This is Part 8 of my series of posts relating the visit my son Alex and I made this past summer to Belgium and Northern France. At the end of my last post we were heading back to le Village Gaulois for a good night's sleep after spending the day in the vicinity of Verdun.
Our plan for the next day was to explore the eastern end of the Argonne Forest battlefield. We would be following, by car, the route taken by Frank Wolinski, Karen’s maternal grandfather and Alex’s great-grandfather, who as a sergeant in Company C of the 47th Infantry Regiment went over the top in the first wave of the attack on the Argonne Forest on September 26, 1918.
Years ago, I wrote an essay on Frank Wolinski’s experiences in the Great War. Frank Wolinski participated in all three American campaigns, was decorated twice and promoted to platoon sergeant, and then took part in the occupation of Germany, returning home in the summer of 1919. My original essay was a response to a family request and too quick a job, but everyone was very kind and no one complained. The subject however is a good one, and since Alex and I were in France, here was a clear opportunity to visit some of the scenes and rewrite the essay.
Our plan for the next day was to explore the eastern end of the Argonne Forest battlefield. We would be following, by car, the route taken by Frank Wolinski, Karen’s maternal grandfather and Alex’s great-grandfather, who as a sergeant in Company C of the 47th Infantry Regiment went over the top in the first wave of the attack on the Argonne Forest on September 26, 1918.
Years ago, I wrote an essay on Frank Wolinski’s experiences in the Great War. Frank Wolinski participated in all three American campaigns, was decorated twice and promoted to platoon sergeant, and then took part in the occupation of Germany, returning home in the summer of 1919. My original essay was a response to a family request and too quick a job, but everyone was very kind and no one complained. The subject however is a good one, and since Alex and I were in France, here was a clear opportunity to visit some of the scenes and rewrite the essay.
| For my newly published narrative on Frank Wolinski's experiences during the Great War, click here.  |
We did not visit the 47th Regiment’s training area near Calais, and we drove heedless past the scenes of the Aisne-Marne offensive. We did not investigate the area south of Verdun or the St. Mihiel Salient. We picked up Grandpa Wolinski’s tracks at the road junction between Marre and Esnes, a mile from Le Village de Gaulois, driving D38 to Esnes and turning north on D18 toward Malancourt, which quickly put us on Hill 304 where Frank Wolinski’s regiment spent the night of September 25, 1918, before the Argonne Forest attack.
Photo by Gary Mawyer
The Battle of the Argonne Forest lasted for over six weeks of continuous close combat on a 25-mile front, and ultimately involved close to a million U.S. soldiers, tens of thousands of French soldiers (mostly artillerists) and over half a million German soldiers. Tens of thousands of lives were lost and a couple of hundred thousand more lives ruined on the destroyed landscape of the Argonne, whose pre-war population had been completely displaced years before, and tens of thousands of German and French lives already lost in 1914, 1915, 1916 and 1917.
British and European histories regard the Battle of the Argonne Forest as one of several huge offensives in late 1918 that liberated German-occupied France, collectively destroyed the ability of the German Heer to defend the borders of Germany, and led to the Armistice on November 11, 1918 and the Treaty of Versailles the following year. In an exchange of letters with General John Pershing after the war, Marshal Ferdinand Foch suggested that all the offensives composed one continuous battle, which he suggested could be called the Battle of France. By another reckoning, British historians tended to consider the Second Battle of Cambrai in early October 1918 and the dissolution of parts of the German defense lines in northern France as the death-knell of the German position on the Western Front. Objectively it is reasonable to say the whole front was collapsing from the English Channel to the Alps, at a terrible cost to all sides.
Americans tended, for a time, to view the Battle of the Argonne Forest as the unique killing stroke that ended the war. It had been the largest battle in American history by far, and like other Great War battles seemed calculated to boggle the imagination and defy description. The scale of American losses was likewise staggering. From the U.S. perspective, the Battle of the Argonne Forest seemed truly singular. President Wilson’s triumphant imperial reception in Europe after the Armistice, when the heads of the victorious nations met to redraw the map of the world, strengthened the sense that the Argonne Forest was the climax of the War to End all Wars and a decisive battle that changed world history forever.
American travelers returned to Europe in droves in 1919 and 1920, and for a time the Argonne Forest battlefield was high on the tourist agenda. It was a famous place, and the huge American military cemetery next to Montfaucon was a pilgrimage site for countless mourners. The tourists and the mourners brought back lots of fresh unrusted debris which can be found in many a Great War militaria collection today. A number of monuments were commissioned, including the magnificent Art Deco eagle gates at the main American cemetery, and the American Memorial Tower on Montfaucon, mate to the Verdun lighthouse just out of sight in the distance beyond Le Morte Homme.
