Talk:Poilu

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“...We are all condemned, we are the sacrificed”: The Morale of the Poilus in the Great War

The first two years of the war for the French army were defined by the inflexible and obtuse fighting doctrine of ‘attaque à outrance’ — ‘all-out offensive’. Time and again, fruitless massive frontal assaults were launched against well-entrenched German supported by machine-guns and devastating artillery fire. These assaults served only to advance the line forward pathetically short distances at terrible and grossly disproportionate costs. In the first four months of the war alone, the French army suffered roughly 1 million casualties including over 350,000 dead. The year 1915 would see a continuation of fruitless assaults that showed little results, again at enormous costs in lives. It would prove to be the bloodiest year of the entire war with a further 1.2 million casualties including some 400,000 dead.

Up to 1915, the spirits of the fantassins (“foot-soldiers”) had been sustained by the halting of the German advance and the reversal at the Marne and by the belief in a quick victory. This spirit began to waver in the face of the broken promises of failed assaults and the attrition warfare in the trenches. The casualties and hardships led to an overall shift in French fighting doctrine. The strategy of ‘attaque à outrance’ had held that a breakthrough on the Western Front was still possible. This now changed to the strategy of grignotage, or “nibbling away” at the enemy. In the trenches, morale was mostly conditioned by three factors. The first was that of the immediate day-to-day life, the weather, the arrival of warm food, wine, clothing, the quality of leadership provided by the unit’s officers, the periodic arrival of mail, and the provision of rest periods and leaves. The second was the disciplined, organized peasant society from which the vast majority of front-line infantrymen came. Accustomed to the authority of an older generation (including church and municipal leaders), a transition to a military hierarchy was not difficult. The regiment became a human community, the new village, which helped to cement the bonds of comradeship between soldiers. The third was a sense of belonging to society as a whole—a simple consciousness of being French. The soldiers tended to view their defense of French soil as a defense of civilization as a whole—of law, liberty, and the rights of man.

To a British observer the French soldier:

"...appeared slack and dirty, apparently lacking in any enthusiasm but nevertheless capable of bracing himself with surprising speed and fighting with tenacity and courage when necessary. He had a strong dislike of panache and unintelligent parades and training, and his general approach to warfare was more fatalistic—uninterested in anything other than the immediate surroundings —than the more adventurous approach of (British troops)." The first indication that morale was under strain, however, began appearing in 1915. Irregular delivery of mail and the process of brassage (the mixing of recruits from different geographical regions) were starting to give the ordinary soldier feel a sense of isolement (“isolation”). The lack of regular permission (“leave”), an issue that plagued the French army throughout the entire war, would add greatly to this mood. Permission was seldom granted to the troops. It was not uncommon for some men to go six months or even a year without a single day’s leave. When it was given, travel time was not allotted for nor were the countless travel delays. Gendarmes posted to screen for deserters or draft-dodgers harassed the soldiers even when a valid pass was presented to them. Precious days would be spent riding in uncomfortable train cars or lost sleeping in train stations because of layovers. As a result, many poilus had to resign themselves in simply going to Paris where their two or three days were squandered sadly drinking themselves into a stupor. Mutual incomprehension began to show: soldiers became suspicious of changes taking place in society while families were ignorant of the true suffering endured by the men at the front. "Le Cafard" (literally “the Roach,” it was a combination of boredom, depression and general war-weariness) helped to widen the gap, along with bitter resentment of the propaganda that filled the national press. Themes that irked soldiers most were the declarations by journalists of German cowardice, demoralization and enormous losses. The reality being far different, the poilus considered these distortions as insulting by ignoring French losses and the tenacity of the enemy. At this point, expression of resentment was limited and mostly targeted against those considered ‘shirkers’ and ‘soft-jobbers.’ A significant warning of the danger to come, though, was the increase in drunkenness during rest periods—a classic form of self-medication and escape. The number of those shot ‘for example’ either do to cowardice, self-inflicted injury, or refusal to attack jumped from 216 in 1914 to 442 in 1915. Meanwhile, a postal control service was created in each of the armies to censor the troops’ letters.

