Rebecca Smith

I beg to move, That this House has considered the 110th anniversary of the battle of the Somme. It is a great privilege to open this debate as we mark the 110th anniversary of one of the most defining battles of the first world war. For 141 days, between 1 July and 18 November 1916, British, Commonwealth and French forces fought along the River Somme in northern France. Around 3.5 million men took part. By the time the fighting ended, well over 1 million men on all sides had been killed, wounded, captured or were missing. Those numbers are almost impossible to comprehend. Perhaps the figure that remains most deeply embedded in our national consciousness is that of the first day. At 7.30 on the morning of 1 July 1916, whistles sounded and tens of thousands of British soldiers climbed from their trenches and advanced towards the German lines. By the end of that day, the British Army had suffered 57,470 casualties, including 19,240 men killed. It remains the bloodiest day in the history of the British Army. Yet even those extraordinary figures can distance us from what actually happened. Statistics convey the scale, but do not tell the stories: every single one of those 19,240 fatalities is a unique story—each a family tragedy; an empty chair at a table; potential left forever unfulfilled. Madam Deputy Speaker, you may have seen some of those stories projected on to the face of the Elizabeth Tower on Sunday to mark Remembrance Day. I thank the Speaker and his office for their work with the Commonwealth War Graves Commission in making that wonderful spectacle happen. The battle of the Somme did not begin as the predominantly British offensive that it became. In December 1915, the allies had agreed a strategy of co-ordinated offensives against the central powers. Britain and France would attack on the western front, while their allies attacked elsewhere, making it more difficult for Germany and Austria-Hungary to move forces between theatres. Then, in February 1916, Germany attacked Verdun. The enormous demands of that battle meant that the French contribution planned for the Somme was dramatically reduced, while the British commitment increased. By the end of May, one of the principal purposes of the Somme offensive had become relieving the immense pressure on the French at Verdun. The British Army that prepared for the attack was very different from the small professional force that had gone to France in 1914. It had expanded rapidly following Lord Kitchener’s call for volunteers, and many of the men preparing to fight had relatively little experience of battle. For seven days before the attack, allied artillery pounded the German positions. More than 1.5 million shells were fired. It was hoped that the bombardment would destroy the German defences and cut the thick belts of barbed wire protecting their positions, but in many places those defences survived. German troops had deep dugouts in which to shelter, and when the bombardment lifted, they emerged to meet the attacking infantry. So began those 141 days of fighting. Names that had once meant very little to people in Britain, and what would become the wider Commonwealth, became part of national memory: Beaumont-Hamel, Mametz, Delville Wood, Pozières, Guillemont, Longueval, Courcelette and Thiepval. Today, anybody who visits the Somme discovers that those places are not simply names in a history book. The battlefield is marked by cemeteries and memorials, many standing on or close to the ground over which those men fought and died. The Commonwealth War Graves Commission commemorates 1.7 million casualties of the two world wars in more than 150 countries. Of those, 140,000 died in France during those bloody months of the battle of the Somme. Around 61,700 have an identified grave, while approximately 78,950 are commemorated by name on memorials to the missing. Commonwealth casualties from the battle lie in more than 400 cemeteries across the region. I should declare an interest: Members who have heard me speak on this subject will know well that, before entering this House, I had the great privilege of working for the Commonwealth War Graves Commission, and I now chair the all-party parliamentary group for the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and commemoration. That experience taught me something very simple: behind every one of these enormous figures is a name, and behind every name is a story. Every Member of this House will have many stories from their own constituency, and I want to put a few of the names from my South West Devon constituency on the record. On 1 July, the 8th and 9th Battalions of the Devonshire Regiment were part of the attack south of Mametz village, which was behind German lines. Successfully taking the village and the surrounding woods, the battalions returned to Mametz to bury their dead in a section of their old frontline trench. Now known as the Devonshire cemetery, the site contains 163 Commonwealth burials from the first world war. There lies Private Thomas Collings of Sparkwell, Plympton, killed on the first day of battle. Sadly, I am yet to visit the cemetery, but it is famous for the inscription, “The