But before these monuments could be finished, the nation lost interest in the war. By the time the last U.S. occupation troops returned from the Rhineland in 1923, Wilson was gone and the parades were over. The country had already shrugged off Wilson’s League of Nations, the Fourteen Points, and Wilson’s definition of progress. The war had become, not exactly an embarrassment, but something no longer convenient to examine closely. Veterans’ relief organizations and the divisional associations petered out of existence, or turned into reunion clubs, and the Great War passed from historical climax to old news while the commemorative marbles were still being carved.
Nothing has occurred since to reverse the early wave of disinterest that pigeonholed the American phase of the Great War as a historical curiosity. The facts of the war had been a nasty shock to American idealism. The Allied diplomats were the first to turn their backs on Wilson at Versailles, rejecting the President’s plea that peace without justice would be no peace at all. Instead the Versailles Treaty became a poisonous brew, about vengeance on Germany more than anything else, though also ignoring the interests of some of the Allied nations as well, notably Japan, while fractionalizing Central Europe and the former Ottoman Empire, acts whose repercussions are very much with us today, and ignoring the claims of colonized and enslaved peoples everywhere. Then, after the world rejected the Fourteen Points, Wilson returned home to find the United States rejecting the League of Nations. Americans generally speaking now wanted to put the whole episode behind them.
Wilson’s defeat was a world tragedy then and remains a tragedy now. Some might say it is not too late—would still be surprisingly timely—to dig out the Fourteen Points and try all fourteen of them. Over a hundred thousand Americans died for that and lie in France today, dream unfulfilled. More than two hundred thousand were injured.
Nonetheless, there was something to the original public sense that the climactic battle of General Pershing’s American Expeditionary Force was historically singular and exceptional. A century later, the Argonne Forest is still the largest land battle in American history and may remain so forever. War itself is no longer done that way. The scale of its fury also remains unmatched; the Argonne Forest concentrated as many American casualties into six weeks as the Vietnam War did in ten years.
The road through Esnes is beautiful today, though deserted.
British and European histories regard the Battle of the Argonne Forest as one of several huge offensives in late 1918 that liberated German-occupied France, collectively destroyed the ability of the German Heer to defend the borders of Germany, and led to the Armistice on November 11, 1918 and the Treaty of Versailles the following year. In an exchange of letters with General John Pershing after the war, Marshal Ferdinand Foch suggested that all the offensives composed one continuous battle, which he suggested could be called the Battle of France. By another reckoning, British historians tended to consider the Second Battle of Cambrai in early October 1918 and the dissolution of parts of the German defense lines in northern France as the death-knell of the German position on the Western Front. Objectively it is reasonable to say the whole front was collapsing from the English Channel to the Alps, at a terrible cost to all sides.
Americans tended, for a time, to view the Battle of the Argonne Forest as the unique killing stroke that ended the war. It had been the largest battle in American history by far, and like other Great War battles seemed calculated to boggle the imagination and defy description. The scale of American losses was likewise staggering. From the U.S. perspective, the Battle of the Argonne Forest seemed truly singular. President Wilson’s triumphant imperial reception in Europe after the Armistice, when the heads of the victorious nations met to redraw the map of the world, strengthened the sense that the Argonne Forest was the climax of the War to End all Wars and a decisive battle that changed world history forever.
American travelers returned to Europe in droves in 1919 and 1920, and for a time the Argonne Forest battlefield was high on the tourist agenda. It was a famous place, and the huge American military cemetery next to Montfaucon was a pilgrimage site for countless mourners. The tourists and the mourners brought back lots of fresh unrusted debris which can be found in many a Great War militaria collection today. A number of monuments were commissioned, including the magnificent Art Deco eagle gates at the main American cemetery, and the American Memorial Tower on Montfaucon, mate to the Verdun lighthouse just out of sight in the distance beyond Le Morte Homme.
But before these monuments could be finished, the nation lost interest in the war. By the time the last U.S. occupation troops returned from the Rhineland in 1923, Wilson was gone and the parades were over. The country had already shrugged off Wilson’s League of Nations, the Fourteen Points, and Wilson’s definition of progress. The war had become, not exactly an embarrassment, but something no longer convenient to examine closely. Veterans’ relief organizations and the divisional associations petered out of existence, or turned into reunion clubs, and the Great War passed from historical climax to old news while the commemorative marbles were still being carved.
