Peacemaker" said, when he tried to climb out of it, our first night
in, to have a look at the barbed wire and No Man's Land. He had a
revolver in one hand and a bomb in the other, but I am pleased to say
the safety-pin of that bomb was efficient; and, in any case, I relieved
him of it after he fell back the second time. The sides of that trench
have been so unmercifully pounded by the Boche, and the rain has been
so persistent of late that the porridge here is more like gruel than
the breakfast dish, and the average sand-bag in the parapet, when
not submerged, is as unfriendly to get a grip on, as one of those
crustaceous pink bombs they sometimes swindle you with at restaurants.
You know, the kind you chase round your plate and find splinter-proof.
Thirty or forty yards north from Whizz-bang Corner, in the fire trench,
you come to a loop turn to the rear called Whitehall, not because
there's a War Office there, but because there's a queer little vein
of chalk which disappointingly peters out again in less than a dozen
paces. That leads to the Company Headquarters dug-out; an extraordinary
hole, I thought, when I first saw it; a jolly nice, homely dug-out
I think it now, and with a roof--well, not shell-proof, you know,
but water-tight, and quite capable of standing a whizz or a grenade,
or anything short of serious H.E. You stride over a good little dam
and then down two steps to get into it, and it has a real door,
carried up, I suppose, from the village in the rear. It also has a
gilt-edged looking-glass, a good packing-case table, the remains of two
wooden chairs, two shelves made of rum-jar cases, and two good solid
wire-strung bunks, one over the other. There's no doubt it is some
dug-out.
And, madam, don't you go for to think that there's anything
contemptible about our trenches, anyhow. Perhaps I pitched it a bit
strong about that glue patch. In any case, I promise you two things:
(1) They'll be very different trenches before long if "A" Company has
two or three turns of duty in them. (2) They're every bit as good as,
and a bit better than, the trenches opposite, where the Hun is; and I
know it _because I've been there_. I meant to have told you of that
to-night, but I've left it too late, and must wait for my next letter.
But it's quite right. I've had a look at their front line and found it
distinctly worse than ours, and got back without a scratch, to sign
myself still your
"_Temporary Gentleman_."
TAKING OVER ON A QUIET NIGHT
Last evening brought an end to our rest cure, as I told you it would,
and saw us taking over out section of the firing line. Now I have just
turned into the Company dug-out for a rest, having been pretty much on
the hop all night except for a short spell between two and four this
morning. As I think I told you, this is not at all a bad dug-out, and
quite weather-proof. It has two decent bunks one over the other. We all
use it as a mess, and "the Peacemaker," Taffy Morgan, and myself use it
for sleeping in; Tony and "the Infant" kipping down (when they get the
chance) in a little tiny dug-out that we made ourselves when we were in
here for instruction, just the other side of Whizz-bang Corner, in the
fire trench.
You remember "the Infant," don't you? No. 4 Platoon. His father's
doctoring now in the R.A.M.C. He's a nice boy, and has come on a
lot since we got out here. He was to have been a land surveyor, or
something of that sort, and has a first-rate notion of trench work and
anything like building.
In writing to you I'd like to avoid, if I could, what seems to be a
pretty common error among men at the front, and one that leads to some
absurd misapprehensions among people at home. I remember listening once
in a tram-car at home to two Tommies, one of whom had returned from
the front. The other was asking him how they managed in the matter of
shifting wounded men back to some place where they could be attended to.
"Oh! that's simple enough," said the chap who'd been out. "They've a
regular routine for that. You see, there are always barges waiting, and
when you're wounded they just dump you on board a barge and take you
down the canal to where the dressing station is."
"I see; so that's the way it's done," said the other man.
And I could see that the impression left on his mind was that barges
were in waiting on a canal right along the five hundred miles of
Franco-British line.
You see what I mean. A fellow out here knows only his own tiny bit
of front, and he's very apt to speak of it as if it were _the_ Front,
and folk at home are apt to think that whatever is applicable to
their man's particular mile or so is applicable to the whole Front.
