A soldiers Diary by Captain H. Raymond Smith.

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The machine gun which I helped to serve was not always in the same position in the trenches, but sometimes in the front trench and sometimes in a support trench, about a hundred yards behind. So far as danger was concerned there was little or nothing to choose between being in the support trench (From which we could also fire on the enemy's positions) or being in the actual front trench, except that in the support line you were much more liable to get shells as well as bullets. On the other hand, as it was a little further from the Germans, one was not likely to be killed or wounded by snipers. By the end of May we had got quite used to the trenches; it was wonderful how soon one accomodated one's self to the strangest of surroundings. My diary for May 31st records that T____ and I crawled out from our support trench and picked gooseberries from bushes near the parapet in full view of the German lines. We moved with caution, and picked the gooseberries lying on our backs. Though the sun was shining at the time we were not fired upon, and returned in safety. The gooseberries, stewed in a mess tin, made a welcome change.

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There was a ruined farm house just behind our front line, and one occasion I remember, in a rash moment, voluteering to get some water from the pump in the yard of the farm, in order that we kight make some tea. I walked to where the trench sloped up to the ground level, and there, some fifty yards in front of me, stood the pump close to a wall of the house. Crouching low, I ran with the dixie to the pump. Good; no one had seen me, for not a shot was fired. I started to work the handle of the pump. To my horror it emitted a loud squeaking noise. In a moment German bullets were zipping around me and chipping bits out of the wall behind. I immediately fell flat and waited for a minute till all was quite again. Then raising myself a little I began cautiously to work the pump handle once more. Immediately the firing started again, but by now I had filled the dixie. Then, waiting for several minutes to summon up the courage, I picked up my load and ran towards the shelter of the trench. I reached it in safety, though I spilt some of the water. However, there was more than enough to make tea for us all.

One morning I had an unforgettable experience - that of seeing one of our mines exploded under the enemy's trenches. It was a fine sunny morning (what a beautiful spring and summer that of 1915 was in Flanders), and I had received a large parcel of cigarettes from a prominent business man at home for distribution amongst the Evesham men in "B" Company.

[marina]

His anecdotes are good, aren' t they? Death by shell or death by sniper? Nice problem! And gooseberries...

Marina

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In his covering letter he said they had been subscribed for by his employees as well as by himself. At this time my machine gun team was billeted in the village of "Plugstreet", so I obtained permission and carried the large parcel up to the trenches. Though the road to the trenches must have been under enemy observation it was seldom, if ever, shelled, and I had a pleasant walk, promising myself a glass of beer at the wayside estaminet on my return journey. Near the entrance to a communication trench I met Company Sergeant-Major B____, and delivered the cigarettes to him for distribution. "You'd better wait here for a few minutes," he advised me, adding that one of our mines was due to explode, and that "I should see some fun." A few minutes later there was a terrific explosion and a huge volume of smoke and flame shot a great height into the air, while great clumps of earth were hurled on high. An instant later came a great burst of rifle fire and machine gun fire, while our men rushed forward and occupied the crater. This mining was a feature of trench warfare, especially in places where our trenches and those of the enemy ran close together, as they did in the Plugstreet sector. An underground sap was dug (the work often lasting months) terminating in a mine under the German position where high explosive was placed, and in due time fused. I had never thought much about mines until then, but afterwards, I remember, a man in our gun team was always anticipating that the Boches would retaliate. We would be sitting enjoying our tea in the trench, when he would suddenly stop the conversation by holding up his hand and exclaiming "Hush! I believe they're mining!" We used to curse old George for putting uncomfortable thoughts in our minds.

One great institution which was appreciated by everyone was the weekly bath we were able to take while occupying this part of the line. The bathing house was a huge jute factory on the banks of the river Lyes, and our baths consisted of large vats, capable of holding about half a dozen men.