Nothing has occurred since to reverse the early wave of disinterest that pigeonholed the American phase of the Great War as a historical curiosity. The facts of the war had been a nasty shock to American idealism. The Allied diplomats were the first to turn their backs on Wilson at Versailles, rejecting the President’s plea that peace without justice would be no peace at all. Instead the Versailles Treaty became a poisonous brew, about vengeance on Germany more than anything else, though also ignoring the interests of some of the Allied nations as well, notably Japan, while fractionalizing Central Europe and the former Ottoman Empire, acts whose repercussions are very much with us today, and ignoring the claims of colonized and enslaved peoples everywhere. Then, after the world rejected the Fourteen Points, Wilson returned home to find the United States rejecting the League of Nations. Americans generally speaking now wanted to put the whole episode behind them.
Wilson’s defeat was a world tragedy then and remains a tragedy now. Some might say it is not too late—would still be surprisingly timely—to dig out the Fourteen Points and try all fourteen of them. Over a hundred thousand Americans died for that and lie in France today, dream unfulfilled. More than two hundred thousand were injured.
Nonetheless, there was something to the original public sense that the climactic battle of General Pershing’s American Expeditionary Force was historically singular and exceptional. A century later, the Argonne Forest is still the largest land battle in American history and may remain so forever. War itself is no longer done that way. The scale of its fury also remains unmatched; the Argonne Forest concentrated as many American casualties into six weeks as the Vietnam War did in ten years.
The road through Esnes is beautiful today, though deserted.
Leaving Esnes. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Esnes in 1918 (US Army Official Photograph, from Bach & Hall)
Hill 304 is still a mass of scars and trenches, though under pines now; heavy shelling in 1916 reduced its elevation by 10 meters. Not far from the French monument, Frank Wolinski would have watched the whirlwind bombardment before the September 26 attack.
Hill 304 Monument. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Hill 304 Monument. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Old Trenches on the Summit of Hill 304 . Photo by Gary Mawyer.
It would be possible and in fact easy to walk the track of the 47th Regiment’s advance from Hill 304 to its terminus at Brieulles-sur-Meuse. A forest service jeep trail on Hill 304 connects with the secondary roads that meander toward Nantillois. We were driving, however, and D18 goes to Malancourt on the 79th (Cross of Lorraine) Division’s line of advance.
The map link on the Brieulles website, expanded and converted to satellite view, shows the terrain.
Malancourt has a remarkable memorial recording that in 1918 an American division was destroyed on the exact same spot a French regiment was destroyed in 1916—the spot in question being Montfaucon.
It would be possible and in fact easy to walk the track of the 47th Regiment’s advance from Hill 304 to its terminus at Brieulles-sur-Meuse. A forest service jeep trail on Hill 304 connects with the secondary roads that meander toward Nantillois. We were driving, however, and D18 goes to Malancourt on the 79th (Cross of Lorraine) Division’s line of advance.
The map link on the Brieulles website, expanded and converted to satellite view, shows the terrain.
Malancourt has a remarkable memorial recording that in 1918 an American division was destroyed on the exact same spot a French regiment was destroyed in 1916—the spot in question being Montfaucon.
German Bunker Converted to a War Memorial . Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Memorial Plaque at Malancourt . Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Before going to the American Memorial at Montfaucon, we wanted to retrace Grandpa Wolinski’s route. D168 took us east across the grain of the 47th Regiment’s advance, where a ruined roadside crucifix provides a bit of a landmark. The roadcut may or may not correspond roughly to the first line of German defenses.
Roadside crucifix. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Hill 304 from the Crucifix; First German Line Somewhere in the Foreground. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Here are two brief videos I shot, the first one north of Hill 304 #1, and the second from Montfaucon.
D168 goes to Béthincourt at the foot of Le Mort Homme, in the center of the 80th (Blue Ridge) Division’s line of advance. However, just before one reaches Bethincourt there is an unpaved road to Cuisy, angling across the 4th Division sector perfectly.
D168 goes to Béthincourt at the foot of Le Mort Homme, in the center of the 80th (Blue Ridge) Division’s line of advance. However, just before one reaches Bethincourt there is an unpaved road to Cuisy, angling across the 4th Division sector perfectly.
Road to Cuisy. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Alex’s navigation skills put us across the main German forward defense line, the Volker Stellung, the focus of the American and French barrage on the night of September 25 and early hours of September 26. The dirt road is still cratered here and the chunks of old concrete give the location away.
Approaching Cuisy. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Since the trench system has been filled in and plowed over for a century, there was nothing to see but us. And apparently we were very interesting; the farmer at the top of the hill came out of his barn to see who could possibly be driving across his wheat fields in the middle of the morning in this absolutely deserted corner of France. We waved as we rattled by in a cloud of dust, but by the expression on his face he was too astonished to react. As the farm road wound back toward Cuisy, the American memorial at Montfaucon became visible.
