I lit a candle to find Charlie just lying near by. We got him up and off he went to hospital. I was a little bit shaken at the time but I had a bit of work in front of me so I got stuck into it and forgot about my calamity. It was for work that night that I got recommended to my Colonel and Company Officer. For whatever little bit of good work I [did] I consider I only [did] my duty. The only thing I can say is that I hope I will be spared to do many a little thing for our boys in the trenches.
I was promoted to Lance Corporal just a few days before the big advance. I have been returned to the Company since we came out. I hope I will be able to hold it all together. I prefer being a plain Tommy…
Your loving Husband,
William
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
William Lynas’ luck held for a little longer. He survived a gas attack later in the war but his lungs were permanently damaged and he tragically succumbed to tuberculosis shortly after the Armistice and his return home.
Serving in the trenches in France presented a number of challenges for the British Tommy, from avoiding the sniper’s bullet to the lack of sleep, as recalled by Harold Anderton who served with the 13th Battalion, London Regiment, in France.
No. 3008. 2nd Section.
5th Platoon. 13th London Regt.
British Expeditionary Force
France
Feb 26/15
Dear Mother and All,
I must first apologise for the filthy state of this paper but it rained and soaked my overcoat and its contents – hence the dirt apparent thereon. There is, so the newspaper correspondents put it ‘nothing to report’ as far as my doings are concerned. The usual rigmarole takes place each week when you’re in the trenches, nothing very exciting happens. We’re behind our parapets of sand bags and mud, and the Germans behind theirs. A veritable sea of mud separates the two havens of refuge, so attack at present would be hazardous and difficult to either side. Shells buzz about overhead and make weird shrieking noise whilst snipers bullets whistle about with monotonous regularity. You’re middling safe if you keep down – if you don’t – well the people who say Germans are poor at rifle fire [might] perhaps like to try their luck; personally I prefer the cover of the aforesaid parapet. The nights in the trenches are usually rotten. Either you’re on sentry – one hour on and one hour off all night – or else on digging and patrol. If on the former you get cold and fed up – if on the latter you experience bodily weariness but a glorious warmth. Don’t know which I prefer. The days are quite all right if fine – you cook your bacon and porridge in your mess tin, prepare stew for dinner and make tea when you’re feeling down; its quite OK. The main difficulty in the trenches is to get sleep. About three hours per day and in the day time of course is all that is possible. Hence sentry go on the third night is the devil. The time in the billets is pretty good. You’ve got to scrape yourself free of mud and keep your rifle and ammunition clean – apart from this and [diverse] fatigue duties you’re free to go to the Soldier’s Club, a nice cosy retreat run by C. of E. or to the adjoining café and stuff.
I hope you’ve sent that money off, I’m almost stony. Also please send that chocolate fortnightly. It’s grand stuff and I’ve regained my youthful love of sweets of any sorts…
Well, so long, no more news.
With best love to all,
Your loving son,
Harold
A sense of humour was crucial to many as shown in this ironic letter anonymously drafted while on the front lines, which is intended to mock a typical Field Service postcard as provided by the army.
In the Field
/ /1917
My dear
dearest
darling
I can’t write much to-day as I am very overworked
busy
tired
lazy.
and the Corps is exhibiting intense activity.
G.O.C
G.S.O.I
A.A & Q.M.G
HUN
Things our way are going on quite well
much as usual
pas mal.
We put up a bit of a show
The HUNS last night with
yesterday complete success.
tolerable
-out any
Our offensive appears to be going well.
The Russian
The Italian
The Montenegrin
The Monagasque
The United States
The Brazilian
The Panama
The Bolivian
The French
The Belgian
The Serbian
The Roumanian
The Portugeese
The Japanese
The Cuban
The Chinese
The German offensive is obviously
apparently
we will hope a complete failure.
I really begin to think the war will end this year
next year
some time
never.
The flies
rations
weather are
is vile
execrable
much the same.
The [blank] is cheery
weary
languid
sore distrest [sic]
at rest.
We are now living in a Chateau
ruined farm
Hovel
dug-out.
I am hoping soon to come on
about due for
overdue for
not yet in the running for leave, which is now on
off.
I am suffering from a slight
severe wound.*
* Or state disease. If the whole of this sentence is struck out the writer may be presumed to be well or deceased.
.......................’s wife has just sent him
presented him with .....
What I should really like is......
Many thanks for your letter
parcel
good intentions.
How are the poultry (including cows)
potatoes
child getting on?
I hope you are well
better
bearing up
not spending too much money
getting on better with mother.
Insert here protestations of affection – NOT TO EXCEED TEN WORDS ....................................................
Ever .......
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx (Delete or add as many be necessary.)
