Mother was the nickname of the first rhomboid tank, a gasoline-engined British behemoth designed to cross five-foot treches in 1916. Later iterations would have top turrets until the whole evolved into what we now call a tank. (Click on the picture to biggerize it.)
As an old tanker, I’ve always been fascinated by Mother. Due to her tiny compartment (most of the interior was taken up by the engine, the side guns and their ammunition) the crew of eight must have had a dreadful time: the constant noise, the nauseous fumes, the continual vibrations. And the rocking ride.
And for all her menacing appearance, a machinegun could puncture Mother’s boilerplate “armor.” For that matter, just one intrepid infantryman with a hand grenade or two slipped through a side opening could disable the whole thing, and everyone in it.
THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER 
Yes, indeed, more of a psychological weapon. Still, when one of these behemoths moved toward the trenches, it was making an impression.
Anyway, I would hate being in a tank almost as much as I hated sitting in an APC. Which is easily pierced by an 0.5 bullet.
I’m still searching for a memoir by someone who crewed Mother (about 150 were fielded) or one of her immediate rhomboid descendants. No luck so far.
Good luck with that — really. It would be an interesting read.
Starting off in the straight-leg infantry of the Marines, I remember well the tank-infantry tactics training which yielded our favorite term for the tank: ‘Bullet magnet’.
Most bullets ricochet off modern tank armor. But one infantryman with a grenade can still take one out, especially if the loader’s hatch is open
Which is why the accompanying Infantry wanted to be far away from the tank – all those ricochet bullets.
Not to mention the immobilization or utter destruction by a well-placed rocket-propelled grenade from one of the former Soviet Union’s several varieties. Tankers try to forget those, where possible.