A soldiers Diary by Captain H. Raymond Smith.

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At about this time the weather became vile. Hard frosts were succeeded by days and nights of rain, and we were frequently up to our knees in mud and water. The dug-outs were flooded, and we got no sleep in consequence. The rain was followed in turn by deep snow. When there was snow on the ground the front became suddenly still and silent. The scream and crash of shells ceased altogether, and hardly a sound broke the unwonted silence, save, perhaps, the vicious patter of a machine gun, and this only at long intervals. When snow lay on the ground our patrols went out covered in whirte sheets to avoid detection by the enemy. On a dark night the Germans continually sent up Very lights, or star shells, as they were sometimes called. They were in reality a special kind of rocket fired from a pistol. They shot about two hundred feet into the air, and then burst into a bright incandescent ball of light which illuminated the trenches and no-mans-land for a considerable area. During the winter we suffered far more from the vagaries of the weather than from any trench fighting, which was often practically at a standstill.

It was a great relief to leave the trenches after a four day tour, and turn into our old barn at Bus. And how nice to visit one of the village shops and purchase picture postcards to send home, or to buy chocolates or cakes, when we had the money to buy them with. Much sought after and much admired at home were postcards sown with coloured silk; usually the Tricolour and the Union Jack crossed, often with the red, black and gold Belgian flag intertwined; other cards bore highly coloured pictures of British and French soldiers, trampling on the German Imperial standard, and others again, of the more historic interest, were views of towns and villages in the neighbourhood of the trenches, showing scenes before and after the German bombardment.

[marina]

Some very good detail of trench life here - and I am getting a much clearer idea of how lucky you had to be! What about him being hit by the two shrapnel pieces and not even being bruised? That was how my great grandfather died - hit by a lump of shrapnel on 'a quiet day'.

Laughed at the saxons and bavarians warning them the prussians were coming. I;ve cone across similar before - no one seems to have liked the Prussians, not even their own!

This is Great stuff, Andy!

Marina

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Hi Marina,

As you say some good day to day detail of trench life. Glad that you are enjoying it.

Andy

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Our machine gun officer, Lieutenant B_____, was very thoughtful for our welfare, and on the winters evenings at Bus he often brought his gramaphone into the barn, and treated us to selections on it, while some of us, as a diversion, gave, at his request, songs or recitations. In this way the winter evenings in rest billets passed very happily.

During the late autumn and winter months the work of carrying up rations to the front lione trenches was difficult and dangerous. The rations were usually deposited at the entrance to a communication trench, and one or two of us would go and fetch them from there, and distribute them to the machine gunners at the various posts. On one occasion our mid-day meal (it was to have been stew) was very late, and we had become exceptionally hungry. At last the ration orderly arrived, but alas, coming up the communication trench he had trodden on a loose duckboard, which had sprung up and tipped him into a few feet of icy water. The dixie containg the stew was also upset, and all that was rescued were a few carrots and a little gravy!

One pitch dark night I was detailed to fetch the rations, and accompanied by Oliver G_____, set off down the communication trench, at this point about a mile from our machine gun post. We met the cook's orderly and took the sacks of dry rations from him, and also a rum jar. We had gone about a quarter of the way back when Oliver exclaimed "Good Heavens, R_____, we've forgotten the rum!" It was only too true. Somehow we had put the jar down near the entrance of the communication trench, and failed to pick it up again. I don't know what our punishment would have been for such gross carelessness, but I am sure we should have been the most unpopular members of the 8th Worcesters for many a week! There was nothing for it but to go back, so we retraced our steps, but with little hope in our hearts about finding the precious jar. Eventually we arrived at the place where we had picked up the rations, and started to search round in the dark. In a few seconds I found the jar, covered in mud, and lying on its side, but with the cork still in, and the contents untouched!

[marina]

In a few seconds I found the jar, covered in mud, and lying on its side, but with the cork still in, and the contents untouched!

The narrowest escape yet!

Marina

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During our absence a whole company, or working party, had passed up the trench, and someone had actually kicked the jar over, and left it, not realising it was full. We were indeed thankful, and Oliver suggested we should for once break a rule and celebrate the occasion, by each taking a nip of rum, which we did.

