A short distance on from Montauban we came to the village of Flers. I was particularly interested in this site as it marked the first use of tanks in this or any war. My family has been associated with tanks since these early days when my grandfather was transferred from the East Riding Yeomanry into the Heavy Section, Machine Gun Corps, the forefathers of what became the Tank Corps and, subsequently, the Royal Tank Regiment.

The Tank Mark I, which was the type used at Flers and in succeeding tank actions until about May 1917, was of riveted construction throughout. It was essentially a box with lozenge-shaped sides carrying the tracks. There was a raised cupola in the hull front for the driver and for the commander who was also the brakesman, and a sponson on each side carrying the main armament in limited traverse mounts.

Other external features peculiar to the Mk I when it first went into action in 1916 were the "bomb-roof" and the "steering tail". The former was a tented roof of chicken-wire on a wood or wire frame, carried above the hull top to prevent hand grenades from lodging and exploding on the roof. This was cumbersome, fragile and in practice hardly needed, so the "bomb-roof" idea was soon discarded. The "steering tail" was a device introduced to aid stability and steering. It consisted of two iron spoked wheels on a steering axle controlled by wires from a steering wheel in the driving position. Very large radius turns or minor course corrections could be effected by the rudder-like action of the "tail" with no need to change gear on the vehicle's tracks. While the "tail" was effective on good ground, it proved something of a hindrance in combat conditions since it became easily bogged in mud or craters and was vulnerable to shell-fire. As a result the "tails" were completely discarded from November 1916 and steering was carried out by gear changing only.

The centrally mounted engine was a Daimler 105 h.p. petrol type. It had a two-speed gearbox. A gravity-fed fuel system was used which had the disadvantage of fuel starvation when the tank was reared at certain angles and a fire risk due to the petrol tank's being mounted high inside the hull. Steering was effected either by applying the brake on one side, which was tiring for the brakesman as much effort was required, and bad for the brakes, or by changing gear to neutral on one side and engaging first or second gear on the opposite track. Then the clutch was let in and the vehicle lurched round accordingly. Four men were needed for this operation, two gearsmen at the differential obeying hand signals from the driver and the brakesman/commander who sat at the front. Once the new direction was achieved, of course, the gears had to be changed again for straight running.

The Mk I was a roomy vehicle but uncomfortable for the crew of eight: driver, commander/brakesman (both in hull front), two gunners and two machine-gunners (male), or four machine gunners (female) and two gearsmen (right and left of rear compartment). Vision devices were crude, just slits or flaps, ventilation was poor and the ride was rough since the tracks were not sprung. The armour plate was riveted to unarmoured angle irons and girders while the armour quality was itself crude, so that there was much "splash" (particles of red-hot metal displaced from the inside faces of the crew compartments) particularly when joints were hit by small arms fire. Communications were equally crude. Each tank normally went into action with two carrier pigeons but' other than that, flags or voice were the only means of communication.

The designers of the tank had hoped that their new weapon would not be used until enough of them had been manufactured to make a real impact and that then they would be used en masse. However, their wishes were overruled by General Haig and the fifty tanks then available were earmarked to lead the advance on Flers on 15th July in an attempt to break the stalemate that was descending on the front.

One major problem with these new vehicles was their mechanical unreliability. By the time the fifty had moved up to the front from their assembly area near Bray-sur-Somme only 32 remained in a condition to start the attack. The crews had not rested for two days and yet, after effecting running repairs on those tanks still mobile, at 06.00 they started their slow crawl towards the enemy front line. Several more broke down in no-man's-land but those few that did reach the enemy trenches met with devastating success. The very sight of these smoking, clanking monsters was enough to break the morale of the enemy troops, who broke and ran without putting up any serious resistance. Tank D.17 led two others right into the centre of Flers and out the other side of the village, followed by cheering British Tommies. A press report filed shortly after the battle recorded the cry from an observer in a British aircraft over the village:

"A tank is walking up the High Street of Flers with the British Army cheering behind."

Another tank penetrated the German lines and forced more than 300 enemy troops to surrender. A German regimental history records:

"The arrival of the tanks on the scene had the most shattering effect on the men. They felt quite powerless against these monsters which crawled along the top of the trench enfilading it with continuous machine-gun fire, and closely followed by small parties of infantry who threw hand-grenades on the survivors."

Sadly, because these tanks had been used in 'penny packets' their success was not decisive and the German line was only pushed back a matter of a mile or so. However, their limited success impressed Haig who immediately ordered a thousand more. His despatch following the battle carried the following enthusiastic comment:

"Our new heavily armoured cars, known as 'tanks', now brought into action for the first time, successfully co-operated with the infantry, and coming as a surprise to the enemy rank and file, gave valuable help in breaking down their resistance."

An impressive memorial stands in the centre of Flers. It depicts a British Tommy in the minutest detail. He is glancing over his shoulder, down the High Street up which 'walked' that tank in 1916. In the nearby cemetery I found the grave of Gunner C.W. Coles of the Tank Corps who must have been one of the first tank-men to die in battle.

Just outside Pozières we stopped at the Tank Memorial, a low obelisk around which are four large bronze models of some of the tanks used during the Great War. As I stood there I thought of my grandfather, father and uncle, all of whom fought in tanks in France in the two World Wars and of all their friends and comrades who are still there.