No war is more associated with poetry than the First World War, from Wilfred Owen’s Dulce et Decorum Est to John McCrae’s In Flanders Fields they have defined and coloured our perceptions of this war ever since. McCrae’s poem is assumed to be the inspiration for the first ever poppy collection held in 1919. Less well known is the suggestion that it also inspired his fellow poet Isaac Rosenberg. Born into poverty in the East End of London, Rosenberg volunteered in 1915 chiefly to provide his mother with the ‘separation allowance’ and wrote a number of poems throughout his service until his death in April 1918. McCrae’s poem was first published in Punch in 1915 and so may well have inspired Rosenberg’s In the Trenches which first appeared in the letter to his friend Sonia Cohen (also known as Sonia Rodker) in autumn 1916.
Dear Sonia,
I have been anxious to hear from you about Rodker [the modernist poet John Rodker]. I wrote to Trevelyan [pacifist and poet Robert Calverley Trevelyan] … and asked him for news but I fancy my letter got lost. Write me any news – anything. I seem to have [been] in France ages. I wish Rodker were with me, the informal lingo is a tragedy with me, and he’d help me out. If I was taciturn in England I am ten times so here; our struggle to express ourselves is a fearful joke. However our wants are simple, our cash is scarce and our own time… Here is a little poem a bit commonplace I’m afraid.
In the trenches
I snatched tw
o poppies
From the parapets edge
Two bright red poppies
That winked on the ledge.
Behind my ear
I stuck one through,
One blood red poppy
I gave to you.
The sandbags narrowed
and screwed out our jest
and tore the poppy
you had on your breast…
Dawn – a shell – O! Christ
I am choked … safe … dustblind, I
See trench floor poppies
Strewn. Smashed, you lie…
Spring 1915 brought a rapid return to hostilities with several major battles. This letter by Major Henry Granville Scott describes his involvement in the Ypres area while serving with the 1/4th Battalion, Alexandra, Princess of Wales’ Own (Yorkshire) Regiment.
6.30am
Tuesday morning
27th April 1915
To Mrs Scott,
I will now try and give you a more detailed and connected account of what has happened since we left the little village 10½ miles from Ypres where we billeted for 3 days after journeying night and day from England.
On Thursday night at 11pm I was roused. Orders had come for the Brigade to stand by ready to move at a moments notice. By 12pm the Battalion was ready to march.
Orders then came cancelling former orders and we went back to billets. At 8am Friday orders again came to be ready to move followed by an order to assemble as quick as possible at a point 2 miles away on the road to Ypres. We did so by about 10am and found the No. 1 Batt. [Battalion] already there. We are No. 2 in seniority of the Brigade. At 11 a long string of motor buses moved us to a point 3½ miles east of Yp. and from there we marched to hutments just outside. The men were all carrying tremendous loads, all they had and extra ammunition – 200 per man.
The roads are bad for the feet where they are most pavé, they are very uneven with large loose stones which turn over when you stand on them – very heavy on [the] ankles when you are carrying a heavy load. The addition of a heavy bundle of maps, double rations etc made officers’ lists heavier than ever. I know we all carry too much, but we do not know yet what to discard. Everything we have seems absolutely necessary.
Well the hutments were an agreeable surprise to us (we never know exactly where we are going until we get there, movements being made in a succession of bounds). We quickly started to make ourselves comfortable, a deafening cannonade was going on and we knew we were well within range of shell fire. We were to have no rest however, as orders came at 8.30pm to move.
My times after this are not to be relied upon as I am trusting to approximation. However they are real enough for a personal narrative. We moved at 2.45am (head of the column) and in the following order – 1, 3, 4, 2 (seniority of Batts in Brigade) in the direction of Yp canal and lay down in a field in readiness. We were moved back twice during the next few hours. At 6am I was sent back to hutments on a bicycle to arrange to bring hot tea for the men…
I was wishing I could shed some of my kit but couldn’t risk it. Just as we were lighting fires four shells came right amongst us, fortunately doing only slight damage – six men slightly wounded including Lt Tugwell. De Legh was there with his stretchers and he quickly got to work. Our four stretchers were sent off to hutments so I lugged Tugwell on to a cook’s cart … and De Legh dressed his wound (slight shell wound on lower leg)…
We reassembled in somewhat open order. The CO [commanding officer] came back with orders to move in the direction of the east of Ypres… We marched in a roundabout way to a point E of Yp., about 6 miles and squatted down again. We were intermingled with all sort of scattered troops, wounded men were continually passing, the deafening artillery fire never ceased for a moment… We received orders that the Bn. had to attack. Well I thought this was pretty sharp for troops that had only been a few days in the country…
Each Coy [company] formed its own method of formation, but they were mostly in diamond formation in column of platoons. While the CO was making his disposition, I took a careful compass bearing of the line. Off we started.