Montfaucon tower –looking NNW just SE of Cuisy . Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Pavement resumes at Cuisy. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Cuisy during the battle, with supply train to Nantillois in background. (Official US Army Photo, from Bach & Hall).
Not far to Montfaucon. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
The American monument. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Monument stairs. Photo by Alexander Mawyer.
Click here for a brief video I shot from the top of the American monument.
View toward the Meuse. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
In front of the memorial are the bunkers that destroyed the 79th Division.
Deadly bunkers. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Danger. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Behind the tower (see next three photos below) is a really fine ruined abbey, which had already been demolished repeatedly before the Jacobins finally finished it off at the end of the 18th century. Its bits and pieces go back to Charlemagne.
Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Photo by Gary Mawyer.
We of course were as happy as a pair of larks, since that is our natural state, but gloomier people might have found something to wonder about. The country south of Verdun seemed thinly populated to say the least, but from Le Morte Homme and Hill 304 across into the Argonne it was as if hardly anyone wanted to be there -- whether deserted or avoided or just out of the way. The little villages were populated but no one was stirring in them. There was no one at the monument. The roads were deserted. We had the terrain to ourselves. It was heavenly.
US Army topo, 1938.
We were navigating by an antique U.S. Army topo map, and I remember telling Alex we ought to expect Nantillois to have grown and ramified and to correspond poorly to our ancient map. Nantillois was spookily precise, however—rebuilt in situ where the original destroyed village had been, no larger and probably very little different.
Nantillois. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
The road to Brieulles. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
The road from Nantillois to Brieulles passes by the 4th Division commemorative obelisk. The division’s veterans’ association purchased a roadside plot for this memorial opposite the Bois de Brieulles.
4th Division Monument. Photo by Alexander Mawyer.
Bois de Ogons in the background. Photo by Alexander Mawyer.
Grandpa Wolinski's company, Company C, spent the better part of three weeks in the Bois de Brieulles, before ultimately capturing Brieulles itself, at which point the company and the 47th Regiment as a whole had taken so many casualties that the unit was pulled out of the line—the last regiment of the original first wave of the attack that was still in the field.
Brieulles. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Modern Brieulles is a dusty place probably twice the size of the severely damaged Brieulles of 1918. The Bois de Brieulles too is larger today than it appears to have been in 1918. The other dire names from the battle, the Bois de Ogons, the Foret de Fays and so on, are not found on today’s Google maps but these places are still there. We saw them dreaming in the sun. There are some unanswered questions that might take a few hours to settle—by all contemporary descriptions from 1918 the north edge of the Bois de Brieulles should have the town under observation, but the Army topo shows the end of a low ridge between the bulk of the wood and the town. The northern edge of the wood was certainly blasted away in the battle and the modern edge of the wood may not be in the same place.
We moderns civilians also tend to forget (if we ever knew) how infantry weapons and artillery actually work. There is a tendency to mentally condense the landscape to Hollywood proportions, but on the battlefield 500 yards is well within lethal range, and anything you can actually see is inherently far too close.
We moderns civilians also tend to forget (if we ever knew) how infantry weapons and artillery actually work. There is a tendency to mentally condense the landscape to Hollywood proportions, but on the battlefield 500 yards is well within lethal range, and anything you can actually see is inherently far too close.
Town center. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
A critic might describe Brieulles as sleepy, but like everywhere else we went in France and Belgium the people we met were wonderful. We were at first assumed to be German (we were driving a Volkswagen) and were politely directed toward the German military cemetery, but when we explained that we were Yanks, we awakened the memory of Yanks having been there before, and we were redirected in the opposite direction toward the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery. The surprise inspired by the discovery that we were American reminded us once more, as if we needed reminding, that while our fellow Americans may flock to places of cultural significance such as Paris, the French back country has no such cachet and the Great War has too slight a grip on the national consciousness to generate tourism.
Nowhere was this more painfully obvious than the American Cemetery. As at Ieper, as at the Somme and Verdun, here too the dead have been aesthetically collected from all over the neighborhood, rearranged, covered with fine white marble and rationalized back into some semblance of military order.
Nowhere was this more painfully obvious than the American Cemetery. As at Ieper, as at the Somme and Verdun, here too the dead have been aesthetically collected from all over the neighborhood, rearranged, covered with fine white marble and rationalized back into some semblance of military order.
Monumental gates on D123. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
Eagle. Photo by Alexander Mawyer.
The gardeners mowing the verge of the road stared at our vehicle as if we were apparitions driving through on a phantom coach. One gathers that visitors are rare enough.
It was a long way to Waterloo, so we drove on.
It was a long way to Waterloo, so we drove on.
The Old Roman Road to Somewhere. Photo by Gary Mawyer.
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