Devonshires held this trench. The Devonshires hold it still.” Acting Lance Corporal Robert John Antiss was born in Ivybridge and enlisted in Plymouth with the 9th (Service) Battalion of the Devonshires. He was killed in action in Ginchy on 6 September 1916, aged 25. Alongside him, and killed on the same day, was Private Martin John Damberell, known as Jack to his family and friends. Having lied about his age, Jack was only 17. His family in Ivybridge received the news that he was missing, but it was not until a year later that it was confirmed he had been killed. Both men are buried and commemorated at Delville Wood cemetery in Longueval. It is particularly appropriate that we should be holding this debate here, though, because the losses of the Somme reached into Parliament. Thomas Michael Kettle had served as the Member of Parliament for East Tyrone between 1906 and 1910. In 1916, he was serving as a lieutenant in the Royal Dublin Fusiliers. He was killed on 9 September 1916, aged just 36. He has no known grave, and his name is commemorated on the Thiepval memorial. Gerald Archibald Arbuthnot was, as part of a long political career, MP for Burnley for nine months in 1910. He was unfortunately killed on 25 September 1916. Reginald Lanchbery worked in the other place as a Clerk in the Journal Office. He went to war with the Black Watch and died on 17 July 1916. Unlike Kettle, he has a known grave, at La Neuville British cemetery near Corbie. Reginald William Garton was the youngest son of an officer of the House of Commons. He was a lieutenant in the 11th South Lancashire Regiment, and was killed on 1 July. He is another one commemorated by name at Thiepval memorial. Evelyn Walter James Johnson was the only son of a House of Commons Doorkeeper. A second lieutenant in the Bedfordshire Regiment, he was just 19 years old when he died of wounds later that month. Walter Ker Sanderson had worked in the Vote Office at the House of Commons. He served with the Border Regiment and was killed on the opening day of the battle, aged 34. He, too, is commemorated at Thiepval. The consequences of the battle had an impact on those at the very highest political levels. The then Prime Minister, Herbert Henry Asquith, knew personally what thousands of parents across Britain were experiencing. His eldest son, Raymond Asquith, was killed during the battle and today lies at Guillemont Road cemetery. One hundred and ten years later, those individual stories, just a few, help us to understand the numbers. Men from all different backgrounds, different ranks and different circumstances were all drawn into the same battle. The Somme was not simply a British story. Men came from across Britain and Ireland and from across the empire. Australians, Canadians, Indians, Newfoundlanders, New Zealanders and South Africans took part. The British West Indies Regiment was represented, and men from Bermuda and Southern Rhodesia also served. That international dimension can still be seen in the landscape. At Beaumont-Hamel, the Newfoundland memorial stands on the ground where the Newfoundland Regiment suffered devastating losses on 1 July. The memorial commemorates all 821 Newfoundland servicemen of the first world war who have no known grave. Perhaps nowhere is the scale of the battle more apparent than at Thiepval. Designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens and completed in 1932, the Thiepval memorial bears the names of more than 72,000 soldiers of the British and South African forces who died in the Somme sector and have no known grave. Around 90% of them died during the 1916 battle. Beside it lie 300 Commonwealth and 300 French servicemen in the Anglo-French cemetery, deliberately placed together as a permanent symbol of the alliance in which they fought. Some may ask why Parliament should debate a battle 110 years after it took place. There are now no surviving veterans of the first world war to listen to our words, and those who fought at the Somme have passed well beyond living memory, as have most of their children. However, that makes our responsibility greater, not smaller. For a century, remembrance could be sustained by people who had been there, and then by the children and families who had listened directly to their stories, but, increasingly, we are the custodians of that memory. Our task is not to glorify war—anyone who stands among the graves of the Somme could scarcely do that—but to understand its cost. In a previous debate, I spoke about the Commonwealth War Graves Commission’s work in encouraging families and historians to tell the stories behind those it commemorates, and that is something I feel particularly strongly about. A headstone gives us a name, a rank, a regiment and a date, but research can give us back the individual. It can tell us who their parents were, what job they did, where they lived, who they loved and what they left behind. One hundred and ten years later, we cannot know all their stories, but we can ensure that their names endure, that the places in which they rest are cared for and that future generations understand the extraordinary human cost concealed within two simple words: the Somme.