We had a good time before we started fighting. The French people gave us everything they had—cigarettes, chocolate, grapes, everything imaginable. But it is a different France now the German pigs have burnt all the houses. It does seem a shame: Pte. A. Wilson, Bedfordshire Regiment.
“NO-o-o!”
We passed a wounded “Joey,” whose face was deathly white from suffering. He opened his eyes as we reached him, smiled, and called out in a faint voice, “Are we downhearted?” We called back a hearty “No!” that must have drowned the noise of the cannon, and then we gave three hearty cheers, just to liven things up: Pte. T. Ball, Royal Marine Light Infantry.
A Bold Front
Our colonel was a perfect gentleman, and under his gallant lead the Rangers set a bold front. In the midst of the bursting of the German projectiles his clear, stentorian voice rang out, “Rangers of Connaught, all eyes are upon you to-night. While you have fists and a heart within you charge them. If you don’t, never face me in this world nor in the next”: Pte. W. McConville, 2d Batt. Connaught Rangers.
“Shifting” Them
I tell you we were like a lot of schoolboys at a treat when we got the order to fix bayonets, for we knew we should shift them then. We had about 200 yards to cover before we got near them, and then we let them have it in the neck. It put you in mind of tossing hay, only we had human bodies: Pte. G. Bridgeman, 4th Royal Fusiliers.
Dug It Out
Stormed at all the way, we kept on, and no one was hit until we came to a white house which stood in a clearing. Immediately the officer passed the gap hell was let loose on us, but we got across safely, and I was the only one wounded, and that was with a ricochet shrapnel bullet in the right knee. I knew nothing about it until an hour after, when I had it pointed out to me. I dug it out with a knife: Private Smiley, at Mons.
“Stand Solid!”
The captain said, “Get up, men; stand solid.” We formed about six deep. Then we gave them the surprise of their lives. We could just see a black mass in front of our trenches, and we let out for all we were worth. We were like devils possessed. I could feel my bayonet go through something soft. Not a German got his foot in the trench. They ran down the slopes like rabbits, and to help them we gave them five rounds rapid: Pte. D. Hamilton, Royal Scots.
The Dying German
When I was hit I lay for hours on the ground, and got chummy with a German chap, who had got a nasty sabre cut in the head, as well as a bayonet stab in the kidneys, and was “booked through.” He knew his number was up, but he was as cheery as though he were at a wedding instead of a funeral.... Almost the last words he said were, “You’ll win this time, and you deserve to win your victory, but we’ll never forget or forgive, and some day a new Germany will avenge us”: A Welsh Private.
Disturbed!
We were having letters and parcels and our breakfast bacon issued out in the trenches when the Germans charged us and captured them. When we took the position again I found my parcel had been opened and the letters had been strewn all over the place. It was an awful slaughter of the Germans, for they were within 20 yards of us and we poured volleys into them. You ought to have heard them yell; it was like a wild-beast show let loose. They came through a thick wood, and that was the reason they got so close: Pte. Westfield, Worcestershire Regiment.
“Annie Laurie”
We were unable to sleep for the pouring rain, and sat at a big camp fire with hot tea and rum. The boys asked me to sing “Annie Laurie,” and I was never in better voice. When I finished there were officers, and even staff officers attracted from their billets, who had come over the field in the rain to join in. I need hardly add that they were nearly all Scotch, and “Annie Laurie” after all is to a Scot what the “Marseillaise” is to a Frenchman: A Bombardier of the Royal Field Artillery.
“Few! Few!”
We jumped out of our trenches at the command “Fix bayonets, charge!” Only a few of them stood and faced our bayonets, and Lord have mercy on that few! They were actually torn or cut to pieces. Those that ran away halted when they got to the sky-line, and there put up their hands and the white flag. We followed them up, and brought back six machine quick-firers and 324 prisoners. Those we captured had plenty of money, but no food of any kind: Pte. W. McGillicuddy, Irish Guards.
“Hard Neck”
There were forty-nine of us out as an advance guard for the regiment, and we were fired on. Of course, we wanted a shot at them, and we advanced, thinking it was a patrol, but we were not long in finding out that it was a whole German brigade we were into. We had to make a fight and check them, and we fairly peppered them for a while. Then we retired with the Germans at our heels. We got down 700 yards off them, and gave them some more; but we had to retire as the bullets were falling like rain. Fancy 25,000—it was only our “hard neck” that got us out of it: Pte. A. Kenaway, 2nd Batt. Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders.
Thank Goodness!
Just as we were entering the place a shot rang out and our leading man went down, shot through the heart, so all we could do was to turn round and gallop for it, which we did. I can tell you there were bullets flying in all directions. We had another man hit through the thigh, and four horses—two shot dead and two wounded. One of them had four bullets in him and still galloped. We had to thank our lucky stars the Germans are such bad shots, or they would have got the lot of us; and we have had the same luck with their shell fire: Corpl. T. Askew, 3rd King’s Own Hussars.