We were quickly observed and immediately the leading Companies extended into lines and pressed on in short rushes. Nos 3 and 4 acting as supports began to close up and thicken the lines. I have seen our men practise the attack drill and do it very well, but I never saw them do it so well as this. As a drill it would have been fault-less. As an actual action under frightful conditions of modern warfare it was superb…
Men began to drop quicker and quicker. Still we pressed on, taking advantage of every little undulation and there were not many. A man dropped just in front of me. Nevin and I could not see his wound. He said it was in his stomach. We lay on each side of him and tore his clothes apart. We found the wound (a bullet in the back behind his kidneys) put his first field dressing on and left him…
The CO in his anxiety was exposing himself too much, at least I think so, and some of the men told me afterwards that it later worried them. We were getting near to the enemy’s position now and found other troops in front of us, who proved to be the Royal Irish. Suddenly the man lying next to me turned his head towards me and I saw his face from his eyes to his chin was literally blown away. He made a sort of moaning noise and looked at me in a questioning sort of way as if asking me what had happened to him. I rolled over to him, got his field dressing, turned him on his back and put the dressing on, but the pad would not nearly fill the hole. I injected 2 pellets of morphine into his arm and pressed on… I joined our second line about 30 yards ahead. Our front line was forming at 300 yards carefully and systematically…
The CO and I found the CO of the Royal Irish and he told us he had orders from the GOC [general officer commanding] to relieve at dusk as he could not hold the line we had advanced to. It seemed awfully hard to have to give up what we had apparently gained but we are simply pawns in the great game and know nothing more than is necessary and very often, we think, not even that…
That is all up to now. It is 10.45 and I have written this whilst my memory is fresh. I hope you will be able to decipher it. It is only a sketch, I could paint the picture but it would take me a week and I would not be able to see for tears.
Yours as ever
Some soldiers were not afraid of expressing their true feelings, from fear to despair, in letters home to loved ones. J.T. Keeping wrote the following letter on 20 May 1915 after surviving the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915. He served for the remainder of the war with the London Regiment, was subsequently promoted to captain and won the Military Cross (MC).
Miss E. Keeping
44 Digby Road
Finsbury Park
London
20.5.1915
Dear Elsie,
I am very sorry not to have written before but I dare say by this time you have got some idea of where we have been in fact in your first letter you had it right although I cannot think how you got it. We had about a fortnight of Hell and are now back resting again some 150 strong out of a total of 1,600 in all and I can tell you the ones who have got back are lucky. You could never believe what it has been like and you can guess I did not feel much like writing. It was all so sudden, one day we were back resting and the next we were in the thick of it being shelled to pieces. But there is one thing about the regiment, the regulars retired and passed us along the [road] but we stuck it till dark and then of course were reinforced. I am afraid I am a mere nervous wreck, in fact when we got back I sat down and had a jolly good cry. I am absolutely alone now, the only one of my section left.
There is some talk of leave so will write further tomorrow as soon as I get any news.
Cheer up and tell them all I will drop them a line in a day or so.
J
Death was an ever present feature of the battlefield, regardless of rank. The following letter of condolence was sent to the brother of Lieutenant Gerry M. Renny who was killed while serving with the Royal Field Artillery.
7th May 1
917
C/92 RFA
BEF
My dear Renny,
I have just got your letter and will send you all the particulars I can about poor old Gerry. First now I can only scribble a note. I can well understand how hard you must find the blow and how it must hurt. I know it all the more for having been so fond of him myself and for the blank that his death leaves in the Battery. He was such a cheerful lad and quite irresistible as a pal. It is hard that he had to go, when so many rotters still live. I have always hated the Boche, but now I shall have a very deep personal [sense] to pay back and by God he shall get it every time I sit down to measure our [angle]! I am sending you his revolver and belt… His belt has the bullet hole in each side – the bullet that robbed you of a brother and me of a very dear pal…
With very deep sympathy to you and all the family.
Sincerely yours,
J.H. O’Kelly
For servicemen knowing what active duty on the front line would bring there was often little sympathy towards conscientious objectors, as shown by this letter from Norman Thomas, who served with the London Regiment.
Seaford
Sussex
Wednesday 25 April 1917
My Dear ‘Weenie’,
… I have some rather interesting news today – our battalion have moved to Aldershot. I do not know the exact place. We are supposed to be in some barracks. What luck isn’t it ‘Weenie’, [I] shall be able to see old ‘Reggie’ again, will seem like the old days.
I cannot get leave from here as I expect I shall be going away next week. So I may be able to get the week-end when I rejoin my new battalion. I am writing to Reggie today, hope he will be able to obtain leave, if he does succeed he will be extremely lucky.
There are a great number of ‘Conscientious Objectors’ near Seaford. They have been employed for the past 4 months constructing one of the roads leading the Newhaven, the road is just the same as it was before the operations of the ‘C.O.s’. They all were allowed leave at Easter and Xmas and get real good food. Don’t you think it’s rather unfair to us fellows? We often march past them and pass a good deal of comments etc; some-times there is a ‘rough-house’ ending in a few C.O.s being badly ‘mauled’ and a few of us chaps escorted back to the guard-room and then punished ‘C.B’ [confined to barracks] etc. This is an every-day occurrence. I can see some fun shortly if they continue to keep them here.
Letters from the Front: From the First World War to the Present Day Page 4