At this time we were occupying a machine gun position in the support line at the top of a low hill, which overlooked the front line, and on several nights we had exciting experiences firing over on to the enemy's trench, to cover one of our bombing patrols. At such times our bursts of fire were controlled by our officer in telephone ciommunication from the fornt trench. On one night, during a big raid, T_____ and I fired over two thousand rounds, covering a big bombing patrol. To disguise the flashes of our gun we hung a wet sack in front and fired through it. This worked fairly well until our stream on bullets drilled a large hole in the sack and det it on fire. I was feeding the gun at the time, and had to get on to the parapet and replace the burnt sack with another. As I did so showers of machine gun bullets from the enemy lines whizzed all round me, and I was thankful to jump down into the gun emplacement again unwounded. The German artillery also tried to find our gun and silence it, and some of their shells burst uncomfortably near, flinging dirt and stones all over us. At last we got the order to "cease fire," and knew by this that our raiding party had returned to their own trench.

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We got very little sleep while in this position, owing to some sort of scrap almost every night. Our dug-out was a small one close to the gun emplacement. I had a nasty experience there one night. I awoke to see the clay wall of the trench above my head slowly collapsing on me! I had just presence of mind enough to pull my greatcoat over my face before I was completely buried under several hudredweights of earth. I found I was quite unable to move, and for one horrible moment thought I should be buried alive! I cannot describe my feelings when I heard the sound of digging, and presently felt hands tugging at my ankles. Two of my comrades dug me out, and I was none the worse. N____ and F____, my rescuers, told me that one of them happened to enter the dug-out just as the wall of earth was falling.

The incident referred to above happened on December 10th, and on the following day my diary records that Br_____ and I carried a heavy trench pump down the Serre road in full view of the enemy's lines. The pump was a terrible weight, and we were obliged to pause from exhaustion every now and then. When shells came over we lay well into the side of the road, and left the pump to take care of itself. It took us hours to get it down to the front line - the Serre road ran at right angles from our line to theirs, across no-mans-land and into the village of Serre behind the German lines - but eventually we managed it, and the pump was duly installed in the Sonis sap. For the rest of the day, as a reward for our exertions, we had to work in the sap, up to our thighs in mud and water!

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Christmas Day in the Trenches - A New Year Celebration - A Raid on the German Trenches - A Night of Horror.

Towards the end of December, 1915, the weather in France became very severe, with frost and snow, succeeded by bitter east winds and icy rain. Trench duty at night became a martyrdom. At one time the frost was so severe that the bolts of our rifles froze so stiff that we could not work them, despite the fact that they were coated with oil. At this time our sentry-go was two hours on and two off throughout the night, as through sickness and casualties we were short handed on the machine gun teams. Normally we did two hours on and four off. Those two hours standing on the fire step, gazing into no-mans-land, often seemed more like ten. In the darkness one could usually see a portion of our own barbed wire belt, just in front of the parapet, and staring at these posts for hours on end was apt to make one's imagination play tricks. Surely what one had thought was a post had moved! At these times it was essential to keep a tight grip on oneself. The knowledge that many lives depended on one's vigilance kept one on the alert the whole time. When our period of sentry duty came to an end and we were relieved, we took our frozen rifles down into a dug-out where there was a brazier burning to have them thawed. My feet got completely numb with the cold on the fire step, and I remember the agony I went through in the dug-out while the blood was beginning to circulate in them again. The miseries of a winter campaign are almost impossibel to exaggerate!

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Germans

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It fell to our lot to spend Christmas Day, 1915, in the trenches. I remember that some days before I suggested that several of us should go out into no-mans-land, as far as the Seven Sisters (a line of poplar trees) near the German trenches, and serenade the Boches. My suugestion was that our opening number should be "Hail, Smiling Morn!" It was pointed out that this might be about as far as we should get! Actually when Christmas morning dawned I was on duty with the machine gun, with Sergeant S____, in Botha Trench. Our guns opened a heavy bombardment on the German trenches, and their artillery replied, shelling the trenches and the back areas. When they started shelling we opened with the machine gun, and for some time "the happy morn" was heralded in with the scream and crash of shells and the devil's rattle of machine guns.

This second Christmas of the Great War there was no repitition of the extraordinary truce which took part in several parts of the line on Christmas Day, 1914. The High Command took care of that. Orders were issued that there was to be no fraternising with the enemy, and "orders is orders." As a matter of fact, in our part of the line, as it bacame light, several Germans called out "A Happy Christmas, Tommy," and several of our men replied with "A Happy Christmas, Fritz." At one point they commenced to climb out of their trenches, but a few rounds fired high over their heads sent them back again. Seasonable greetings, however, were exchanged between friend and foe throughout the day, and as far as possible "a good time was had by all!"

