.

Final decisions

final preparations

I've ordered the Provost Sergeant with the Battalion Police to line up in the front trenches as soon as the assault starts.

there to arrest any men who return improperly

although I command a Battalion whose courage and loyalty have never given me a trace of anxiety

one must guard against those inexplicable panics which may seize brave men

and which are so infectious

this by now was an army of veterans

the men of 1917 were wearier, more skillful

but they were less hasty to sacrifice themselves

the war itself was an older and uglier beast

Edmund Blunden wrote:

There were opportunities enough for death or glory,

but the experienced sense observed that people did not espouses them with a comparatively bright eye of the year before.

1917 was distasteful

Zero hour was 3:50 a.m. on July 31st.

9 divisions of the 5th army,

5 divisions of the 2nd army,

and two French divisions went over the top.

This was the British Army's largest single effort since the Somme 13 months before

But this was no Somme catastrophe

yet this was no victory either

this was not a Vimy or a Messines

it was that most delusive of war's products:

a half-success

or half-failure.

Straightaway two persistent features of this battle were seen

early in the afternoon rain began to fall

soon it turned into a drenching torrent

and shortly after the rain began the German counter-attack started to come in

up to their knees in mud, with rifles and light machine-guns choked by it,

inch by inch, the German infantry began to wrestle back the British morning gains

to that extent, this was another Somme

with this difference:

the rain did not cease

Every attack was drowned.

The British were bogged

The August weather washed their hopes away

The battlefield turned into a swamp

the miseries of war multiplied

and heaped upon the soldiers

It rained absolutely continuously

one was as afraid of getting drowned as one was of getting hit by shells

there was no chance of getting wounded or getting a blighty one at Passchendaele

you'd either get through or die in it

cause if you're wounded and slipped off the duck-boards

you just sank into the mud

the mud was so deep

that with drag-loads on the wheels

and something like 100 men on the drag-loads

it was impossible to pull the guns out of the mud

you'd see fellows coming down there from the trenches, badly wounded

covered from head to foot in blood, perhaps an arm missing

you'd see some of the fellows drop off the duck-board and literally die from exhaustion, from loss of blood

horrible it was

Bent doubled, like old beggars under sacks,

Knock-kneed, coughing like hags,

we cursed through sludge, till on the haunting flares we turned our backs

and towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots but limped on, blood-shod.

All went lame; all blind; drunk with fatigue;

deaf even to the hoots of gas shells dropping them softly behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!

An ecstasy of fumbling, fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;

But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, and flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, as under a green sea, I saw him drowning. [W. Owen]

The barrage roars and lifts.

Then, clumsily bowed with bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear, men jostle and climb to meet the bristling fire.

Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear. They leave their trenches, going over the top while time ticks blank and busy on their wrists,

And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists, Flanders in mud.

O Jesus, make it stop! [S. Sassoon]

the weather cleared

the ground began to dry

our artillery barrage was magnificent

quite the best that the Australians had ever seen

creeping forward exactly according to plan

the barrage won the ground while the infantry followed behind

and occupied all the important points with a minimum of resistance

this seemed to be a turning-point at last

the German Army Group Commander wrote:

it is to be hoped that another attack will not follow too quickly

as we have not sufficient reserves behind the front

an officer on Haig's staff was writing:

it is a race with time

and a fight with the weather

would the weather hold?

Plumer's next attack was scheduled for October 4th

the barometer began to fall on October 1st

zero hour on the 4th was 6 a.m.

the objective: the line of German concrete pillbox defences on the Broodseinde ridge

as we advanced we saw Germans out of their trenches caught in our creeping barrage

they had been attacking at the same moment as us

we pressed on and reached our objective

we were on slopey ground

and ahead lay the crest of the ridge

it was really surprising to look across and see before you the green fields of Belgium

actual trees, grass of course churned up a good deal

fields shot up with barrage shells

but it was, as far as we were concerned, open country

but then to look back, from where we came, back to Ypres

there was devastation

and it was just dawn time

and you could then see why

our own gunners had such a gruesome time

you could see the flashes of all the guns right from Broodseinde, right back to the very gates of Menin gate

the Australians were standing on the very edge of the salient

General Monnash commanding their 3rd division, wrote:

great happenings are possible in the very near future

as the enemy is terribly disorganized

our success was complete and unqualifying

we got absolutely astride of the main ridge

the Germans called October 4th a black day

Ludendorff wrote:

the infantry battle commenced on the morning of the 4th

it was extraordinarily severe

and again we only came through with enormous losses

now the great question presented itself in simple terms:

in view of three step-by-step blows, all successful

what will be the result of three more in the next fortnight?

the question was never answered

Prince Rupprecht of Bavaria, commanding the Germans in Flanders, wrote:

sudden change of weather, most gratifying

rain, our most affective ally

Haig's staff officer noted:

it was the saddest day of this year

we did fairly well, but only fairly well

it wasn't the enemy but mud that prevented us doing better

but there is now no chance that completes success this year

we must still fight on for a few more weeks

but there is no purpose in it now

so far as Flanders is concerned

now the ridges were needed to lift the army, if only a little, out of the sea of mud

this was the Slough of Despond

in this wasteland, shell craters touched each other, lip to lip, filled with disgusting ooze

forward, inch by inch, along the slimy tracks between these stinking ponds

British, Australian and New-Zealand soldiers crept towards Passchendaele

I don't know how far the duck-boards extended because it was such slow going up to the front

it must have been hundreds and hundreds of yards as they zigzagged about.

but each side was a sea of mud

you stumbled and slud along, if you slipped

you went up to the waist, possibly

not only that, but every pool was filled with decomposed bodies

humans, mules

all mules - sometimes both ???

and if you're wounded and slipped off, well then that was the end of you

I died in hell -

they called it Passchendaele.

