The Battle of Arras -Vimy Ridge,
Easter, 1917
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THE YPRES TIMES
By Lieut. C. J. Hupfield, 2nd Bn. The Suffolk Regt., 3rd Division.
SINCE the finish of the long-drawn-out Somme struggle with the Ancre battle in
November, 1916, no major operation had been organized by the British Army
until word came round in March, 1917, that things were again on the move.
I may mention that, in all my time in France, I cannot recollect better spirit or
morale among the men than just around this period, which culminated in the famous
Easter Monday success, east of Arras and Vimy Ridge. The preliminaries to the attack
on Easter Monday at dawn were unusual in so far as our particular Division was con
cerned. On Good Friday, April 6th, two brother officers and myself went round our
proposed assembly positions and then reconnoitred the old medieval Spanish caves
near Arras station. These had been greatly improved by New Zealand engineers, and
were named Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch, etc. Our unit, the 2nd Suffolks and
remainder of the 76th Brigade, came in that night, in pouring rain, having marched from
Wanquetin, and entered the sewers of Arras in single file and thence into the caves,
eighty feet below ground.
Immense preparations had been going on for weeks all around Arras and to the
north, all focused on April 9th. On Saturday, the 7th, we had to take our non-com
missioned officers round the assembly trenches and issue the usual S.A.A. rations and
instructions. It was a glorious day, sunny but very cold. On the Sunday we celebrated
Holy Communion underground, and the bulk of the Battalion attended one of the most
impressive Easter services on record. The afternoon dragged on, and at night we read
out the Divisional Order of the Day for the morrow. We were all in fine fettle and
anxious to end the suspense of training. There was an eerie silence in these caves after
the earsplitting field-guns and howitzers just outside, as about half way down the stairs
their explosions became inaudible.
We had a short sleep from about 10 p.m. till midnight, and then put on our battle
equipment, loaded revolvers and lined up our men for the long climb up those inter
minable stairs. About 1 a.m., in inky darkness, we started slowly up and up towards
what About half way up our 18-pounder staccato fire became audible outside and
grew louder and louder as we reached the top, a little final attention before the gunners
shut down for an hour or two to lay in shells in preparation for the barrages. We arrived
about 2.30 in our assembly trench, crawling slowly along and keeping very quiet. On
this lovely night, with swift-moving clouds overhead, there were scores of thousands of
men on a thirty-six-mile front, all doing the same, and it was a mercy there was now
not any shelling to speak of. Our artillery had been working very hard since the
Wednesday, and we were wondering if the enemy were expecting anything.
I made a final tour of my men and found all correct. Then, at 3.30, the best part
of the show came round in the form of dixies of tea and rum rations.
Zero hour was 5.30 a.m., and from 4.30 it became wearisome in the extreme, and
colder and colder. We were crouching and sitting in four-foot trenches with our loaded
rifles, with bayonets fixed, lying on the parados. Five-fifteen arrived, and with it
great clouds blew up from the south, then 5.26, 5.27, and at 5.28 (with apparently two
minutes to go) hell broke loose on the Vimy Ridge portion of the front, all guns trained
on the Ridge firing their fastest. Simultaneously nearly a dozen large mines, pushed
under the Ridge, went up, and the inferno was overpowering by its very suddenness
and wonderful timing. Then, on the stroke of 5.30, our own particular few miles of