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These vats were filled with hot water and in these we bathed naked. It was a great treat after the mud in the trenches. An orderly of the R.A.M.C. in a stocking cap was in charge of our ablutions. He kept up a constant stream of patter _ "Wash your feet, and don't forget your neck; and don't leave the soap in the water; any more for any more soap; any more for any more, any more fr any more?" and so on. If we lingered unduly in the delighfully warm water (though by this time it was covered with a thick scum) he would turn a cold hose on us, which soon sorted us out! When we had dried we were given a clean shirt in place of our old one. They were mostly the Army regulation greybacks, but not all the same size. I was on one accasion issued with a shirt that came down to below my knees, something like an old-fashioned night shirt, and another time I received a shirt so small that I could scarcely struggle into it. This however was the fortune of war. The great thing was that the newly issued shirt was clean. These weekly baths kept us free from vermin. That vile condition, however, was merely a treat in store.!!

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A German Night Raid - We leave Belgium - Trenches - Relieve the French at Hebuterne - Superior Dug Outs.

While we were occupying "Plugstreet" Wood a craze developed amongst some of us for collection souvenirs, in the shape of the nose-caps of German shells. A shell would come screaming over and burst a hundred yards or so away, whereupon someone would seize a spade and start digging for the nose-cap. When he had unearthed it he would return in triumph with his souvenir de la guerre. I collected several nose-caps and shell splinters, and carried them about in my haversack for a long while. Two I brought home, and later on a German bayonet, and other grim relics of the "war to end war."

One afternoon T_____ shot a pheasant with his rifle; needless to say the bird was a "sitter" at the time he fired. Our cook added the pheasant to our stew the same evening!

On June 19th (the day of the Centenary of the Battle of Waterloo) we entered Messines Wood (to the left of "Plugstreet" Wood), and occupied a line of trenches in front of it. Two of our machine-gun teams occupied the trenches while the other two (including the gun team containing B___ and myself) remained in support, in the wood. Here we had a comfortable, though rather cramped sleeping quarters in a log cabin. Four of us, including Sergeant Pat C____, slept in a little sand-bagged emplacement, originally made to accomodate our officer, and covered by a waterproof ground sheet.

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Some of the Evesham Company in their billet at the Priory Farm, Bicknacre, Essex, September 1914

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It was just wide enough to hold the four of us, but it was a case of "When the Sergeant says 'turn' we all turn!" Messines Wood in the early summer of 1915 was really beautiful. The trees had not then suffered much damage by shell fire, and the ground was covered with a carpet of bluebells. During the day it was very hot, and infested with mosquitoes. To escape these I ascended the hill just above the wood each day, and lay in the long grass reading, or writing letters. From this position I had a wonderful view of the enemy's trenches. It was not, of course, safe to expose oneself, and indeed a notice was posted there warning anyone to keep under cover for fear of giving away a field gun position. Crawling through the long grass I was able to view the flat Belgian landscape, with our trenches (sandbag brestworks) and those of the enemy winding and twisting (but always close together) as far as the eye could see.

It was we were here that the Germans us in force, on the night of June 23rd. Incredible though it may seem Sergeant C_____ and the other three of us in the sandbag emplacement slept through the incident, depite the fact that the enemy poured over many shells on to the trenches and into the wood. When we awoke the next morning we found several trees near us had been broken by shell fire, and that shell holes lay all round! It appears that following a sudden sharp bombardment the enemy attacked in some force. A German officer reached our parapet, and then blew a whistle; he was instantly shot dead by one of our men, and fell into the trench.

[marina]

Good photo - almost cosy, like a Scout camp. No idea what they were going to face soon.

Marina

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Our men poured rifle and machine gun fire into the darkness, but no one else reached our trench, though the Germans must have sustained other casualties before they retired to their own lines again. Both our machine guns jammed after firing a few rounds. We sustained several casualties, among them was I_____, a member of our machine gun section. He was a quite, steady man, and a good soldier, and we all felt his loss deeply. I saw his body, and that of the German officer lying side by side, awaiting burial, the next moring - friend and foe lying together in the dignity of death.

