A Field Journal of WW1 – The Western Front
January 5th, 2:30am: I woke up to the sound of thunderous explosions, around me and found that my eyelids had a layer of frost and numbness in my feet. I look around me in the darkness of the bunker, the concrete walls, dull and protective, the smell of rotting flesh drifts in from outside. As the bombardment of shells continues, I think of the many men who lost their minds under the constant explosions, sitting.....waiting....fearing whatever lies beyond that wire. I glanced around the room and saw a few new recruits, huddled in the corner, white as the snow that is falling outside, their hands pressed tightly against their ears, desperately trying to block out the thuds of the shells. I get up walk out of the protection of the bunker and into the muddy trenches, and find a suitable place to relieve myself. I remember the advice a veteran gave me when I first arrived, ‘going to the toilet on the front is one of the most dangerous experiences’, at times you are squatting there praying no sniper will see you, no shell will land near you, you are literally a sitting duck. As I am standing there I look out across the battlefield and see craters, dead bodies, the fearsome wire and in the distance the flash of the allies’ artillery shooting away. I returned back along the trench, half way back to the bunker a shell comes and obliterates the small section where I was just standing only moments ago; I just thank god that luck was on my side that time.
January 5th, 5:30am: The entire company was raised from their ghostly slumber as we prepared for the attack, our artillery is pounding away destroying no-man’s land, destroying the barb wire so the crossing is easier I looked around me and see pale faces, no expressions and remember that’s how I must look; I sensed the uneasy atmosphere that is experienced before an attack. We quietly waited for the artillery to stop; finally there were no more rumbles and explosions, the eerie silence lasted only for seconds as we jumped out of the trenches and charged to the enemy dugouts. The rattle of the allies’ machine gun filled the air as they desperately tried to stop the incoming wild animals, we had turned into dangerous fighting animals by that stage and the fight for our lives had just begun. Men began to fall either side of me and soon the machine gun finally started to jam, giving us our opening. We were like mad men trying to survive refusing to die, at last we were out and active, away from the tension, away from the confines in the hellish environment, we finally had a chance to do something. We reached the allies trenches and dived in, seeing silver helmets popping out from every bunker; they attempt to grenade us but are either shot or split in two by a shovel. Within 15 minutes of close quarters, hand-to-hand combat we overpower the ill-prepared enemy. We take the spoils of food and alcohol, the allies always have more rations than us, and the food is better quality. We rush back across no man’s land and pick up the wounded under the covering fire of our artillery, when we arrived back at our trampled trenches and we tried to get some valuable rest.
January 5th, 4:20pm: The day was filled with attacks and counter attacks and now the British artillery has started up again and we were forced back into the dark, torturous dugouts and endure the shelling once more. We have are few now, many men lie face down in no man’s land not all dead but out of our reach, sometimes I envy the deceased but then I remember the smiling face of my daughter and the promise I made her; “Home by Christmas” so I continue to fight...for her...for life....for country.
January 5th, 2:30am: I woke up to the sound of thunderous explosions, around me and found that my eyelids had a layer of frost and numbness in my feet. I look around me in the darkness of the bunker, the concrete walls, dull and protective, the smell of rotting flesh drifts in from outside. As the bombardment of shells continues, I think of the many men who lost their minds under the constant explosions, sitting.....waiting....fearing whatever lies beyond that wire. I glanced around the room and saw a few new recruits, huddled in the corner, white as the snow that is falling outside, their hands pressed tightly against their ears, desperately trying to block out the thuds of the shells. I get up walk out of the protection of the bunker and into the muddy trenches, and find a suitable place to relieve myself. I remember the advice a veteran gave me when I first arrived, ‘going to the toilet on the front is one of the most dangerous experiences’, at times you are squatting there praying no sniper will see you, no shell will land near you, you are literally a sitting duck. As I am standing there I look out across the battlefield and see craters, dead bodies, the fearsome wire and in the distance the flash of the allies’ artillery shooting away. I returned back along the trench, half way back to the bunker a shell comes and obliterates the small section where I was just standing only moments ago; I just thank god that luck was on my side that time.
January 5th, 5:30am: The entire company was raised from their ghostly slumber as we prepared for the attack, our artillery is pounding away destroying no-man’s land, destroying the barb wire so the crossing is easier I looked around me and see pale faces, no expressions and remember that’s how I must look; I sensed the uneasy atmosphere that is experienced before an attack. We quietly waited for the artillery to stop; finally there were no more rumbles and explosions, the eerie silence lasted only for seconds as we jumped out of the trenches and charged to the enemy dugouts. The rattle of the allies’ machine gun filled the air as they desperately tried to stop the incoming wild animals, we had turned into dangerous fighting animals by that stage and the fight for our lives had just begun. Men began to fall either side of me and soon the machine gun finally started to jam, giving us our opening. We were like mad men trying to survive refusing to die, at last we were out and active, away from the tension, away from the confines in the hellish environment, we finally had a chance to do something. We reached the allies trenches and dived in, seeing silver helmets popping out from every bunker; they attempt to grenade us but are either shot or split in two by a shovel. Within 15 minutes of close quarters, hand-to-hand combat we overpower the ill-prepared enemy. We take the spoils of food and alcohol, the allies always have more rations than us, and the food is better quality. We rush back across no man’s land and pick up the wounded under the covering fire of our artillery, when we arrived back at our trampled trenches and we tried to get some valuable rest.
January 5th, 4:20pm: The day was filled with attacks and counter attacks and now the British artillery has started up again and we were forced back into the dark, torturous dugouts and endure the shelling once more. We have are few now, many men lie face down in no man’s land not all dead but out of our reach, sometimes I envy the deceased but then I remember the smiling face of my daughter and the promise I made her; “Home by Christmas” so I continue to fight...for her...for life....for country.