The Great Retreat
In five days we retired from Mons to Noyon, a distance of about 130 miles, fighting day and night, with no proper meals. We had to live on the country. I ate nothing but fruit and turnips. At last I was hit by a piece of shrapnel, which has taken away the use of the toes of my right foot and fractured three or four small bones. At the time it simply felt like a scald, and I marched seven miles before I found my foot was bleeding. Whilst trying to close the men up I suffered a second accident to my foot, a wagon-wheel passing over it owing to a skid: Colour-Sergeant Barling.
Outnumbered
Our little lot was waiting for the Germans in a turnip field. We were lying down, and on they came. We let fly, and numbers of them went down. They cracked at us then with their machine guns, and did us a good deal of damage. We were obliged to retire, but there was an off-and-on fight for at least twelve hours. We would get cover and have a smack at ’em, and with their great numbers and our good shooting we did tumble them over. But, my goodness! the numbers did keep coming on, and we had to go back. We advanced and pushed them back, but we were outnumbered again. We fell back, and a crush of us got separated from the rest. There were about sixteen of us, and we found ourselves beyond the German lines: A Private of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers.
“The Old British Way”
They have a trick of throwing masses of cavalry at our weakest infantry when they are either advancing in an exposed position or in retreat. They tried it on as often as they could, but what they don’t seem able to get over is the quick way in which the smallest party of our infantry will turn round and give them the bayonet. At first they came on all swagger, thinking they could cut our men down, but when they began to see what our chaps were up to they weren’t so keen on keeping it up. I have seen them coming on with great bluster and bounce until the order “Prepare to receive cavalry” was carried out in the old British way, and then they took to their heels as fast as their horses would carry them: A Corporal of the South Lancashire Regiment.
Covered with Straw
News reached our brigade that some of the Germans were making a stand not far in front of us. We at once scattered ourselves in the fields, and then advanced in extended formation until we could see them nicely. We fired a few rounds into them, and they beat a hasty retreat, but not before they had killed seven and wounded twelve. Our colonel was the first man shot, and he died the next morning. After the dead had been collected and the wounded attended to we again got on the move, and I shall never forget how I felt as I passed my dead comrades on the road. They had been laid by the roadside, and their faces covered with straw: Bandsman T. Woodward, Loyal North Lancashire Regiment.
Nothing to be Seen
The disconcerting thing in battle nowadays is that you may be fighting for hours on end and never as much as see an enemy to grapple with. We lay for ten hours with rifle fire dropping around us like raindrops in a heavy shower. The roar of the guns was always there, like the thunder that you hear in a big storm, and you could see one long line of little white puffs of smoke away in the horizon every time the Germans fired. Beyond that you couldn’t see anything, and it was only an odd sting in the arm or leg or head from a bullet that made you realize you were in battle: Corporal of the Connaught Rangers.
“A Horrible Trade-mark”
I have had two horses shot under me, so you can see my time hasn’t come yet. Our men are wonderfully fit and fight like the very devil. We have lost two of our young officers, and I am wearing a pair of riding-breeches which belonged to one of them. I have been sharing a pipe for a fortnight with one of my troopers. Things are going well with us, and we are giving the Germans all they want, and a little more besides. But there are such hordes of men that it’s a case of shooting one line down when along comes another. They are cursed cowards, and will not meet our cavalry in the open. Their shells are our worst trouble; they don’t give you half a chance, for you can’t see them coming, and they leave such a horrible trademark: A Squadron-Major of the Royal Horse Guards.
Blown Sky High
It is not only on sea that the Germans make use of mines. They do it on land. Nearly all the approaches to their trenches are mined for about two hundred yards, and even one thousand yards. One day an infantry battalion of ours, supported by French infantry and cavalry, fought their way right up to the enemy’s trenches and were formed up for the last rush, when suddenly the earth under them gave way with a terrific explosion, and the air was thick with bodies blown sky high. Our own men seemed to get very little damage, though many of them were stunned for the time being by the awful explosion. After a time they were re-formed, and swept across the intervening space with a ringing cheer that told its own story. The Germans were ready for them, and they had a hard tussle to clear the trenches, but they succeeded in the end: A Lance-Corporal of the Lincolnshire Regiment.
Rescued!
Several of us got separated from our company at St. Quintin. After tramping about twelve miles we reached a farmhouse. The farmer gave us two chickens, a piece of bacon, and some potatoes, and we were just sitting down to a meal after a long fast when a body of Uhlans came round the corner. We hadn’t even time to reach our rifles. They rode straight at us, and one knocked me over. As I got up he turned his horse back and, taking his foot from his stirrup, kicked me in the mouth, displacing all my teeth. After I was taken prisoner I was kicked all over the body. Just as they were marching us off a patrol of British cavalry came on the scene. The Uhlans did not attempt to meet them, but immediately rode off. We were greatly relieved at the turn of events, but I was so badly injured by the Germans that I was sent to hospital: Private Goulder.