Despite the setbacks of the previous year, at the start of 1916 the French army looked toward the hope of a war-winning joint offensive with the British scheduled for early summer. The attack would be launched in the Somme sector, and would be led by forty French divisions, with the British fielding another twenty-five. However, events would soon overtake these plans when, in February, the Germans began their own massive offensive at Verdun. With the intended purpose of bleeding the French army to death, both forces would be dragged into arguably the worst battle of attrition of all time. As the months of intensive fighting intended for from the Somme were instead sent to Verdun, until finally the operational balance of power shifted to the British army. (As it turned out, 14 French divisions would fight on the Somme making considerable progress, though at a heavy price in lives). Verdun would prove to be the great trial of the war for France. Three-quarters of the entire army would fight there at one time or another, with many units serving multiple tours. At Verdun the fighting doctrine shifted again	from the idea of “nibbling away” at the enemy to that of simply tenir (“holding on”). This implied fighting to the last man, and if ground was lost, retaking it immediately by counter-attack no matter what the costs. Tenir was the anti-thesis of ‘attaque  outrance’, but ultimately it was just as inflexible. Its hard-line perspective would prove extremely eroding to morale in the face of such tremendous slaughter. (The 10-month battle that came to be known as “The Meat-Grinder” lived up to its name, costing France roughly 350,000 casualties.)

Verdun sharpened the troops sense of isolation to a level not experienced before or after. In examining soldiers’ letters and accounts of this battle, there is almost a universal agreement that Verdun was unique. For the survivors, their was a deep sense of emptiness and loss, instilled into both the individual and collective consciousness of the troops. It spawned from the sheer terror and absolute misery of Verdun which profoundly deepened the already existing fatalism of the poilus. By early summer, disturbing evidence began to appear of cracks in morale. Soldiers increasingly questioned the ability of commanders as they plunged deep into despair, obsessed with their own premonitions of death. Hopelessness spread, as did a morbid indifference. With the only alternative to their predicament being defeat, the question of when the war would end was increasingly raised. As soldiers on an individual level began to suffer increasingly in varying degrees of combat fatigue or actual insanity, the number of desertions rose (an average of 470 a month toward the end of the year). Other evidence of a decline in morale may at first seem slight but is nonetheless noteworthy. Soldiers did not sing while at or on the way to Verdun. For the French soldier singing was a significant aspect of military life. There was a growing resentment held toward the artillery as having an easy life. And there was an increasing tendency for commanders to call a halt to attacks once it was clear that only needless slaughter would result. By May, specific acts of indiscipline began to appear—small groups of men refusing to return to the front-line trenches, local attacks being carried out without “offensive spirit,” junior officers disobeying standing orders by commanding a tactical withdrawal when under severe bombardment. In December, a division on its way to the final offensive bleated like sheep being led to the slaughter. Pacifist literature was distributed and calls for “Down with the war!” could be heard. When President Poincaré visited Verdun to award decorations, stones were thrown at his car along with angry shouts of “Shirker!” and “Blood-Drinker!” There was growing lassitude, indifference to patriotic issues of the war, and collective psychological exhaustion that affected even the NCO’s. The tone of many trench papers became more bitter in their criticism of politicians, journalists, war profiteers, bureaucrats, and higher-ranking officers (with the notable exception of Pétain who was replaced in the late spring by Nivelle). An attempt to boost morale proved ineffective when the wine ration was increased from 1/2 liter to 3/4 liter per day, an amount still viewed as ungenerous by the men.

To follow the horrors of Verdun, there came the winter of 1916-17—one of the coldest in living memory—which further tried the endurance of the men. Still, the hope placed on America’s entry into the war helped to sustain morale through these dark days into 1917. If they could just hold on long enough until the Americans pitched-in, went the thought, victory might be had. Riding on his achievements at Verdun, Nivelle was able to convince soldier, civilian, and politician alike that he had the proven formula to produce a ‘breakthrough’. He believed the same methods he had used at Verdun to achieve local success—a ‘rolling’ or ‘creeping’ artillery barrage that gave the infantry the element of surprise by falling just in front of their advance—could be reproduced on a grand scale in the Aisne sector along the Chemin des Dames. Unfortunately, Nivelle’s over-confidence blinded him to factors and events that would soon prove disastrous for his offensive.

