Diary extracts - Private John Howard.
Tom Barnes 11MJT
Private John Howard
28th August 1914
Well a rather queer thing happened to me today, I joined the British Army. Well over the past few weeks I have been hearing random comments about war in Germany, I just thought that this was a load of twaddle so I did not look into it any further. I got into work today and sat down at my desk when I heard a fearful roar, I opened up the window and looked outside. To my astonishment there was a line of young men, some even younger then me, from the City Hall to even where I could not see. I shouted down at a young boy. 'You there, what in blazes is going on?' and he replied in a hearty voice 'It is war sir, all the men are joining the army.' Well that took me back a bit, I ran down as fast as I could to the floor below to tell my chums Albert, Edward who were brothers, and Scott about what I had just heard but when I got there they was already leaving. I asked them what they were doing and they just replied 'My duty.' Then they left. I decided to follow them because I had no idea what they were talking about and to my amazement they joined the queue for the army. I walked up to them and they pulled me into the line and said 'good lad, I knew you would see sense.'
Around two hours passed and we were still buzzing with excitement, and then we got to the front of the queue, with Albert, Scott and Edward in front of me. The old man I saw behind the desk grinned as we approached him and the first thing he said was 'Good morning chaps, have you come to serve your King and country for Honour, not just your own, no no no, for the honour of the British Empire.' I was enlightened by his words and thought that enlisting would be the honourable thing to do. Albert and Scott approached, said their names and their ages, 20 and 19, then Edward came up and said he was 17, the old man, tutted then leaned into the face of the boy, 'did I hear you wrong or did you say you was 19?' Edward looked confused for a moment then a big smile came across his face and he nodded. I approached the man and proudly shouted 'Jonathon Howard, sir, I am 20 years old and want to enlist.' He smiled and shook my hand, and then I left. It was only later that when I opened my hand I saw a shilling in there, and the other boys did to, well after that we said our farewells and I ran home to tell my mother and father.
As usual my father was sitting in his rocking chair by the fire and when I ran into the house he looked at me and frowned 'I got a visit from your boss, boy, and he said you did not come in today. I told him I would give you a beating and darn well I will.' I hate it when my father uses such course language but then I did not mind, I opened my hand in front of him and a huge swelling of pride swept onto his face. He shook my hand and said 'Today ...
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As usual my father was sitting in his rocking chair by the fire and when I ran into the house he looked at me and frowned 'I got a visit from your boss, boy, and he said you did not come in today. I told him I would give you a beating and darn well I will.' I hate it when my father uses such course language but then I did not mind, I opened my hand in front of him and a huge swelling of pride swept onto his face. He shook my hand and said 'Today son, you are a man' then he ran off to tell my mother who was busy making a shepherds pie. My mother shuffled into the room and her face was enveloped with fear, I do not understand why because I have done something which I believe is honourable and fills me with pride. Mother just said one thing 'If you die I will never forgive myself, but I will always be proud of you.' Well after the morning I had I was so hungry I could eat a horse and we sat down to our shepherds pie and nothing more was said on the subject.
6th January 1915
Today I am sitting down at the top of the trench and thinking about my mother, I miss her terribly. Scott told me earlier he missed his step-mother also and then laughed and said 'do not worry John, this war can not last much longer.' I grinned at him and I believe the same, if the war is not over by May then I will eat my hat and that is a promise. Life in the trenches is a far step from my humble cottage, all I can see now are miles upon miles of trenches and a few trees. When I got to France I looked around and saw miles of lush grass, trees and birds, now most of the grass is gone yet there are still some patches with the odd tree, but no birds and that is what I miss the most. I have to share a room with three chaps who before I did not know but we now play games at night time and there is a strong bond between us, yet I still see Scott and Edward.
A lot has happened over the past few months with training and all, but the most marvellous of all had to be Christmas. For the first time in my life I spent it with my friends instead of my family. No matter how much I miss mother and father, I have grown to respect and maybe love my comrades as brothers and I would never trade that for anything, and I am sure that the others feel the same. The war is exceedingly distant and how I long to exit the trenches hand in hand with my friends and attack the Boche. Speaking of the Boche I hear that they are putting a jolly good fight in other parts of the country, but to think that a country like Germany could even scratch the integrity and honour of the British Empire would be absurd, I am sure that all of the world put together would only hurt us a little. Gallant Germany.