On June 25th we left the Ploegsteert - Messines Sector of trenches for the last time. We moved off at midnight and marched to Baileull, which we reached at 4 o'clock in the morning. We rested at this town for one day. In the afternoon S____ and I explored the town, and turning into an estaminet in the Grande Place we sat down at a small table and ordered some Belgian beer. In a short while we were joined by two Canadians, who insisted on us joining them in the cosumption of some English bottled beer, which went down a lot better! One of these Canadian soldiers was born in the Dominion, but the other was a Birmingham man, who had lived there for only about six months prior to the outbreak of war. He knew Evesham well, and had spent several summer holidays there!

We did three more night marches, the first taking us to Vieux Berguin, the second to Roebeck, and the third to Burbure, where we stayed for some time. It is a pretty little village, with a huge green space in the centre, and houses all round. In one of these we machine gunners were billeted. We occupied a room on the first floor, overlooking the green, and here we slept on the bare floor. We had, however, got quite used to this by now, and were glad to be out of the trenches.

[marina]

Wonder where the Canadians got the English beer?

Marina

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Our bedroom was devoid of pictures and furniture, and the only article, besides our own equipment, it contained was an old red kepi (French military cap) hanging on the wall, the property presumably of the man of the house, who was away on service with the French Army.

On July 13th we left Burbure, and proceeded to Les Brebis, near La Basse, on the extreme right of the line at that time held by the British Army. The note in my diary for July 15th records "There was a terrific bombardment by the French artillery all day yesterday. It is very cold, and the wind howls round this house (our billet) in a weird way." The following day we marched back to our old billets at Burbure, a march of about twenty kilometres. Two days later we went by train to Authie (near Arras), and on July 30th we moved into the trenches at Hebuterne.

These trenches were very different from those we had been occupying in the "Plugstreet" sector. In that particular part of the line, where the ground for the most part was very flat, they were composed of sandbag breastworks, and our line and that of the enemy ran close together. Never much more than 300 yards seperated our front parapet from theirs, while in places they were as close together as thirty yards. In the Hebuterne sector all this was changed. Here we were in the valley of the Ancre, part of the valley of the Somme. All around us were rolling plains, with villages dotted about here and there. Much of it was undulating park land, with Gommecourt Wood onour left, behind the enemy lines. Up till recently these trenches had been part of the long line held by our French Allies. At Hebuterne, which must have been a flourishing village or small market town, but which was then in complete ruins, the trenches ran directly out of the village.

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That is to say the two main communication trenches commenced at the top of the village street, and wended their tortuous way through ruined gardens and apple orchards to the support line and the front line trenches. It was a very elaborate system, and the dug-outs were of a superior and more permament type than any we had hitherto seen.

At Hebuterne, so far as danger was concerned, exactly the revers conditions prevailed compared with those we had experienced in the "Plugstreet" sector. There the opposing trenches had been so close that they were seldom shelled, as the artillery on either side were afraid of hitting their own men, but the sniping was deadly. Here, on the other hand, a valley, about seven hundred yards wide, seperated friend from foe, and the consequence was that we were frequently shelled, and suffered casualties from this, but there was, at first, little rifle fire. There was a strange, though false air of peacefulness about these trenches in the valley of the ancre. Their deep sides were lined with wild flowers, and every morning at "stand-to" the larks rose from "No-Mans-Land" and sang hymns of praise. Mingled with the long grass, which was as high as our barbed wire entanglements, were millions of vivid red poppies. But in that narrow valley which seperated the opposing forces lay many bodies, both French and German, for there had been bitter fighting here earlier in the year, and had we but known it, this ground was to be the grave of many of our own men in "the blood bath of the Somme."

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Our third day in the trenches was a Sunday. It seemed that the enemy had by this time realised that British troops were opposite to them, for they shelled us most of the day, distributing their favours impartially between us and the artillery in the village behind. The first dug-out my machine-gun team occupied here was long, cool, and narrow, with an entrance at either end. It was far superior to the tiny "funk-holes" at Plugstreet, and we were very pleased with it, until the weather suddenly turned wet. It rained all one night, our dug-out was flooded, and we were soon in an indescribable state, plastered in mud from head to foot. The day after was August 4th, the first anniversary of Great Britain's entrance into the war. It was not marked by any special incident so far as we were concerned, though my diary records that there was a terrific bombardment by the French on our flank. This day, also, I place on record that rum was issued to us for the first time since we landed in France, over four months previously. There was a lot of misunderstanding, and some newspaper controversy, I believe, in England over the rum ration to the men in the trenches. Many people appeared to think it was to give us false courage, but it's real purpose was medicinal - to warm the system after a cold night on the fire step, and in this it certainly succeeded. It was very strong, and taken neat in the presence of an officer. The prescribed ration was three tablespoonfuls.