Which, of course, is wildly wrong and misleading. When in trenches one
battalion may find itself in a wood, another on a naked hillside, one
in the midst of a ruined village, with the cellars of smashed cottages
for dug-outs, and another with its trenches running alongside a river
or canal. So don't make the mistake of thinking that what I tell you
applies to the Front generally, although in a great many matters it may
be typical enough.
Now you'd like to know about the business of taking over these
trenches. Well, this was the way of it. "The Peacemaker," our noble
Company Commander, came on here in advance yesterday afternoon,
with the Company Sergeant-Major. Our Company S.M., by the way, is a
remarkably fine institution, and, I think, the only real ex-regular
we have in the Company. He's an ex-N.C.O. of Marines, and a really
splendid fellow, who is out now for a V.C., and we all hope he'll get
it. He and "the Peacemaker" came along about three hours ahead of us,
leaving me to bring the Company. "The Peacemaker" went carefully all
over this line with the O.C. of the Company we relieved, noted the
sentry posts and special danger spots--unhealthy places, you know, more
exposed to Boche fire than others--and generally took stock and made
his plans for us.
I forgot to say that a Sergeant from each platoon accompanied "the
Peacemaker" and the S.M., so as to be able to guide their respective
platoons in to their own bits of the line when they arrived. Then the
S.M. checked over all the trench stores--picks, shovels, wire, pumps,
small-arm ammunition, rockets, mud-scoops, trench repair material,
and all that--with the list held by the S.M. of the Company we were
relieving, which our own beloved "Peacemaker," had to sign "certified
correct," you know. Meantime, "the Peacemaker" took over from the other
O.C. Company a report of work done and to be done--repairing parapets,
laying duck-walks, etc.--though in this case I regret to remark the
only very noticeable thing was the work to be done, or so it seems to
us--and generally posted himself up and got all the tips he could.
Just about dusk "A" Company led the way out of B----, and marched the
way I told you of to Ambulance Corner. Needless to say, they presented
a fine soldierly appearance, led and commanded as they were for the
time by your "Temporary Gentleman." There was a certain liveliness
about Ambulance Corner when we reached it, as there so frequently is,
and I am sorry to say poor "B" Company in our rear had two men wounded,
one fatally. I took "A" Company at the double, in single file, with
a yard or so between men, across the specially exposed bit at the
corner, and was thankful to see the last of 'em bolt into the cover of
Manchester Avenue without a casualty. It gave me some notion of the
extra anxiety that weighs on the minds of O.C. Companies who take their
responsibilities seriously, as I think most of 'em do.
Then, when we were getting near Whizz-bang Corner, we were met by the
four platoon N.C.O.'s who had gone on in advance with the Coy. S.M.,
and they guided the platoons to their respective sections of our line.
Meantime, you understand, not a man of the Company we were relieving
had left the line. The first step was for us to get our platoon
Sergeants to post sentries to relieve each one of those of the other
Company, on the fire-step, and we ourselves were on hand with each
group, to see that the reliefs thoroughly understood the information
and instructions they got from the men they relieved. Then our advance
N.C.O.'s showed the other men of their platoons such dug-outs as were
available for them--a pretty thin lot in this section, but we shall
tackle the job of increasing and improving 'em as soon as we can, while
we Platoon Commanders had a buck with the Platoon Commanders of the
other Company.
Finally, "the Peacemaker" shook hands with the O.C. of the Company
we relieved outside Company Headquarters--that's this dug-out--the
other fellow wished him luck, both of them, separately, telephoned
down to Battalion Headquarters (in the support trenches) reporting
the completion of the relief, and the last of the other Company filed
away out down Sauchiehall Street to Manchester Avenue, billets and
"alleged rest." As a matter of fact, they are to get some real rest, I
believe, another Company of our Brigade being billeted in the village
just behind the lines this week, to do all the carrying fatigues at
night--bringing up trench-repair material and all that.