A “Sensational Feeling”
There came a terrible sensational feeling over me. I shall never forget it. I knew it was the smartest man wins. Off we started at the trot and I was gradually getting confidence, and by the time the charge sounded I felt as if I didn’t care. Consequently the “devil-may-care” crowd won easily. Then we had to rally and ride down on them again, as they were about twice our strength, but it was an easier job than the first one, as they were more or less dumbfounded at our madness. Well, at the end of the second run there wasn’t one left standing. Oh, I saw one fellow get up and lurch and over he toppled again: Corpl. Leather, 2nd Dragoon Guards.
“Silence Those Guns!”
Quite the worst sight I saw was when a big mass of French infantry were advancing to clear the front of our position, where the Germans had been gathering in strength. They were coming along at the double, carrying everything before them, when, without the slightest warning, German batteries posted under the shelter of a wood opened fire upon them with a deadly shower of shrapnel and machine-gun bullets. The long advancing line seemed to contract like a frog does when you stick a pin in it, and it isn’t any exaggeration to say that you could hear the shells cutting through their closely packed ranks just like the scythe cuts through the grass. The men went down by the hundred until they opened in extended order. Then they made a rush for the position where the guns were, and though they were galled by a heavy infantry fire, and were attacked by both infantry and cavalry at nearly every step of the way, they ultimately fought their way along and silenced those guns: A Lance-Corporal of the Royal Irish Fusiliers.
Playing at Soldiers!
The Germans came on us like a great mob. They were as close as 100 yards or less in a mango field on several occasions, but we drove them back each time with severe losses. It was hot work, but the boys have plenty of courage. They delight in seeing them come along, for it is great sport to see them running back again when we start to shake them up. They don’t seem to have any sore feet. They run back like hares or else they chuck in. Tell any of the boys around that if they want to see some sport and what real fighting is to join and come out to us and not be playing at soldiers at home drilling with wooden sticks. Well, I hope you are all well at home. If it be God’s will to let us meet once more; if not, dear mother, do not grieve, for your boys will do the best they can to serve our King and country, and by doing what we believe is God’s will. Always think kind of a soldier, as I know you do: Sergeant T. R. Kenny.
Kept the Guns
A battery advancing against the Germans during one of the hot fights was suddenly pounced on by the enemy from a position we never thought them to be in, and half the men and all the horses were shot down before you could have said the shortest of prayers, and the German cavalry came rushing out of a wood close by to seize the guns. Fortunately some of our own men were near at hand, and they were quickly formed up round the guns. They fired into the Germans, and drove them back. Then a big body of infantry had a try at getting the guns away, but our chaps tackled them with the bayonet, and for about an hour the fight round those guns was as hot as anybody could stand. The two sides kept swaying each other backwards and forwards like a couple of tug-of-war teams, and then, just for variety I suppose, the German artillery chipped in, and they cut up their own chaps much more than they hurt ours. Finally our infantry got disentangled from the Germans, were strongly reinforced, and with a grand bayonet charge cleared the whole lot of the Germans away from the guns. Horses were brought out and the guns were removed to a point of safety without further trouble: Pte. T. Molloy, Royal Garrison Artillery.
Taking Risks
Our officer asked for a man to go with him to blow a bridge up, so that the Germans could not follow us, and I went with him. All our men had retired. Well, to blow a bridge up we use gun-cotton and a wire fuse. It is safe enough if you take your wire well away, but this time it would not work. The men in running back had stepped on the wire, so we had to go nearer to the bridge and try again. Then it would not act, so the officer said to me, “Go back, Wells.” I said, “No, I’ll go with you.” We were the only two on the bridge, and the Germans were shooting at us, but our luck was in. Well, we both lay down, and I fired ten rounds with my rifle, and he did the same with his pistol, and then it would not work. If it had we should both have gone up with it, so you see what a near shave we had. We made a dive back and got some more gun-cotton, and we were making to have another go when an officer called us back and told us it was no use us trying, so we came back: Sapper Wells, Royal Engineers.
Broke the Line
The welcome order to fix bayonets and charge came at last, and we didn’t lose much time in getting at them, As we finished the last lap of our race for their trenches they concentrated a fiendish fire on us, but that didn’t stop us at all, and we reached their trenches at last with a wild whoop that must have struck terror to their hearts. For the first time in my experience they made a desperate attempt to repel us with the bayonet. Their weight seemed enough to hurl us back, but we stuck to them like leeches, and at last their line began to waver. They were stretched across the trenches in one long line, and when one man fell another slipped into his place. Near the centre we made a break in the line, and then the whole lot gave way, running like hares, and throwing down their arms as they ran. We bayoneted them by the score as they ran, and shot them down in dozens until we were completely used up. Their officers made many attempts to rally them, but it was no good, and those who could not get away surrendered rather than face any more of it: A Non-commissioned Officer of the Irish Guards.