On our first rest from the Nebuterne trenches we marched to Bayencourt, about five kilometres distant. Here the barn which had been allotted to us as a billet was so filthy, that I slept under a tree in the neighbouring orchard each night during our stay here, and experienced all the delightful feeling of freshness on waking with sleeping in the open in fine summer weather gives.

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Machine Gun Work at Night - A"Friendly" Enemy - Life in Rest Billets - Trench Warfare at Hebuterne.

During the summer months we did longer "tours" in the trenches - eight days in the line and eight days in "rest" billets, instead of four in and four out, as in the more unfavourable weather. Sometimes we were on duty in the front line trench, and sometimes in support in the village. Here we occupied a ruined house known as the "cook-house," because it was the place where the machine gunners cook prepared our meals. It was really more dangerous in the village than in the trenches, because it was frequently shelled, and the "cover" was not so good. I had a very narrow escape the first day we were there when a big shell exploded just over our billet, sending showers of hot metal whizzing all round.

We used our machine guns far more here than we had at Plugsteet. One of our main activities was observing places where the Germans were working in front of their trenches, strengthening their barbed wire entanglements, etc., and then firing on them at night. At this time I was frequently "Number One" on the gun team, which meant that I actually fired the gun. I remember my first experience of this night work well. Sometime about eleven o'clock I could distinctly hear the noise made apparently by the hammering in of metal stakes at a point in the enemy line just opposite where I was stationed on guard with the machine gun beside me. Acting on my orders, I gripped the traversing handles, pressed the double button, and immediately the gun poured its stream of bullets into "no-mans-land."

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I fired about half a belt (125 rounds) before releasing the double button, and did not get a single jam. When the last echos of my devil's tattoo had died away I listened for the hammering noise, but it had ceased, and instead there was a sound of shouting from the direction of the German working party - probably someone shouting for stretcher bearers. I hoped then, as I hope now, that I had not killed anybody. I think one always hoped that on these occasions, and the one consolation about this night fighing was that you could not tell whether or not you had actually been responsible for some fellow human being's death. As compared with the shells, machine gun bullets and rifles are merciful weapons. The wounds made are usually clean, and the percentage of wounded over dead is very great. I heard no more hammering that night, but the next day the enemy artillery shelled our position very severely, and did considerable damage. Evidently they were trying to destroy my machine gun, but in this they did not succeed.

"Our learned friends opposite" at this time were a cheery crowd - the 33rd Bavarian Infantry. On one occasion later in the year - it was a frosty night - I heard a lot of laughing and shouting coming from a point just in front of their trench, and a big voice shouted across to us in English "Come on, Tommy; come on, Tommy! Where's your Major?" This he repeated several times, following each sally with a burst of deep hearty laughter. Then there was another German who used to serenade us with tunes on a cornet. His favourite was "Love me, and the world is mine." He played beautifully, and in response to our hearty applause he would always oblige with an encore!

[marina]

He's making me think of my great grandafther - he was a machine gunner and must have grasped the traverse handles and pressed the double buttons...

Marina

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At times these Bavarians were relieved by a Saxon Division, who were equally friendly, if not more so. Only occasionally during our long tenure of these trenches were we opposed by Prussians. Our friends the enemy were kind enough to inform us of the unwelcome change. A voice shouted across from their trenches, "Look out, Tommy, the ______ Prussians are coming in tomorrow!" Had he not warned us we should have known it. Their artillery shelled us at frequent intervals, inflicting many casualties, while their machine gun bullets swept our parapets with an aim so accurate that they ripped the tops of the sandbags and flung the earth in our faces. We were thankful to be relieved, and to get out of the trenches for a few days after a tour like that.