When the attack was launched on 16 April, it was done so under the worst of conditions. First, his plans had been entirely compromised well in advance through public debate in the Paris press. Further, the Germans had captured orders regarding preparations for the attack, in addition to maintaining constant aerial reconnaissance of the area. The terrain chosen for the assault consisted of flat, marshy ground that lead up to the steep, densely thicketed ravines of the Chemin des Dames ridge (180m in height). Camouflaged machine gun nests, backed-up by a network of underground bunkers, covered the treacherous, booby-trapped ground. The reverse-slope of the ridge provided ample protection for German artillery and infantry reserves. Furthermore, the weather had been cold, wet and windy for some time, the first day of the offensive itself being launched in a driving rainstorm. Tens[Continued on next page]of thousands of men were quickly mowed down by machine-gun,artillery and mortar fire. All along the line, the assault quickly ground to a halt after achieving only minimal gains.



The complete and utter failure of Nivelle’s Offensive came as more than just disillusion for the poilus; it was seen as a betrayal. Promised a breakthrough within three days, they had instead advanced roughly 500 yards in six days of hard fighting. Casualties were extreme: over 135,000 including 30,000 dead, most of which were suffered on the first day. The bitterness created by this disaster led the French army to its breaking point—the poilus had suffered enough. What one staff officer described as a “faithless army” engrossed in “moral nihilism” quickly led to an explosion of mass protest against command from the top down. No longer wishing to be used simply as cannon fodder, certain units in the rear refused to return to the front-line trenches. While they ultimately longed for peace, they also demanded better conditions of living, food, rest, and above all, regular leave. They would only attack if there were reasonable odds of success. The “mutinies” which officially involved some 40,000 men began on 17 April, with peaks in late May and early June, and continued at diminishing levels until January 1918. Groups of men ranging from a dozen to 2,000 mounted demonstrations that only occasionally led to scuffles and rioting. There are several isolated incidents of senior officers being assaulted or of colonial soldiers ordered to fire on rioting troops. In most cases regimental officers, who were often sympathetic to the mutineers views, played a mediating role between their men and their formation commanders. Historians today seem to agree that the mutinies can be more accurately described as “collective indiscipline”. Desertion rates rose dramatically: the average was 775 per month from 1 January to 15 April; 618 in the second two weeks of April; 1,291 for May; and a peak of 1,619 in June. Furthermore, there was an average of 22-23 executions a month from April to June, and this does not take into account the number of arbitrary executions done on the spot of men trying to desert.

Upon Pétain’s reappointment, conditions immediately began to improve, as he went about attempting to break down the excessively rigid hierarchical relationship of unquestioning obedience between superiors and subordinates. He also improved leave by establishing a long overdue, regularized system. Pétain refused to mount any more large-scale offensives (at least not until the Americans arrived) adopting instead a wholly defensive strategy. He instituted a system of “defense in depth,” where the main opposition to enemy attack was in the 2nd line with the 1st acting only to delay it. Defense did not equate to complete inactivity, though. He did sanction limited attacks on the firm grounds that they were very carefully prepared and would bring success proportionate to the casualties incurred. Demanding at least a 3 to 1 numerical superiority, together with massive artillery support, these attacks were to be launched suddenly and successively at different sections of the front. More than anything, these maneuvers essentially served a symbolic function, by providing the illusion of an active foe. The months of July to December 1917 saw sharp fluctuations in morale following the unfolding of various events. Throughout this period there remained a general longing for the end of hostilities. The arrival of fresh American troops helped to boost morale but in November it slumped badly upon Russia’s withdrawal from the war. Officers noted growing lassitude and moral and physical fatigue. Newly arriving conscripts, only in their teens, often broke down in tears of revulsion at the war’s brutality. Drunkenness on duty still remained serious. Soldiers who began strengthening their pinard with rum in 1916 were now additionally lacing it with ether as they went up to the front (a mixture called agnol). That morale recovered somewhat by the end of the year was most directly due to the victories at Verdun and Malmaison which served to restore confidence in the abilities of the High Command, Clemenceau’s strong determination as head of government, and Pétain’s reforms of daily life. French soldiers were enraged over German “scorched earth” policies in sectors from which they withdrew, along with ariel bombing of trenches and rest camps. These actions further set the poilus’ determination to fight on. Paradoxically, at the same time incidents of fraternization rose in the winter of 1917-18, with soldiers exchanging bread and wine for German tobacco and bacon. The presence of pacifist or defeatist trench journals at the front were banned with all papers having to be approved by divisional command. Though the French army had accrued another 480,000 casualties during the course of 1917, it proved to be the least bloody year of the entire war.