A “Hot Shop”
Where we were posted was a hot shop, and for a week the Germans had been treating us to night attacks. It was long past our time for standing treat in return, and we weren’t surprised one night when we were paraded and marched out in the direction of where the Germans had been firing from all day. In the pitch darkness it was slow work, and the men had to be halted every few minutes to enable the guides to take their bearings from the few stars that were overhead. By three o’clock we were resting on a slight slope leading up from a stream, when the scouting parties ahead reported movements in front. A few minutes after that we stumbled right on top of a big body of Germans stealing along as quietly as we had come, and evidently trying a surprise attack on our camp. You can bet your last half-crown that we didn’t wait to ask if their intentions were honourable. We just shot right into them, and the ball was opened in fine style. Before they had time to think what was happening, we had fixed bayonets and were charging down on them. We swept them off their feet and right down the other side of the slope in confusion: A Lance-Corporal of the Cameron Highlanders.
“Talk About Excitement!”
It was like going to a football match, cracking jokes and singing all the ragtimes we knew. All our fellows knew what depended upon the result, and that only made them the more determined. But it was determination in the best of spirits. And how our fellows did fight, with always a joke handy and utter fearlessness. The Germans looked like a forest approaching, but that didn’t daunt us, and our artillery replied to theirs with interest. For hour after hour it was one continuous stream of shot and shell. Their artillery was the best part about them, their individual firing being poor, but our artillery was far better, though their biggest guns created the most havoc among our ranks. Talk about excitement, it was all excitement from the beginning and during the retirement. There was nothing else for us to do. It was a rare hot time. We were working for concentration the whole time, and there is no doubt about it, our orders were the best possible under the circumstances. The Germans were making a mark of us all along, but directly we got our chances we let them have it: A Private, at Mons.
Balaclava Style
The firing suddenly ceased, and through the smoke we saw the German infantry creeping along the fire-scorched grass. They were heading for a stream on which our right rested, and were coming on with an easy, confident swing, when we got the order to mount our horses, which had been lying ready by our sides all through the shelling. We chased the Germans for about a mile, and cut them to ribbons, and then we ran full-tilt into their cavalry supports, who were drawn up by the wayside in wait for us. The impetus of our charge carried us past them, and they closed up along the road in our rear to bar our way back, evidently thinking they had only to say the word and we would set out for Berlin like so many Sunday-school children out for their treat. This was the first time we had any experience of German cavalry, getting in our way of their own accord, but wonders never cease in war, and we just took it as it came. We charged into them in our best Heavy Brigade Balaclava style, and gave them a fine cutting up. They didn’t want very much of it, and soon cleared off into the fields: A Trooper of the Royal Irish Dragoons.
A Night Surprise
One night we were moving out to take up a new position, when we suddenly came on a big force of Germans occupying a strong position right across the road along which we had to march. Soon the still night air brought the sound of marching men further up the road, and as the new force came nearer, we found that they were French troops moving to effect a junction with the force we were going to reinforce. The Germans had somehow got wind of the move, and were preparing a little surprise for the French. They were so cocksure about their rear that they had not taken the ordinary precautions, and as we had moved quietly they were in ignorance of our presence within easy rifle shot. Just when they were getting ready for the attack on the oncoming French force the order to fire was passed along our ranks quietly, and we let drive right into them. They were absolutely panic-stricken, and fled in terror along the road, right into the arms of the French. The impetuosity of their rush, and its unexpected character, threw the French infantry into disorder for a time, and when we moved forward the French at first took us for Germans, and were getting ready to fire on us. At great personal risk an officer and two men rushed towards the French force with a white flag and explained things. Then we were all right, and you may believe me we generally are all right: A Private of the Cameron Highlanders.
No Fight Left
A party of the Royal Irish Lancers were out scouting and patrolling one day, when a sergeant-major and a trooper who were ahead came on a long, straggling line of German transport wagons loaded up, and under a happy-go-lucky escort. The Lancers, though they didn’t know it, had cut into the enemy’s line of retreat. The men were got together quickly, and they moved up the road to where there was an ideal spot for ambushing the convoy. It had to pass over a narrow stone bridge that was commanded by a clump of trees, in which our men were able to take shelter and hide their horses. The escort with the wagons was at least five times the strength of the squadron of Lancers, but that didn’t trouble them very much. They waited until the head of the column was straggling across the bridge, and then they emptied their carbines into them along a wide front that gave the impression of great force. The Germans were taken completely by surprise. Their horses started to rear and plunge, and many men and animals went over into the stream, being carried away. The motor wagons could not be stopped in time and they crashed into each other in hopeless confusion. Into this confused mass of frightened men and horses and wagons that ran amok the Lancers now charged from two separate points. The Lancers made short work of the escort at the head of the column, and the officer in command agreed to surrender all that was under his direct control, though he said he couldn’t account for the rearguard. When we came up on motors to seize a position for the purpose of heading off the Germans in retreat, we found the Lancers waiting there with all their spoil, and getting ready to receive the rest of the escort in case it should show fight. There wasn’t much fight left in them, and they surrendered at sight, giving up the whole supply column: A Private of the Cameronians.