Well we recently caught a few men from the British Expeditionary Force walking out of the trench and in the direction of the enemy. Well none of them came back so I presume that the overpowered the enemy trenches. Albert left the trenches a few weeks back and all he said was that he was being sent to somewhere else to become a sniper, I knew he was an exceptional shot but I thought that only upper class men could have such an important role. He was so happy, I wrote home to mother and informed her of all that has happened, I am still awaiting her reply but I am sure that it will come soon. The officers are a rather jolly lot, all drinking their whiskey and singing songs, we are still happy yet all of us need a bit of action to come to us and free us from the boredom which is creeping into the ranks. I just hope that I can start fighting before the war is over.
30th June 1916
Well, my ears have been ringing all week long, there has been a near constant barrage of whiz-bangs flying over our heads and exploding with enormous might and power onto the enemy trenches. Just looking at the explosions swells me with pride, oh what a great example of the British might. It is of my belief that nothing could survive such torment as we are a distance away and we are near death just listening to it. I looked out over the trench recently and I could feel the blood escaping from my face. The sight of just mud, I mean miles upon miles of mud, no trees no grass. I am beginning to doubt whether this land is worth fighting for, I look around and see the occasional strewn body outside and I reassure myself that we are not fighting just for land but for the honour of Britain and my own.
Just over a week ago one of the new recruits in the trenches, I believe his name was Eugene, was jumping about and must have been happy because he popped his head outside the trench to warn the Boche of what was coming to them, as soon as he did that we heard a loud crack and I turned away to see Eugene's head snapping back and his body crumpling onto the floor. Well no matter how sorry I felt for the boy, that was one marvellous shot by that Boche. He must almost be as good as Albert though not quite because Albert is English. All of us in the trenches have the utmost respect for the Germans because they have put up a marvellous challenge for us, I have heard that their death rate is only slightly above ours so we have to applaud them, mustn't we.
I have heard from a few of the officers that the Germans have dug superior trenches to ours and maybe it will not be as easy as planned. But I say that is a bunch of darn lies. Nothing could survive that, even if they did our officers would be warned and they would not just send us out to die, would they? Well this offensive will sure to be popular with the young people who have not seen any action yet, I must say that even I am looking forward to what is going to happen. I do not know why but seeing all these young men filling up these trenches fills me with dread. What if the Germans survive the bombardment? Will we still be sent out, walking and singing against an enemy that no longer exists, or an enemy that is waiting for us, waiting for us to step into the open and then cease to exist?
7th August 1916
I do not understand what is happening. How can a powerful empire like ours, which is over 30 million square miles of land, be challenged by a German force of a mere 3 million kilometres acreage? How could the attack be so unsuccessful when it was so thought out? I am sitting down now reading the diary of Scott who died on his 21st birthday, 16 July 1916. He died when he should be at home, celebrating his birthday with all his family and friends, now he is in a pile of bodies in the middle of a mud pool between our lines. He was always so happy and jolly and all he wanted was to go back home to his mother and see the look of pride on her face, instead of the tears upon hearing her son has been murdered but not by the Germans but by our own officers. The same men that say 'good morning young boy' and 'chin up lad, it will soon be over' also send us to our deaths.
I can not stand the smell any more, of rotting flesh and the metallic stench every single time a bullet is fired. I was sitting down in this very chair a few days back when I overheard a conversation of two medical Officers outside. He read out a list of names list in alphabetical order. 'Thomas Aldous MIA, Steven Angle KIA, Louis Attlee KIA, Shaun Attlee KIA...' he read out over twenty more names and then said 'now onto the B's' upon hearing that my eyes filled with tears, but I carried on listening and he read out the names 'Albert Huxford MIA and Edward Huxford KIA' after hearing that, I could hear no more and cried myself to sleep. The three people I joined up with are lying in a pile of mud, fallen.
0I do not think I can take much more. The only thing worse than the smell is the sight, where the land was once beautiful, it is now grotesque, barbed wire metres thick, rusting and with bodies twisted inside Looking around and the horrors block all that you see, there are legs and arms with nobody to claim them. All I want is the pain to be over, this war may yet end, but I will never go home. I will not live to see the smiles of my family again. My final vision of life will be of the floor and my own blood. These will be the last words I ever write, the pain will soon be over, I do not fear death but I do fear going out there, where I know I will never come back. I would rather die by my own hands then by a country that has deceived me. I feel no pride nor honour in myself or my country and that is why I am holding this pistol to my head.
