Letters From the Front

Dated: April 18, 1915

Here I am again in the trenches in about the most unhealthy spot of the Ypres Salient with the shells screaming over in all directions. It is really wonderful what narrow escapes we have. This afternoon there were at least a dozen lyddite shells struck within a few yards of our machine-gun dugout, giving us a clay bath on each occasion, and a little piece of one of them grazed the sleeve of my tunic. But with all the shells we have had so near there has not yet been a man wounded in my section.

I shall try to give you a description of our march into these trenches a few nights ago. To begin with we were turned out of our billets about 4 a.m. and after a long day's marching, etc., we arrived at our dressing station just before dark. After a meal and two hours rest we started for the front line trenches, which, by the way, were held by the French. The part of the line allotted to us was exceptionally hard to approach on account of having to go almost parallel with the trenches, which meant advancing under fire for about 1 1/2 miles over fields simply dotted with shell holes and old disbanded trenches, many of which were blown to pieces by artillery. Every hole and ditch was absolutely full of water, and to make matters worse it began to rain hard and got so dark that you could scarcely see the figure two paces in front of you.

In addition to our ordinary pack, which is anything but light, we had to pack our machine guns and mounts and all kinds of ammunition. We got into single file about two paces apart (for the bullets were already beginning to come uncomfortably near) and turned off the hard road into the unknown fields, with a French guide to lead us, who only knew a few words of English. Our troubles then started in right shape. We were loaded so heavily that it made us quite awkward, and every time one of us stepped into a hole, which was always full of water and, owing to the extreme darkness, impossible to escape, he simply fell with his load headlong into the filthy mire. We all began to wish we were at our destination, especially when our guide, after taking us around in circles, over ditches, through barbed wire entanglements, over old fallen trees, along muddy communication trenches and through ruined houses in which corpses had been lying unburied for months, announced suddenly that he had lost his way. It was well for him and perhaps us too, that we could not speak French.

All the way along at intervals of about five minutes, star shells would go up making the surrounding country as bright as day. Then would come a hail of bullets and every man (with any sense) would drop his pack and flop on his face on a dead cow or anything that happened to be in front of him, then get up when the light went out and start again on his weary way. Although it is more of a tragedy than anything else to fall head first into a hole of water about three feet deep, with a full pack on your back and your arms full of ammunition, it is quite impossible to keep from laughing at the victim when you get him pulled out, which is no easy job.

After due consideration the guide decided to leave us in an old ditch (where we were at least safe from the bullets) and go to look for our particular trench. After what seemed hours to us the guide came back and informed us that he had really discovered our trench. Then we started again over what proved to be the worst part of the whole road. We stumbled along in the darkness and there was everything from a 'Jack Johnson' hole to a dead German's equipment to obstruct our way. I expected to step on a dead body any minute, but I found later that the numerous bodies, which have not been buried, are between our front lines and the Germans.

At about 3 a.m. after very fatiguing manoeuvring we finally arrived at our trench and relieved the French Gun Section who were beginning to grow desperate; they expected us at least six hours earlier, and consequently had nothing to eat for over twelve hours.

We mounted the guns immediately and took turns standing by them until daylight, when we had a better chance to rest. When day dawned it presented a gruesome sight. Hundreds of dead Germans were lying between our lines with all their equip­ment on, just as they fell in a charge made several months ago. Many of the French who were killed in these trenches during the winter are buried right here, some have hardly enough earth over them to conceal their clothing.

Necessity is certainly the mother of invention. One of our chaps made a banjo out of a tin biscuit box, and he can play it well. You know I was always fond of music, that is why I volun­teer to pack it in and out of the trenches for him. When the shells start coming close we always get the banjo and have a little Grand Opera just to show the Germans (who are less than one hundred yards away) that we are quite unconcerned and enjoying life as usual.

I am really enjoying this trip in the trenches very much. The weather is beautiful now and the trenches are drying up fine. We are all more or less anxious, many of us from a sense of curiosity, to get a taste of real war, which is, as you know, a bayonet attack in the open.