It was a quiet night, with no particular strafing, and that's all to
the good, because, in the first place, it gives us a better chance to
study the line again by daylight, and, again, it enables us to get on
quickly with certain very necessary trench repairs. We had half the
Company working all night at the parapet, which had some very bad gaps,
representing a serious multiplication of unhealthy spots, which have
to be passed many times day and night, and must always be dangerous
to pass. The Boche is pretty nippy in locating gaps of this sort and
getting his snipers and machine-gunners to range on them, so that
unless they are repaired casualties are certain. One repairs them by
building up the gaps with sand-bags, and for these it is necessary to
find approximately dry earth: a pretty difficult job in this section.
No strafing and a quiet night! I wonder how you, and people generally
at home, interpret that? "The rest of the Front was quiet"; "Nothing of
interest to report"; "Tactical situation unchanged," and so on. They
are the most familiar report phrases, of course.
Well, there was a time last night, or, rather, between two and four
this morning, when on our particular section there was no firing at
all beyond the dropping rifle fire of the Boche sentries opposite and
a similar desultory fire from our sentries. Now and again a bullet so
fired may get a man passing along a communication trench, or, more
likely, of course, a man exposed, either on patrol in No Man's Land or
in working on the parapet. More often they hit nobody. During the same
time, in our particular section, a flare-light went up from the Boche
line opposite, I suppose about every other minute. That's to give their
sentries a chance of seeing any patrol we may have creeping about in
their direction.
During all the rest of this quiet night of no strafing there was
just "normal fire." That is to say, the Boche machine-guns sprayed
our parapet and the intervening bit of No Man's Land, maybe, once
every quarter of an hour. Their rifle fire was more continuous; their
flares and parachute and star-lights the same. Eight or ten times in
the night they gave us salvoes of a dozen whizz-bangs. Twice--once
at about ten, and again about twelve--they gave our right a bit of a
pounding with H.E., and damaged the parapet a little. Once they lobbed
four rifle grenades over our left from a sap they have on that side.
But we had been warned about that, and gave 'em gyp for it. We had a
machine-gun trained on that sap-head of theirs, and plastered it pretty
effectually, so quickly that I think we must have got their grenadiers.
They shut up very promptly, anyhow, and a bombing patrol of ours that
got to the edge of their sap half an hour later found not a creature
there to bomb.
Our fire during the night was similar to theirs, but a bit less. "The
Peacemaker" has a strong prejudice in favour of saving his ammunition
for use on real live targets, and I think he's right. We had one man
slightly wounded, and that's all. And I think that must be admitted
to be pretty good, seeing that we were at work along the parapet all
night. That is a specimen of a really quiet night.
At Stand-to this morning Fritz plastered our parapet very thoroughly
with his machine-guns, evidently thinking we were Johnny Raws. He
wasted hundreds of rounds of ammunition over this. We were all
prepared. Not a head showed, and my best sniper, Corporal May, got one
of their machine-gun observers neatly through the head. Our lines are
only a hundred yards apart just there.
But I must turn in, old thing, or I'll get no rest to-day. I know
I haven't told you about the look I had at the Boche trenches. But
perhaps I'll have something better to tell when I next write.
Meantime, we are as jolly as sand-boys, and please remember that you
need not be in the least anxious about your
"_Temporary Gentleman_."
"WHAT IT'S LIKE"
The wonder is, not that I didn't get the one post card you mention,
but that you apparently have had everything I have written. Really, I
do think the British postal arrangements out here are one of the most
remarkable features of the war. The organisation behind our lines is
quite extraordinary. Right up here in the firing line itself we get
our letters and parcels every day. In the midst of a considerable
bombardment I have seen fellows in artillery shelters in the line
reading letters and opening parcels of little luxuries just received
from home.
It's very nice of you to copy out my letters for friends at home to
read. One simply can't hope to write to a number of different people,
you know, because any spare time going one wants to use for sleep. I'm
sorry I've omitted to tell you about some things I promised to explain,
and must try to do better.
