The 20th day of November has been an essential anniversary in my life for over 30 years. Initially, it found a place in my diary as the date when, in 1917, the first day of the Battle of Cambrai took place amidst the mud and blood of the Western Front. Following a dawn attack, the British army made unprecedented gains, overcoming German entrenched positions and barbed wire with the mass use of tanks.
Church bells rang out in British towns on that day in
celebration. However, two weeks later, after an effective German counterattack with
the judicious use of artillery and stormtroopers, the Germans recovered much of
the ground, and British casualties numbered more than 75,000.
Why was this so important to me?
I became an ancestral comrade of the men who committed to
that battle when, as an unruly young man from south London, I joined the 2nd
Royal Tank Regiment. I became a Tanky, an armoured soldier- adorned in all
black, forever after, to Fear Naught. Cambrai Day was our battle honour, a
day that began upon waking with ‘gunfire’, a potent mix of black tea and rum
traditionally served to enlisted men by their officers before the battle.
On the anniversary of the first day of that slaughter, soldiers
and old comrades will gather wherever they might be in the world to ensure the
ghosts of those long-dead warriors of Cambrai are never forgotten. The day
will sail along on a wave of alcohol and war stories. Drinks are bought for, but never drunk, by departed comrades of the regiment.
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