Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig: World War I's Worst General
Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig: World War I's Worst General
Even so, a staff colonel had the cheek to write: "The events of July 1st bore out the conclusions of the British higher command and amply justified the tactical methods employed."
Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, chief of staff of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) and architect of the battle, evidently agreed. On the day after the debacle, stating that the enemy "has undoubtedly been shaken and has few reserves in hand," he discussed with subordinates methods for continuing the offensive.
Which he did, with a kind of transcendent stubbornness, for another four months, until winter weather forced an end to the campaign, if not the fighting. By then, Haig's army had suffered more than 400,000 casualties. For the British, in the grave judgment of noted military historian John
Keegan, "the battle was the greatest tragedy…of their national military history" and "marked the end of an age of vital optimism in British life that has never been recovered."
But Haig was not finished yet.
The great commanders of history fascinate us, and we read their biographies looking for one or more character attributes we believe accounted for their success. With Napoleon, for example, we think imagination. In Lee, we see audacity. Wellington, composure. Hannibal, daring. Of course, truly great generals seem to possess all these qualities to some degree. They are artists of a kind, blending in one person intelligence, intuition, courage, calculation and many other traits that allow them to see what others cannot and to act when the time is right. For students of military history, the question of what makes great commanders is inexhaustibly fascinating.
We are, naturally, not intrigued by unsuccessful generals any more than we like to read about ballplayers who hit .200 lifetime. There is nothing edifying in the biography of, say, Ambrose
Burnside or any of the Union generals tormented by
Even so, a staff colonel had the cheek to write: "The events of July 1st bore out the conclusions of the British higher command and amply justified the tactical methods employed."
Field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig, chief of staff of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) and architect of the battle, evidently agreed. On the day after the debacle, stating that the enemy "has undoubtedly been shaken and has few reserves in hand," he discussed with subordinates methods for continuing the offensive.
Which he did, with a kind of transcendent stubbornness, for another four months, until winter weather forced an end to the campaign, if not the fighting. By then, Haig's army had suffered more than 400,000 casualties. For the British, in the grave judgment of noted military historian John
Keegan, "the battle was the greatest tragedy…of their national military history" and "marked the end of an age of vital optimism in British life that has never been recovered."
But Haig was not finished yet.
The great commanders of history fascinate us, and we read their biographies looking for one or more character attributes we believe accounted for their success. With Napoleon, for example, we think imagination. In Lee, we see audacity. Wellington, composure. Hannibal, daring. Of course, truly great generals seem to possess all these qualities to some degree. They are artists of a kind, blending in one person intelligence, intuition, courage, calculation and many other traits that allow them to see what others cannot and to act when the time is right. For students of military history, the question of what makes great commanders is inexhaustibly fascinating.
We are, naturally, not intrigued by unsuccessful generals any more than we like to read about ballplayers who hit .200 lifetime. There is nothing edifying in the biography of, say, Ambrose
Burnside or any of the Union generals tormented by