All Sorts of Sacrifices
Along the Aisne the Germans made some absolutely desperate attempts to break through our line, and they counted no sacrifice too great to achieve their end. One day I saw a brigade of theirs caught in a deadly trap. There was a gap in our lines between one of our brigades and the nearest French force. The Germans made a sudden dash for that gap under cover of their artillery, and, though they were exposed to a heavy fire that cut deep lines through their ranks, they came steadily on. They had nearly reached their goal when a sudden movement of British reserves on the left brought a fierce attack on the Germans from the rear. At the same time the Germans were fired on from our men and the French on either flank. They had either to continue their forward march, with the certainty of disaster, or turn and try to hew their way out again through our reserves. They chose the latter course, and their artillery tried to back them up in every possible way. Owing to the disposition of forces it was a risky job to keep up artillery fire, and soon the shells began to do as much damage among the Germans as to the British or French. The Germans kept falling back under the double fire, and at the same time great clouds of cavalry came moving out in support of their retirement. The British force taking the Germans in the rear was now in danger of being taken in the rear itself, but reinforcements were hurried out, and our cavalry began the work of pressing back the German cavalry advancing to the assistance of their trapped infantry. Now the air was thick with fighting men, and the cries of the combatants were deafening. The retreating Germans kept moving steadily towards their oncoming cavalry, dropping men by the hundred as they retreated, but just when they seemed to have reached their goal our infantry were on them, and they were hurled against the French position on the right. After this there was nothing for it but to cut and run, and what looked to be one of the best brigades of the German army was soon nothing more than a mass of panic-stricken men flying in quest of a hiding-place from the fire by which they were assailed. In their flight they cast aside arms and equipment or anything likely to impede their rush. For half a mile in front of our position there were piles of dead and dying to testify to the terrible execution done by our artillery and rifle fire, and that repulse saw the end of the German attempts to break through our line at that particular point: A Motor-Cyclist Dispatch-Rider.
XII. IN THE TRENCHES
There was a Frenchman hit by a shell, so me and “Smosh” got a stretcher and ran out and fetched him to safety, and the shells were bursting all around us. But we have been lucky enough to miss them up to now. It isn’t war out here; it’s murder: Pte. W. Commons, Royal Army Medical Corps.
Sniping!
The Germans have some very good snipers, but the Duke’s have better. We used to take it in turn to do sniping. It is just like going out rabbit-shooting. You see a German crawl out of his trench, up goes your rifle and over he rolls. Then you say, “That’s a bit of our own back for the way you have been treating the French people”: Sergt. Clark, Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry.
The Bayonet!
One night after a very hard day in the trenches, when we were wet to the skin, we had lighted fires to dry our tunics, and were at it when we heard firing along our front, and then the Germans came at us like madmen. We had to tackle them in our shirt-sleeves. It was mainly bayonet work, and hard work at that: Corporal Casemont, Irish Fusiliers.
A Good Sleeper
There are six of the boys playing cards now, some are peeling spuds for dinner, the rest are having a sleep. We have a hole dug in a bank, and we only get in when the shrapnel gets a bit too close, to get out of sight of aeroplanes, and to sleep, night-times. My chum only wakes up grub-times and when he does guard: Corpl. H. Smith, King’s Royal Rifles.
Those Apples
We are living in trenches here, all merry and gay. We are being shelled by the enemy with shrapnel, but they are not doing much damage at present. There are apple-trees over our trench, and we have to wait till the Germans knock them down for us. You ought to see us scramble down our holes when we hear a shell coming: Private G. Caley, of Manor Park.
Four Feet Down
We are in a trench made by ourselves (patented), four feet down, and covered with sticks and straw, and are quite comfortable for a while, until we move again. We get plenty to eat, as there is any amount of vegetables growing around us, but bread is like gold, so we have to content ourselves with biscuits: Bandsman Ryan, Royal Irish Fusiliers.
Its Billet
My best chum was lying by my side, and we were firing shot after shot. Soon after dusk, when the firing was not so brisk, my chum asked me for a drink of water, and I had none. I asked, “Why, what’s the matter?” He replied, “I think I am dying.” I bound him up, but a quarter of an hour later he had gone: Private Pemberton.
Taking a German
One big wounded German cried out from the trench in which he laid to a R.A.M.C. man who was at work near by, “Take me from this hell. I will give you all my money.” In due course he was taken from the trench (grave, as it really was, because of the heaps of dead lying in it), and was finally removed to a place where I was lying: Bandsman Boyd, 2nd Welsh.
