The weapons we have required are so advanced that our tactics aren’t developing quickly enough. When I joined up we were walking across no mans land, rifles at hand, getting mowed down by machine gun fire. The worst fear in every soldier’s life at war is gas. It can strike at any time without warning (I always have my gas mask so close so there is no need to worry about me). Two weeks ago the Germans used chlorine gas on the front line, those unfortunate enough to be there were in constant agony for 5 days before they finally perished. Since then all of us have strict rules to obey that we keep our gas masks on us at all times. We wouldn’t let the Germans get away with that so we sent back mustard gas a week later when the conditions were right. Best type – death by rotting slowly, vomiting. Hand to hand combat is rare fortunately for us, it only ever occurs when we are right into the German trench or they are in ours. Half of us are also deaf with all the shells exploding around us regularly. One man was unlucky enough to be so close to one shell exploding that he lost one arm and leg; we fear he may never recover properly.
“Right lads time to go over the top, come on get a move on!” That’s what a new recruit dreads the most. As soon as you emerge from your trench the bullets whizz around you like there’s no tomorrow, it doesn’t help that we wear kilograms of weight piled on our backs. Leaping into rifle pits can leave you drowning in mud but it is a risk that saves our lives. They just don’t seem to listen when I suggest we leave our packs behind and return to fetch them when we have cleared the German trench. Some recruits wail they are underage and beg to go home but the officer’s reply is always “You can’t back out now; I’ll sort something out if you make it.” I even know a 12 year-old who signed up, we can’t believe he’s made it this far. When we do launch into war the hellish reality of the “enjoyable” war strikes again as we fight against the murderous fire of the Germans. We have heard of battalions that have been wiped out completely when an attack on them propped up at night, it was an utter disaster. In our battalion we all take turns to keep watch at night, if anyone is going to sneak up on someone it’s going to be us. Sometimes I even wonder how I’ve made it this far, to think back on the countless occasions that it was possible for me to perish under German fire or be killed by a shell that struck to close. God must be on our side.
Not everything in the trench is disheartening and hard to live with. Regularly we sing songs which cheer us up immensely. Before going over the top we might sing songs of hope and optimism, this encourages us to the extent that we are literally charging in to the shock of the German forces. The war gives birth to poets who write beautiful poems give us a few moments of freedom and happiness in which we switch off and enter a land of peace. There is also an artist in our battalion who creates masterpieces; drawing anything from no mans land to his abstract version of the war. I made this poem for you:
When I'm killed, don't think of me
Buried there in Cambrin Wood,
Nor as in Zion think of me
With the Intolerable Good.
And there's one thing that I know well,
I'm damned if I'll be damned to Hell!
So when I'm killed, don't wait for me,
Walking the dim corridor;
In Heaven or Hell, don't wait for me,
Or you must wait for evermore.
You'll find me buried, living-dead
In these verses that you've read.
So when I'm killed, don't mourn for me,
Shot, poor lad, so bold and young,
Killed and gone - don't mourn for me.
On your lips my life is hung:
O friends and lovers, you can save
Your playfellow from the grave.
The amount of causalities here is straining the medical services in the trench, they really didn’t expect there to be so many causalities. Support medics are arriving all the time though so gradually it’s easing. Half of us have received battle wounds, I had a piece of shrapnel fly into my arm but it’s nothing serious and it’s all healed now. (At least I’ll have a scar to show for my efforts). When we go over the top many soldiers go missing, it took us three days to find one of my companions, unfortunately dead. At least it meant we could report it, send a letter home to their parents and reward them with a name marked upon a gravestone for all eternity. Many of my friends like me pray for a wound to go back to England. It’s a shame the shrapnel wasn’t enough; the only people I have known to go home are people with limbs blown off. Each time one man dies is another relative having to bear the emotional pain of never seeing their son or husband again.
The BEF army (British Expeditionary Force) once caught up with our battalion. It was great knowing that we had professional help behind us since we only had a few weeks of training whereas they have years of experience and training. However they were called up to support a battalion to the east. Only half of them remain since they are always at the frontline in the main action breaking holes through the German lines. Most of us here are volunteers or pressurized into joining because of the propaganda which probably litters the streets of London now. “It will be over by Christmas”, I, like most of us here are starting to feel that this catch line is a lie. It’s been over a month now since the war started and the progress we have made is shameful, I just hope I can be with you both again soon, before Christmas.
Upon that note I must stop writing and I hope to hear from you soon. Your letters fill me with joy, I just with I could express my emotions, writing it down on paper isn’t enough. Please don’t feel afraid for me for I promise I shall see you again. Best wishes to you and if I don’t make it I’ll be watching you from heaven, I will always be with you in life or death.
With all my love, your son.