As to the time I saw into the Boche trenches while we were in for
instruction, that was nothing really; due to my own stupidity, as a
matter of fact, and I dare say that's why I said nothing about it. It
was our second night in for instruction, and the Company we were with
was sending out a small bombing patrol, so, of course, I asked if I
could go too, and see what was to be seen. The O.C. of the Company
very kindly let me go, and take with me Corporal Slade, of my platoon,
an excellent chap, and very keen to learn. I wish he could have had a
better teacher.
While close to the Boche wire our little party--only five, all
told--sighted a Boche patrol quite twenty strong, and our officer in
charge very properly gave the word to retire to a flank and get back
to our own trench, or, rather, to a sap leading from it, so as to give
warning of the Boche patrol. This was where, in my experience, I went
wrong and led Slade astray. I was very curious, of course, to have a
good look at the Boche patrol--the first I'd seen of the enemy in the
open--and, like a fool, managed to get detached from the other three of
our lot, Slade sticking close to me with a confidence I didn't deserve.
When I realised that the others were clean out of sight, and the Boche
party too, I made tracks as quickly as I could--crawling, you know--as
I believed for our line, cursing myself for not having a compass, a
mistake you may be sure I shall not make again. Just then a regular
firework display of flares went up from the Boche line, and they opened
a hot burst of machine-gun fire. We lay as close as we could in the
soggy grass, Slade and myself, and got no harm. Things were lively for
a while, with lots of fire from both sides, and more light from both
sides than was comfortable.
Later, when things had quietened down, we got on the move again, and
presently, after a longish crawl through barbed wire, reached the
parapet, and were just about to slide in, side by side, pretty glad to
be back in the trench, when a fellow came round the traverse--we were
just beside a traverse--growled something, and jabbed at Slade with his
bayonet.
Bit confusing, wasn't it? Makes you think pretty quick. I suppose we
realised we had struck the Boche line instead of our own in something
under the twentieth part of a second, and what followed was too
confused for me to remember much about. No doubt we both recognised
the necessity for keeping that chap quiet in the same fraction of time
that we saw we had reached the wrong trenches. I can remember the jolly
feeling of my two thumbs in his throat. It was jolly, really, though I
dare say it will seem beastly to you. And I suspect Slade did for the
chap. We were lying on a duck-board at the bottom of the trench, and I
know my little trench dagger fell and made a horrid clatter, which I
made sure would bring more Boches. But it didn't.
I am sorry to say I left the little dagger there, but I collared the
Boche's rifle and bayonet, thinking that was the only weapon I had, and
clean forgetting the two Mills bombs in my pockets. Slade was a perfect
brick and behaved all through like the man he is. We were anxious
to make tracks without unnecessary delay, but, being there, thought
we might as well have a look at the trench. We crept along two bays
without hearing or seeing a soul. And then we heard a man struggling
in deep mud and cursing in fluent German. I've thought since, perhaps,
we ought to have waited for him and tried a bomb on him. But at the
same time came several other different voices, and I whispered to Slade
to climb out and followed him myself without wasting any time. The
trench was a rotten bad one at this point, worse, I think, than any
of ours. And I was thankful for it, because if it had been good those
Boches would surely have been on us before we could get out. As it was,
the mud held them, and the noises they made grovelling about in it
prevented them from hearing our movements, though we made a good deal
of noise, worrying through their wire, especially as I was dragging
that Boche rifle, with bayonet fixed.
There were glimmering hints of coming daylight by the time we got into
the open, which made it a bit easier to take a bearing, and also pretty
necessary to have done with it quickly, because in another half-hour
we should have been a target for the whole Boche line. Here again
Slade was first-rate. He recognised a big shell-hole in the ground,
which he had noticed was about fifty yards north of the head of a sap
leading from our own line, and that guided us in to the same opening
in our wire from which we had originally started. Fine chap, Slade!
Three minutes later we were in our own trench, and I got a good tot of
rum for both of us from the O.C. Company, who'd made up his mind he'd
have to report us "Missing." So, you see, you didn't miss much by not
being told all about this before, except an instance of carelessness
on my part, which might have been more costly if I hadn't had a most
excellent chap with me. "The Peacemaker's" going to recommend him for
Lance-Sergeant's stripes, by the way, when we get out of trenches this
time.