Another Rocket
We have been living the life of rabbits, for we burrowed ourselves in trenches, and here we remained for over fifty hours. It was an exciting and not unpleasant experience. The bursting of shells overhead was continuous, and it became monotonous. To the youngsters it was an awful experience in the earlier stages, but even they became so accustomed to the roar overhead that they raised a cheer each time shrapnel and shell spoke, making such remarks as “There’s another rocket, John”: Pte. C. Harris, West Kents.
Too Late!
The Germans don’t seem to care how much ammunition they waste. They kept blazing away for nine solid hours at a position which we had left the day before. When some of us visited the abandoned trenches after they had discovered their mistake we were astonished to find the ground covered with bullets that had done absolutely no damage. If it wasn’t for their artillery I really don’t know where they would be, for they are little use at any other form of fighting: Private Edward Strong.
Might Shake Hands
There are times when if you stuck your head out of a trench you could no more help being hit than you could expect to escape drops of rain if you went out on a wet day without an umbrella. You will not be able to see a German when darkness comes, but next morning you will find that the trenches have come so close, owing to the exertions of the two sides, that you could reach out of yours and shake hands with a German—that’s if you wanted to. When things get so close as that there’s nothing for it but to set to and shift the beggars a little further along: A Driver of the Royal Artillery.
A Football Talk
You musn’t run away with the idea that we all stand shivering or cowering under shell fire, for we don’t. We just go about our business in the usual way. If it’s potting at the Germans that is to the fore, we keep at it as though nothing were happening, and if we’re just having a wee bit of a chat among ourselves until the Germans come up, we keep at it all the same. When I got my wound in the leg it was because I got too excited in arguing with wee Geordie Ferris, of our company, about Queen’s Park Rangers and their chances this season: A Private of the Gordon Highlanders.
Feeling Led
As I write shells from heavy guns are whining overhead, and the roar from the gun’s mouth as well as the roar of shells exploding is behind and before. And (pause!) we are used to it! We are used to raining; used to going without washes for days; used to driving German columns back; used to mud, cold nights, and a terrific quantity of detail that varies from day to day. We have a knack of sticking to what we gain, and there you can feel proud of us all. For we ought to be swamped by superiority of numbers and guns. But our methods under fire are, if not perfect, very good. We are officered by excellent men, and we can feel led. You will understand: A Private of the Bedfordshire Regiment.
Walnuts and Guards
Out here I have seen the finest and saddest sights of my life. You see some amusing incidents as well. The Germans were shelling a field opposite to us for an unknown reason, for there were only a few dead cows there. Some of our chaps were getting walnuts, and the German shells were knocking walnuts down and the men were picking them up. During the first day of the battle here two of our companies were acting as right-flank guard to the brigade, and we encountered the Kaiser’s famous Prussian Guards. We were greatly outnumbered, and our commanding officer told us that we killed five of theirs to one of ours. They were finely built fellows and a great height: Lance-Corpl. J. Ryall, 1st King’s Royal Rifles.
Banging Away
When I opened your parcel we were banging away, and I thought how different a place it was tied up in. The fags—what a treat!—the chocolates, papers, and pipe. The last, by the way, is worth quids, for the troops have just had an issue of tobacco, and not many pipes are available; they get lost or broken. One thing we are short of, and that is matches. We all mark time on someone lighting up, and there’s a great rush on that one match: A Trooper of the Royal Horse Guards.
All’s Fair!
They say all is fair in love and war, but it’s awful to see those deadly shells flying over our head and sometimes putting some of our pals out of action. But, thank God, the wounded are picked up as soon as possible, and treated with every care that both women and men nurses can provide. In fact, I have seen men who have been badly wounded with a smile on their faces as though nothing had happened, and even while I am writing these few words under difficulty our boys are laughing and joking and singing as if we were at a picnic, and I am sure they feel quite as happy as if they were at one in reality: Pte. B. Marshall, 1st Batt. Loyal North Lancashires.
Unnerving!
Every soldier knows that the first experience of being under fire is terribly unnerving, and the best of men will admit that at times they are tempted to run away. There was a young lad of the Worcestershire Regiment who had this feeling very badly, but he made up his mind that he would conquer it, and this is what he did: he made it a practice to go out of the trenches and expose himself to German fire for a bit every day. The poor boy trembled like a leaf, but his soul was bigger than the weak little body holding it, and he went through that terrible ordeal for a week: A Sergeant of the York and Lancaster Regiment.
Caps and Helmets
In the first lot of trenches our men put their caps and helmets on the top, to give the enemy the impression we were still there. Believing the trenches were actually occupied, the Germans shelled the position for three-quarters of an hour before their cavalry discovered the ruse. Meanwhile the men in the second trenches had also placed their helmets on top, but they did not go away, and the Germans, deceived, approached within a comparatively few yards, when they were met by a tremendous volley and practically wiped out: Pte. Shepherd, 1st Lincolnshire Regiment.