Life in the rest billets was quite tolerable, especially in fine weather. The word "rest" was quite a misnomer, for we had plenty of parades, fatigues, and cleaning clothing, eauipment and rifles, after the mud of the trenches. However, there were compensation, and I spent many pleasant, sunny days, in the orchard at Bayencourt. It was here that we enjoyed a very good concert given by a theatrical troupe from the R.A.M.C. They were styled "The Vigilant Varlets," and gave a really good show. It was here, I remember, that I first heard the song "Keep the home fires burning," which afterwards became so popular.

It was a relief too, when in rest billets, to be able to attend properly to personal cleanliness. We had not been long in the trenches at Heburterne before practically everybody was affected, more or less, by lice. They were a loutsome source of irritation and responsible for much septic poisoning. All sorts of remedies were tried, but the vile insects seemed to defy everything. They laid their eggs in the seams of one's underclothes, and literally sucked one's blood. Later in the war "delousing" stations were instituted, where clothes could be fumigated, and this did much to alleviate our suffering.

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In September 1915, we changed our rest billet village to Bus-les-Artois. Here we machine gunners had a very comfortable barn with a farmyard to the rear, occupied in the centre by the inevitable manure heap, with a farmhouse on the far side. There was a gangway down the centre of the barn, where we placed our brazier on cold nights, and onn either side ample space - used in happier times for the storage of fodder - where we had our beds on clean straw. A little way along the village street was the Cafe du Norde, to which we often went in the evenings to play cards or drink wine and coffee.

I can see every part of the public room of that little cafe now. The entrance from a narrow passage leading on to the street; the long French stove at the far end of the room on which usually stood a pot containing hot coffee. Most of our party sat round the table playing some card games, while I usually sat by the stove with the cat on my knees. The animal took a fancy to me at once, and I think for this reason Madame always had a soft spot in her heart for me. Her husband was away serving in the French Army, and she had three young children. Occasionally we held impromtu concerts, and although the good woman of the house could understand but a few words of English, she listened with evident interest to the songs or to the recitations by myself and joined heartily in the applause. Occasionally, when we had just returned from the trenches, she would enquire where so-and-so was, and if we had to tell her he had been killed or wounded she was always greatly upset and sometimes wept.

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Our next tour in the trenches after our first rest at Bus was a rough experience. My machine gun team was again in the same position and we used the long, narrow dug-out for what sleep we could get, which was at very infrequent intervals. The Battle of Loos had begun, and although this was taking place some distance on our left flank, it seemed to affect the whole line and there was a general disposition on the part of the enemy to make life unbearable for us. The first night in the line was very wet and we were soon in a terrible state of filth, smothered in mud from head to foot. Then the next morning our trench was heavily bombarded, the enemy flinging about fifty shells at us in about ten minutes. Parts of the trench were smashed in and several men were hit.

Then in the afternoon poor Bill ____ was shot through the head by a sniper. The bullet went in at the top of his forehead and came out a little further back. He received first aid and was taken on a stretcher down to the dressing station. We naturally made certain his wound was fatal, but some weeks afterwards were delighted to hear that he was in a base hospital and making progress towards a recovery.

The Germans were doing a lot of work repairing their wire, which had been damaged in places by oiur artillery fire, and every night I was engaged in firing our machine gun at them, playing the gun in the direction from which the sounds of their work proceeded.

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One night the Germans made a great demonstration with their machine guns and thousands of bullets whizzed round our heads. We all hastily "stood-to" quite believing this was a prelude to an attack in force, especially when their field guns started shelling us. Our guns replied - we were getting more shells now - and for a time pandemonium reigned. It was most uncomfortable crouching in a muddy trench with bullets zipping all round, shells screaming overhead and often bursting quite near. However, after about half-an-hour the tumult died down almost as suddenly as it had started, and after a time we were allowed to "stand down" and await the coming of dawn.

This queer life of ours soon settled into a regular routine, while summer merged into autumn and autumn into early winter. After so many days and nights in the trenches we would be relieved by another battalion, pack up and march in small parties through the village of Hebuterne with its ruined houses and skeleton barns, past the shattered church with the lone cross in the churchyard from whence the white figure of Christ looked down as if in infinite sadness on this scene of desolation - the handiwork of those He died to save!