By 1918, there was a certain weary pride, a “confided fatalism” as one officer put it, in the rank and file. Another officer observed: "...the contrast between interminable columns of Americans—beardless youths closely packed in lorries, bare-headed and bare-chested, singing American songs at the top of their lungs and all radiating strength and health—with French regiments trudging along in faded uniforms, men wasted by years of war, reduced to bundles of nerves held together by willpower alone, their thin, sunken eyes shining with a dull fire." Like the previous year, morale in 1918 fluctuated greatly between despair and hope. Yet 1918 would also witness extraordinary examples of men, already believing that they had been pushed beyond their limit, nevertheless continuing to fight. The men truly believed this war to be the ‘der des der’ (“last of the last) for all time to come. If they could see this one through to the end and achieve victory, their children and all future generations would be spared from ever having to know the pain and misery of war. Amazingly, morale held up well during Lundendorff’s first March offensive, falling as it did mainly on the British and resulting in heavy Germany losses. The enemy’s advances were attributed to the failure of the British. The poilus’ opinions of their ally ranged from fury over evidence of looting by retreating units to beliefs that, deprived of his regular food, ablutions and regular leave, the ‘Tommy’ became demoralized. One poilu put it more generously when he remarked, “very brave but badly commanded.” By mid-April and early May morale hard started to decline as a result of continued fighting, casualties (by 2 May, 340,000), and, above all, fatigue. The more open style of fighting meant life in shell-holes and fox-holes instead of trenches, and often three weeks or more between changes of clothing or removing of boots. In the open, units suffered heavily from German artillery, aircraft, machine-guns and gas, as many as 70% in some battalions. Some front line units were composed almost entirely of reservists in their mid and late forties. Operational needs led to animmediate ending of all leave privileges. The indifference and depression were heightened by delays in the delivery of mail. “War, every day war. And death each day more fatal and inevitable,” wrote one soldier. Difficulties in food and water provision appeared (a proliferance of corpses were poisoning water supplies). Cases of Spanish flu mounted, men described themselves as walking corpses, and the number of suicides rose. There was further exasperation against politicians, war profiteers, “capitalists,” and the British army. Still, the will to fight managed to flickered on, though the Germans May Aisne offensive came close to snuffing it out. Once again home leave had to be totally suspended and fear of another winter of warfare renewed. Despite the men’s exasperation and discouragement, there was not complete collapse of morale like that affecting the German army. Fresh hatred against the Germans erupted in reaction to the ferocity of their attacks and their killing of prisoners. The French army mounted a tenacious defense. Many poilus—considering themselves to already be deadmen—placed their hopes for the future upon the resources of the Americans. First viewed with skepticism, the American troops were later respected after their success at Belleau Wood. The constant arrival of more and more Sammies or Chapeaux Mous (“Slouch Hats”), as they were alternately called, proved an incalculable boost on morale. This optimism was desperately needed in order to sustain the troops’ spirits through long forced marches in heat and rain and night. Rats, lice, mosquitoes, clothes unchanged for weeks on end, food supplies not reaching forward units, stomach illness and diarrhoea: all these factors took their toll on morale. Ernest Heinrichs an American with AEF was assigned to work conjointly with French soldiers as a message interceptor in listening stations at the front. In one particular episode, he illustrates perfectly the contrast between the youthful, energetic dough boy and the worn but tenacious poilu. When Heinrich protests that, if the Germans were to attack their position, they will surely be pulled out in advance of the subsequent French artillery bombardment, his French companion burst out in hysterical laughter. After the Frenchman composed himself, he explained calmly: “Heinrichs, I don’t want to alarm you too much, but you don’t know this war. We five men mean nothing to those in command...A hurricane of shells will be dropped here.”

The months of July to October 1918 would prove to be one of most physically and mentally demanding periods of the entire war. The men were constantly on the move and suffering heavy losses in the process. The casualty lists illustrate this point all too dramatically: 207,000 in July; 171,000 in August; 101,000 in September; and 133,000 in October. All the while, the soldiers sense of isolation from society increased still further. Daily miseries weighed heavily on their spirits. There was the cold, wet autumn weather coupled with an complete absence of any shelter; a lack of warm food or drink at the front; the disappointment at the limited American progress. This, combined with the Sammies “excessive (sexual) behavior”subsequently raising the rate of venereal disease, served to only increase the poilus’ irritation. At the same time, respect for the British suddenly returned following their success in Flanders.