Spectral
I saw the German trenches as the French guns left them. They were filled with dead, but with dead in such postures as the world has never seen since the destroying angel passed above the Philistine camp in that avenging night of Scripture. It was as though some blight from Heaven had fallen upon them. There they stood in line, rifles to shoulder, a silent company of ghosts in the grey light of dawn. It was as if a deep and sudden sleep had overtaken them—only their eyes were open. They might have been there from all eternity thus, their rifles at rest: Anonymous.
Buried Alive
Have you any idea what a trench is like? It is simply a long cutting such as the gasmen make when laying pipes—about 5 ft. deep and 2 ft. wide. You are packed in, standing room only. No chance of a wash, or proper rest. They are supposed to shelter you from rifle shots and bits of bursting shell. Every day two or three are killed or wounded. There is another danger, too. I had an experience of it yesterday. A big shell burst in our trench, and two men and I were completely buried by the sides of the trench being blown in. It was an awful feeling being buried alive and slowly suffocating. I wished the shell had hit me, while I was underneath. Our chaps dug us out just in time, thank God: Sergt. Saward, Royal West Kent Regiment.
Cut and Thrust
The German trenches are marvellous. They are dug right into the ground, and you might walk over them for hours without guessing that there were men hidden away in them. The wonder is how they manage to fire at all from them, but I dare say they are quite effective against shell fire, and, what’s more important still, they make it very hard for our aeroplanes to spot the Germans and form any estimate of their strength. We are not one whit behind them in making trenches, and you might say that the whole fight out here is simply a matter of digging trenches right up so close that the other fellow has to run. It’s dull work, but it’s enlivened now and then by little fights by day and night, when the Germans rush out to surprise us or our generals think it well to push the enemy a little further back: A Corporal, at the Aisne.
Robinson Crusoe
I lost a few good chums. My ’listing chum was almost blown to pieces. He belonged to Newcastle, and was always laughing. He had to be buried under shell fire. We had many a good starving for water, food, and tobacco. Talking about tobacco, we had to smoke our tea. I smoked two tea allowances, and we had a tin box of tea leaves, which we took out of a kettle, drying it on our trench tops. Now a little about the trenches. Robinson Crusoe wasn’t in it. Our regiment was in them eight days without a hot drink, without a wash, shave, or a decent bit of food. We could not get stuff up there, as there was too much shell fire from the German side, and our transport could not get stuff up as the bridge over the Aisne was broken: Pte. Gray, Northumberland Fusiliers.
Swarms of Them
We had dug trenches and were waiting for something to happen when a German aeroplane came high over our lines. Then came a rain of shells from a wood. The enemy were about a mile and half away, but they got the range to a nicety. People who say that the German artillery fire is no good simply don’t know what they are talking about. I can only figure it out as being something worse than the mouth of hell. The Germans treated us to shell cross-fire, and a piece of shell hit my rifle—smash! I pitched forward in the trench, the muzzle part of the rifle went into my groin, and I got a lovely bang with another bit of shell across the leg. The Germans came out of the wood in swarms—just as if a hive had been overturned and all the bees were let loose. I thought my number was up: Private J. Stiles.
Moving!
We congratulated ourselves that we had got nice cover from which we could work with the rifle and for bayonet charges. At night we slept in the trenches, but at daybreak we were shelled out of them in practically no time. It was a bit of irony—such splendid trenches, and to be shelled out of them like that by the Germans. They watched us work, and then just let us have it lovely. It is no use saying the Germans are a “rotten lot” as fighters, because I think their artillery is very fine. German aeroplanes were on top of us, and found us out every time. They worked well, helping their troops and giving the guns the range: A Private of the 1st Cheshires.
Come On!
We had a whole day of it in the trenches with the Germans firing away at us all the time. It began just after breakfast, and we were without food of any kind until we had what you might call a dainty afternoon tea in the trenches under shell fire. The mugs were passed round with the biscuits and the “bully” as best we could by the mess orderlies, but it was hard work getting through without getting more than we wanted. My next-door neighbour, so to speak, got a shrapnel bullet in his tin, and another two doors off had his biscuit shot out of his hand. We are now ready for anything that comes our way, and nothing would please us better than a good big stand-up fight with the Germans on any ground they please: Private G. Ryder.
Brave Deeds
I am glad to see so many of our boys recommended for rewards of various kinds and mentioned in dispatches. What I fear is that one-tenth of the brave deeds done by men in the ordinary course of their duty will never be heard of. Many of the men themselves are so modest that they can’t bear the publicity associated with it, and I had a man come to me with tears in his eyes to beg me not to tell any officer what he had done. He was lying in the trenches one day with a mug of milk that he had brought from a farm under fire, when he noticed a wounded Dorset casting eyes at it. Though he was sorely in need of it himself, he got up and said, “You have it, old chap. I’ll get another.” Out he raced through the terrible storm of shot and shell, and came back again white as a sheet, with another mug in his trembling hand. He had been hit badly in coming back: A Sergeant of the Liverpool Regiment.