You know, that question of yours about what it is really "like" here at
the front isn't nearly so easy to answer as you might suppose. You must
just be patient. I'll tell you things as I learn them and see them,
gradually; and, gradually, too, you must try to piece 'em together till
they make some sort of picture for you. If I were a real writer I might
be able to make it all clear in one go, but--well, it's not easy.
I've told you about the trenches on the way up from Ambulance Corner,
the communication trenches, that is, running up at right angles to
the firing line. The chief difference between the firing line and the
communication trenches, of course, is that it faces the Boche front
line, running roughly parallel to it, and that, say eighteen inches
above the bottom of it, there is a fire-step running along its front
side. When you get up on that you have a fire position: that is, you
can see over the parapet, across No Man's Land, to the Boche front
line, and fire a rifle.
The lines of trenches are not straight, of course. They curve about
according to the nature of the ground. Running out from them on both
sides towards the enemy lines there are saps, at the end of which we
station listening posts at night with wired-up telephone and bell
connections with the firing line. Roughly speaking, a fire trench is
cut out rather like this:
--------+ +------------+ +------------+ +--------
| | | | | |
-----+ +---+ +------+ +---+ +------+ +---+ +-----
| | | | | |
+---------+ +---------+ +---------+
with traverses every twenty or thirty paces, so as to make it
impossible for an enemy on your flank to get what is called enfilade
fire down and along the trench. Enfilade fire is deadly, of course.
Fire from the front, on the other hand, if it falls short or overshoots
the mark even by a yard lands in front of or behind your trench. You
get that?
And what does it look like when one stares out from one's front
trench? Well, it depends. It's always pretty queer, but it's queerest
at night, when the Boche is sending up his ghostly flares, or when
there's enough moonlight to make you fancy all the time you can see all
manner of things. First, there's your own parapet, anything from five
to five-and-twenty feet of it, sloping gradually down to the open grass
of No Man's Land. That's what stops the bullets destined for your head.
When Boche shells are well enough placed to blow it in, you must build
it up again as soon as you can, or the bit of trench behind it will be
exposed, and as your men pass to and fro there will be casualties.
Well, then, anything from ten to twenty or thirty feet beyond the lip
of your trench, your wire entanglements begin, and extend, say a good
thirty or forty paces out into No Man's Land. You've seen barbed-wire
entanglements in pictures: row after row of stakes (some of ours are
iron screw standards now, that can be set up silently) laced together
across and across by barbed wire, forming an obstacle which it is
particularly difficult and beastly to get through, especially at night,
which, of course, is the only time you could even approach it without
being blown to bits.
Here and there all through our wire are old bells, tin cans, bits of
flattened tin, and oddments of that sort hanging loosely, so that when
even a rat begins cavorting about in the wire at night your sentries
know about it, and the Boche is neither so slim nor so agile as a rat.
Say that he comes by night with bombs in his hand. One cannot throw a
bomb with any accuracy of aim more than twenty or thirty yards. Boche
finds himself stopped by our wire, say fifty or sixty yards from our
line. If he slowly worms himself in, say twenty paces, without being
heard--and he won't--and lobs a bomb at our line, imagine the hail
of lead that's coming about him as he tries to wriggle his way back
through the wire after shying his bomb!
But, as a matter of fact, the Boche is not good at that game. He does
not shine at all at creep-in on our line. When he leaves his trenches
at all he seems to prefer coming out in pretty close formation, rubbing
shoulders with his pals. Our fellows are a good deal better at sculling
about over the sticks than he is.
Here and there in the wire, among the tin cans and things, you can see
fluttering bits of weather-worn uniform and old rags, and, at times,
things more gruesome. Beyond the wire you see the strip of No Man's
Land. Where we are, the average width of it is round about a hundred
yards. In some places it's more, and in one place we can see, perhaps
a mile off, it narrows down to much less than half that. Then begins
the Boche wire, and through and across that you see the Boche front
line, very much like your own, too much like your own to be very easily
distinguished from it at night.