Now and then, a unit that had been pushed too far would refuse to advance further. News of a possible armistice orchestrated by President Wilson aroused enormous attention in the ranks. Many foreseeing an end to the fighting took special care not to be among the last killed, albeit that French attacks continued up to the final moments. When the cease-fire did come on 11 November, the event was celebrated more behind the lines than at the front. The prevailing emotion in the shell-holes and trenches was simply one of profound relief. One soldier summed it up concisely: “This nightmare has disappeared.” Aside from relief, there was reflection—on the unimaginable number of men killed and on the thousands of mourning women and children who would not be rejoicing. Most German attempts to share in the celebration were rebuffed. There was a strong feeling among the poilus that final victory had been primarily the work of the French army. Casualties for 1918, the final year of conflict, were roughly1million. For the vast majority of rural French soldiers the war was far from being glorious and heroic; it was a common experience of suffering. They fought out of habit, resigned to their fate, with little concern for the political causes and aims. It was a solemn duty that had to be performed. With the only alternatives to the war being desertion and self-mutilation, submission to authority became submission to a grim destiny. On a daily level, indifference became a very state of mind. The profound relief of being alive at the end of it all led to the belief that peace counted above all else. Many Great War veterans later became pacifists believing that the pre-1914 notion of patriotic duty was bankrupt. Instead, it was associated with the war and all its suffering. The poilus returned to a society vastly changed and a civilian population seemingly indifferent to the hardships endured by those at the front. On 28 March 1918, Lt. Paul Tuffrau who served for the entire length of the war, was demobilized in Paris. The final entry in his journal read: “Life resumes, things are the same, we alone have changed.” The unfulfilled promises of government pensions or moreover a better world to come led to feelings of deception and resentment. In November 1939, Gen. Sir Alan Brooke observed an Armistice Day parade with French veterans. He noted: "What shook me the most, however, was the look in the men’s faces, disgruntled and insubordinate... and although ordered to give ‘eyes left’ hardly a man bothered to do so."

The wave of pacifism had taken its toll and would be passed on to the next generation of conscripted soldiers. This was to be one of the greater underlying causes of the 1940 collapse to come. --John Bracken

For more info on the Poilus, visit www.151RIL.com.

Sources: Audoin-Rouzeau, St phane and Annette Becker. 14-18: Understanding the Great War. Hill and Wang: New York, 2002. Clayton, Anthony. Paths of Glory: The French Army 1914-1918. Cassell: London, 2003. Heinrichs, Ernest H. ed. Ernest H. Heinrichs, Jr. Listening In: Intercepting German Trench Communications in World War I. White Mane Books: Schippensburg, PA, 1996.

Ousby, Ian. The Road to Verdun. Anchor Books: New York, 2002.

Lazare Ponticelli as the last?
So... should we just remove Pierre Picault, who appears to have neither an article, nor official recognition, with Lazare Ponticelli credited as the last poilu? Hiberniantears (talk) 03:37, 12 March 2009 (UTC)


 * I would say no. France's system of only including those who served 3+ months is a national, not an international, system. Internationally, Pierre Picault was a veteran. Ryoung 122 10:41, 12 March 2009 (UTC)


 * Okay, so you're implying that Pierre Picault served less than three months. Can that be added to the article if there's a source?  Having it implied second-hand on the discussion page is pretty confusing. Dean (talk) 14:41, 12 March 2009 (UTC)


 * The truth is more complicated than that. A French researcher intentionally withheld veteran claims cases from the French central government agency in a dispute over "credit". The researcher had previously supplied cases such as Rene Riffaud but the French gov't took credit for the "discovery." Picault apparently served from April 1918 (more than 3 months) and so should have been recognized. I didn't make a big deal out of this case, however, because I am informed that there is another anonymous case that remains, and will be revealed when he dies. Sort of like the "last Confederate widow," where each time the "last Confederate widow" has died, another has come forward (see Alberta Martin for example). Picault likely won't be the last. Ryoung 122 16:48, 12 March 2009 (UTC)

File:Alone at last2.jpg to appear as POTD soon
Hello! This is a note to let the editors of this article know that File:Alone at last2.jpg will be appearing as picture of the day on April 17, 2011. You can view and edit the POTD blurb at Template:POTD/2011-04-17. If this article needs any attention or maintenance, it would be preferable if that could be done before its appearance on the Main Page so Wikipedia doesn't look bad. :) Thanks!  howcheng  {chat} 20:34, 16 April 2011 (UTC)