“Shifting Them!”
One morning, just about cockcrow, there was a fearful din outside our more or less private apartments in the trenches, where I had been snatching two winks after three days and nights’ hard. The Germans were on us, and two minutes after the alarm we were under fire. They had crept up very close under cover of darkness, and were in trenches not more than three hundred yards away. They must have driven out our chaps who were in them, and we got orders to retake the trenches. There was no fancy work about it. We were rushed forward in companies. One half of each company would rush forward for a few yards, about twenty, while the second half lay on the ground firing at the enemy. Then the first half would lie down and fire while the second took up the running. In that way we got to the trenches with very little loss, and commenced shifting them in the way our chaps always shift undesirables from any place we want. They were well entrenched, and it was like digging them out with the bayonets. We got them out in the end: A Corporal of the Durham Light Infantry.
Bullets and “Footer”
We are a light-hearted lot, and so are our officers. We dug out for them a kind of a subterranean mess-room, where they took their meals. One fellow decorated it with some cigarette cards and pictures he cut out of a French paper. The food they get is not exactly what would be supplied to them at the Hotel Cecil. A jollier and kinder lot you would not meet in a day’s march. One officer, who was well stocked with cigarettes, divided among his men, and we were able to repay him for his kindness by digging him out from his mess-room. A number of shells tore up the turf, and the roof and sides fell in like a castle built of cards, burying him and two others. They were in a nice pickle, but we got them out safe and sound. During the time we were in these trenches nearly 500 shells burst over and around us, but, as the protection was so good, not a single chap was killed, and less than a dozen were wounded. When we were able to get into the open air once more and stretch our legs, it was then we realized what we had been subjected to, for the ground was literally strewn with burst shells. If all goes well we are going to have a football match to-morrow, as I have selected a team from our lot to play the Borderers, who are always swanking what they can do: Pte. Harris, West Kent Regiment.
Gallant Frenchmen
In a little village near to Soissons, where I got my wound, there was a half-battalion of Frenchmen posted with some machine guns to hold a position, and their instructions were that they were not to yield an inch to the Germans no matter what happened. For two days and nights they fought their corner against ten times their own number of Germans, but on the third night the enemy concentrated all their spare guns on the village, and followed that up with a ferocious attack from all arms. The Frenchmen shot away till their arms ached, and their heads burned, and their throats were parched with thirst, and they were weak with hunger. They could not stop that ceaseless rush of Germans, who had orders to take the village or die. Step by step the French were forced back, and at last those left were driven into some farm buildings, where they took shelter. These were set on fire after a time, and the men, who would not surrender, had no other choice but to rush out and be shot down as they came. They did that, and next day we arrived to find the Germans in possession. We cleared them out after a hard fight, however, and helped to make things square: A Gunner of the Royal Artillery.
Hoist!
Quite the most awful thing I ever set eyes on was early one morning, close to Soissons. The Germans had taken up a position of great strategical value, and entrenched themselves so cleverly that nothing on earth seemed to shift them. They had got to be shifted, however, and, because we didn’t make any attempts to do it by direct attack, they got a bit “chesty,” and fancied themselves quite secure. All the while our engineers were feverishly at work night and day, carefully burrowing their way through the ground to where the Germans were. One morning everything was ready. We opened fire, and a feint was made against the position. The Germans stood to arms behind their trenches, and kept firing at us. We knew what was coming, and didn’t press too closely, but just at the appointed time there was a terrible roar in front, and a great big cloud of earth, stones, and the mangled limbs of men and horses shot up into the sky. The mine which our mud-larks had been preparing for so long had been sprung at last, and the German defenders of the trenches saw for themselves that it is not always the open foe that is to be feared most. For yards around that position the sight was a sickening one. Many of the defenders were torn limb from limb, and the cries of those who remained alive were awful. I never saw anything to equal it, except on one occasion when I was in a pit explosion in the North: A Corporal of the Coldstream Guards.
“One Red Burial Blent”
The Germans are getting up to all the tricks of the trade so far as making themselves secure against infantry or shell fire is concerned. At first they didn’t seem to mind what happened, and were always on the move just to walk over us, but when they found that it took two to make a bargain in the walking-over line they began to get more cautious, and now they get into holes in the ground that would make you think you had gone out rabbit-hunting if it weren’t for the size of the game when you catch them. Their trenches are mighty deep, and you can’t always say rightly what’s in them. There was a chap of the Warwicks who went peeping into one of these holes the other day, and before he knew what to think he found himself looking down the muzzle of a German rifle. He got out of the way with only a little nick in the arm, but he might have lost his life. They had the dickens of a job to ferret that German out of his place, but they did get him out, though it was only to put him in again, as he wouldn’t surrender, and his pit came in handy for a grave: Gunner Hughes, of the Royal Field Artillery.