The leaving the village, we would strike across the undulating plain by the way of the unfenced road, the enemy usually sending us a few shells as parting souvenirs, till at last we arrived at our own village of Bus, and then what a treat to climb out of our equipment and fling ourselves down on a bed of clean straw with the prospect of a quiet night, free from shells and bullets.

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Ploegsteert (Plugstreet), a village in Belgium occupied by the 8th Worcesters during the spring of 1915. It was close to the trenches and was frequently shelled.

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Aerial Warfare - Dud Ammunition - The Trenches in Winter - Carrying Rations - Buried Alive.

Aerial activity over the trenches and the towns and villages immediately behind the lione was now - by the autumn of 1915 - increasing considerably. From our first experience of active service in Flanders, in the early spring, we had seen occasional enemy aeroplanes. The first we saw, I remeber, was when we were on the march, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Armentiers. This plane was some distance on our flank, and what attracted our attention to it was that it rapidly became surrounded by little puffs of white smoke, looking from a distance like little balls of cotton wool. It took us some minutes to realise that these puffs were made by bursting shrapnel sheels fired by our anti aricraft guns. Sometimes sixty or seventy puffs could be seen in the sky together, but usually the enemy plane sailed safely through them. Years later in the war I was to see enemy planes brought down in flames; it was a terrible and unforgettable sight.

So far as the trenches were concerned, we had aeroplanes over us practically all day every day, and the Germans in 1915 seemed to have at least ten planes to our one. They seldom bombed the forward trenches, but often dropped bombs on the artillery lines, and on concentrations of troops or transport in the immediate rear. The chief danger to us was not the enemy bombs, but the showers of shell splinters and shell cases falling on us from our own anti-aircraft guns.

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I was occasionally hit by splinters in this way, but not hurt. Everyone was not so fortunate, however, and I well remember in the trenches at Hebuterne, one of our men being killed by a piece of shell case falling on him. The large splinters whizzed down and buried themselves in the earth, giving one a most uncomfortable feeling. It must be remembered that in these days shrapnel helmets (or tin hats) had not been issued, and our only head protection was that afforded by our khaki service caps, which, of course, was practically nothing. When we were out of the line one of our machine guns was usually placed on a special mounting for anti-aircraft work and when an enemy plane came anywhere near we loosed off several belts of cartridges at it, though I cannot recall that we ever did much apprciable damage either to plane or pilot.

On the night of October 22nd there is a note in my diary stating that "Lieutenant B______, Sergeant P_____, and I went out on a strafing expedition, but there was nothing doing." I remeber the occasion well. Under the cover of darkness we took a machine gun well out into no-mans-land, and waited for any German patrol which might come along. We sat for several hours, talking occasionally in whispers, but before dawn had to retire to out own trenches, having neither heard nor seen anything.

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At about this time we were issued with a large numer of cases of S.A.A. (Army short for small arms ammunition), in other words cartridges for rifle or machine gun. These cartridges had been manufactured in America, and we could tell them from the British made rounds because the brass case was much redder in colour than ours. We duly filled a number of belts with these new cartridges, but before we had been firing long we experienced a lot of stoppages. On examination we found these cartridges had been loaded with black powder, instead of cordite, and that the loose powder had caused the jams. We had to strip our guns, clean them, and re-load with British made cartridges.

All the remainder of this ammunition, so far as we were concerned, had to be scrapped; a colossal wastage.

On October 25th I record that I was hit by two small pieces of shell, but quite unhurt. I remember it was a sunny morning in the front trench, and I was sitting on the fire step talking to Walter F_____. A shrapnel shell burst just over the parapet some distance on our flank, a whizzing noise came, and I felt two blows on my left forearm. Walter heard the noise they made hitting my arm, and insisted I was wounded, but I assured him I was quite unhurt, and picked up the two splinters, which had rebounded on to the fire step beside me. They were, of course, more than three parts spent, and as I had my greatcoat on at the time, my arm was not even bruised.