We lunched again at Dominique's bar in Pozières before moving on to the Guillemont Road cemetery. This holds the grave of a certain Lieutenant Asquith, the son of the then Prime Minister. This truly was a conflict that dragged in every stratum of society. In previous wars the British had fielded small, mainly professional armies. True, several volunteer units had fought in South Africa at the beginning of the century but usually the ranks had been filled by the dregs of society, the only people for whom life as a soldier was a step up the social ladder. Their officers had traditionally come from the aristocracy who had, until relatively recently, purchased commissions for their younger sons for whom careers in the law, the church or the diplomatic corps were beyond their capacity. It says much for these two classes of men that Britain had been so successful in military matters. However, the vast numbers demanded by the never-ending carnage of the Great War meant that every stratum of British society was called upon to bear its share of the burden. For the first time men were drawn from the factories, from trade, from commerce and even from education. Sons of factory owners led their father's employees into the hail of machine-gun bullets and fell alongside them. University lecturers served alongside the local bank manager. It is not a coincidence that this was the first war to generate its own literature in both prose and poetry. And for the first time the general public had a vested interest in knowing exactly what was happening to their men at the front. War would never be the same again.

Our final visit of the day was to the massive memorial at Thiepval, the largest British war memorial in the world. It lies in roughly the centre of the battlefield. On 1st July units of the 32nd Division attacked Thiepval but were decimated as they went over the top of their trenches. However, south of the village the men of the 17th Highland Light Infantry, who had advanced into no-man's-land during the night, took their objective by surprise and, after fierce hand-to-hand fighting, held the only gain in this sector.

Now, on a slight rise above the old battlefield, rises the tall, many-arched memorial. It was designed by the great British architect, Sir Edwin Lutyens and was unveiled in 1932 by the then Prince of Wales (later the ill-fated King Edward VIII). Although there is a British and French cemetery here, the main aim of this monument is to record the names of the 73,000 men for whom there is no known grave, men who simply disappeared. The many columns of the memorial are faced with white stone upon which are inscribed the names of the missing, each one under his old regiment's title. There are just too many of them. It is impossible to see them as individuals unless, as we were, you are looking for specific names. Here were recorded the names of more Marple men: Stanley Proctor (the man who had died and vanished near the Lochnagar Crater), Raymond Walter who died in fierce fighting around Ovillers on 15th July, Edward Fowler who also died on 15th July, leading his men in an attack, Ernest Trust who was killed very near to Thiepval on 24th August, Joseph Burrell, killed on 25th September, Arthur Hoole who also disappeared on 25th August and Arthur Farmer who fell on 8th July. These men had to stand for all the men named on this monument.

At the stone altar in the centre of the memorial two of our group, the youngest and one of the 'more mature' read a short poem; then the two oldest members, Private Proctor's nieces, laid a wreath of poppies on behalf of ourselves and the people of Marple. As we stood in silent contemplation I think most of us were close to tears.

Andy and Pete had arranged for those who wished to spend the evening at Tommy's bar. The coach dropped most of us off there before taking the rest back to the hotel. Our driver then came back to spend the last evening with us. The evening was still sunny. We had been so lucky with the weather, our only problem being that few of us had brought appropriate clothing. We had expected cold or wet but not heat. It was very pleasant to sit in the garden of Dominique's bar, enjoying the sun and quenching our thirst with an appropriate beverage. Dominique was busy in his kitchen cooking the various light meals we all ordered. I had sausage and pommes frites, nothing gourmet but enjoyable nonetheless.

As the sun started to set Ray and I strolled down to the Australian memorial just down the road. The Australians captured Pozières from the Germans on 23rd July. Their memorial is sited on the old German trenches, which are still visible in places. By the short, stubby obelisk is a raised platform from where it is possible to look out over a large part of the old battlefield.

On the far horizon stands the Thiepval monument that we had visited in the afternoon. To our left was the large cemetery with the names of so many Marple men inscribed on its walls. Now, as the sun set red over this land for which so many of our town's men had given their lives, it seemed hard to imagine how it had looked all those years ago. It was so quiet and peaceful, the only sounds coming from the birds as they sought their nests for the night and a child's laughter from one of the nearby houses. The soft, purple shades reached off to the large monument on the sky line, the haze of evening hiding the undulations of the land in between and somehow bringing it even nearer. Ray and I fell silent for what seemed a very long time before we quietly turned and retraced our steps to the bar.

Back at Dominique's we were greeted by the announcement that he had decided to award us the special treat of visiting his trench by candlelight. This was the trench in his garden in which he keeps his collection of artefacts dug up from the battlefield. We had all spent a great deal of time looking through the fence at it but we politely thanked him and followed him outside. To our surprise we were led down into the actual trench rather than along the fence. The trench walls and dugouts were now illuminated by candles, some in lanterns, others stuck on bayonet handles thrust into the trench walls. It was a very eerie feeling, especially as we entered the various dugouts. Here we discovered that only a part of his collection is visible from outside the fence. Inside, the dugouts were much larger than they had first appeared. In the flickering light of the candles the figures that in daylight had appeared what they were, shop dummies dressed in old uniforms, took on new life and it was all too easy to imagine that we were a new squad entering the trench to relieve these old, weary soldiers. All of us were struck by this experience that will, I think, live with us for a very long time.

Later, in the hotel bar, we sat about with our beers and talked over the highlights of the visit. It was very clear that everyone considered it a roaring success. As I went off to my bed a dedicated party were setting off for a night on the town. Rather them than me - or am I just getting old?