My would was slight,

and I was hobbling back,

and then a shell burst slick upon the duck-boards:

so I fell into the bottomless mud, and lost the light. [S. Sassoon]

How many men, wounded, over-burdened or over-tired, vanished in the swamp

no one will know

the October days were nightmares for the British Army

the icy fingers of nightmare clutched men's hearts on both sides of the line

the Germans were in as bad a position as we were

in fact, we had a case where one little party of men was making

a home or comfortable scoop-in

and someone pointed out, the Germans were doing the same

but both of them, in their misery taking no notice of each other

a German officer wrote:

I am scared

for the first time in this war, I have doubts whether we shall be able to hold out against the odds

all together, there must be 8 to 10.000 guns employed on this little bit of front

that is the picture which scares me

Verdun, the Somme, and Arras are mere purgatories compared with this concentrated hell

which one of these days will be stooped up to white heat

it makes you grind your teeth with rage and gives you a dry feeling in your throat

I have a sense of coming disaster

The place was rotten with dead;

green clumsy legs, high-booted, sprawled and grovelled along the saps

And trunks, face downward, in the sucking mud,

wallowed like trodden sand-bags loosely filled;

And naked sodden buttocks, mats of hair,

Bulged, clotted heads slept in the plastering slime.

And then the rain began,�the jolly old rain! [S. Sassoon]

Who are these?

Why sit they here in twilight?

Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,

drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish, baring teeth that leer like skulls' teeth wicked?

Stroke on stroke of pain,

but what slow panic gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?

Ever from their hair and through their hands' palms misery swelters.

Surely we have perished sleeping, and walk hell;

But who these hellish?

These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished. [W. Owen]

Canadians came in to relieve the Anzacs.

more British divisions moved up

yard by yard they crept towards Passchendaele

on October 28th Haig wrote:

the 7th division were really engulfed in mud in some places when they attacked

rifles could not be used

it happened every day

Ludendorff wrote:

it was no longer life at all

it was just unspeakable suffering

and through this world of mud the attackers dragged themselves

slowly but steadily and in dense masses

man fought against man

but only too often the mass was successful

Oh German mother dreaming by the fire

while you are knitting socks to send your son

his face is trodden deeper in the mud [S. Sassoon]

Passchendaele, not more than a brick coloured stain on the watery wilderness

fell to the Canadians on November 6th

six days later the battle ended

it had cost the British army nearly 1/4 of a million casualties in 3 1/2 months

they had not even completely reached their first objective

Oostend and Zeebrugge remained firmly in German hands

But a German staff officer called this battle

the greatest martyrdom of the war

and another German wrote in his last letter home:

you do not know what Flanders means

Flanders means endless human endurance

Flanders means blood

and scraps of human bodies

Flanders means heroic courage and fatefulness

even unto death

in the Ypres salient the ultimate battle was fought not amid the swamps

but in the hearts of men

and now they were beginning to recognize their other enemy

a war correspondent caught a hint of it

for the first time, the British Army lost its spirit of optimism

and there was a sense of deadly depression among many officers and men with whom I came in touch

they saw no ending of the war

and nothing except continuous slaughter

such as that in Flanders

the soldiers' general opinion of this battle they were extremely bitter

the point at issue was, no one, no infantryman at all

minded one bit being shot about

or doing his job on a turf ??? somewhere where he could stand to fight

but here we were so hopelessly placed that there was no sort whatsoever getting to any fine objective

because you couldn't even swim or stagger here

so there was this bitter feeling that deepened among quite a lot of your infantrymen

when I saw their lads and they knew, not wounded

and not killed, but drowned in this filthy mud

"if you want the old Battalion we know where they are"

we know where they are

if you want the old Battalion, we know where they are

they're hanging on the old barbed wire

we've seen 'em, we've seen 'em

hanging on the old barbed wire

we've seen 'em, we've seen 'em

hanging on the old barbed wire

I can see them all asleep

three men deep

and it's bitter cold at night, since the fight

and I'm nowhere near a fire

but our wire has 'em fast as can be

can't you see when the flare goes up?

shh, boys

what's that noise?

do you know what these rats eat?

body meat

Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn,

nor ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.

For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid;

Therefore, not loath, we lie out here;

therefore were born,

for love of God seems dying. [W. Owen]

Goodbye, old lad

remember me to God

and tell him, our politicians swear they won't give in till Prussian rule's being trod under the heel of England

are you there?

yes

and the war won't end for at least two years

but we've got stacks of men

I'm blind with tears

staring into the dark

cheerio

I wish they'd killed you in a decent show

Engl. subs: serdar202@KG