[marina]

The photograph - well, the German troops don't look any more warm and comfortable than the British ones. Liked the violinist.

Marina

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Two nights kater Sergeant S____ and I took one of the guns and mounted it on the parados of the front line trench. Our usual machine gun emplacement had fallen in, together with most of the parapet, and the trenches were half-full of mud and water. It rained in torrents, and we obtained what shelter we could by crouching under our waterproof sheets. Small parties of our men patrolled the line just in front of the barbed wire, and the enemy did the same thing. Neither side fired on the other; the weather had stopped the fighting for the time being. The last fighting so far as our Division was concerned was at the end of November, when the 6th Gloucesters raided a German advance trench inflicting many casualties, and took some prisoners. Two nights later the Germans retaliated by bombarding the Gloucester's trenches very heavily.

To return to Christmas time, on December 28th, we were unexpectantly relieved by the 5th Gloucesters, and returned to our rest billets at Bus. On Decemeber 30th we were inspected by the Divisional General, and our guns, spare parts, and ammunition were inspected afterwards by Captain B______ . I am glad to say he gave an excellent report on our clean turn out.

We closed the year 1915 very well, and had a splendid New Year Eve party and dinner kindly given to us by Lieut. B____ in our old barn at Bus.

My diary for New Year's Day, 1916, records that I was a guest of No. 5 Platoon (my old Platoon) at their celebration dinner, and that I entertained them with recitations, I mention that the dinner was a good one, and it consisted, if I remember rightly, of turkey and plum pudding.

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On January 3rd we returned to the trenches. This time the machine gun team to which I belonged was stationed at an emplacement known as "The Square," which was in reality part of the front line trench. Our first afternoon in the trenches was a tragic one. The enemy shelled us very heavily, and a big shell smashed in one of the dug-outs, killing the seven men who happened to be in it at the time. We had a number of other casualties as well, and altogether things were very depressing.

All through the month of January there was a lot of shelling on both sides. Our artillery had more shells at their disposal now, and whenever the German guns opened up on us they replied by shelling the enemy trenches and gun positions. We got quite accustomed to the scream and crash of shells and to the horrid whine of splinters and shrapnel bullets flying round our ears, though I cannot say that I ever got so accustomed to being under shell fire that I felt comfortable; and what's more, I know of no-one else who did either. The man who says he never felt fear when under heavy fire is either a fool or a liar - probably the latter! I did find, however, that the longer the experience I had of trench warfare the less nervous I became in the face of danger. I have described my early feelings of terror when under fire in "Plugstreet" Wood, but now, with nearly a year's front line experience behind me, I found, to my surprise and delight, that I had actually established a reputation for coolness in emergency! This, to a large extent I believe, was due to the terrible conditions under which we were living.

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When you are continually standing in mud and water up to your knees and even huigher, with long nights on the fire-step, shivering in icy winds or drenched with rain, it does not seemto matter very much if you are wounded or not; in fact, men who were wounded sufficiently to stand a good chance of being sent home to "Blighty" were congratulated by their comrades on their good fortune!

At this time I was in Sergeant S_____'s tem, and our machine gun emplacement was in Pelissier Trench. Here, in addition to manning the machine-gun, we had control of a "rifle battery" on a road immediately behind the trench. This rifle battery always struck me as being rather comic. It was trained on some cross roads just behind the enemy's lines, where their supply wagons used to leave the rations. Six rifles set in a wooden frame and you fired them all at once, at stated times, by the simple process of pulling a cord. I suppose it was really a useful adjunct to our achine guns, which were so few in number (still only two to a battalion) that we could not spare one for this purpose. I remember there was a tiny dug-out near the rifle battery, and that while on duty here by myself all one night, I kept myself awake by reading, by the light of a candle, a small book dealing with the lives of notorious highwaymen of the 18th century. I remember that the writer was intent on "debunking" then from Claude Duval to Dick Turpin. In the midst of this absorbing narrative I would glance from the book to my watch, and when it was time to "do my stuff" would pull the cord of the rifle battery. An almost simultaneous report from all six rifles followed; I would eject the empty cartridge cases, reload the rifles, and return to Dick Turpin!!

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On the morning of Sunday, January 30th, our patrols made a bombing raid on the German trenches. This cheerful entertainment was due to commence at the ghastly hour of 3 a.m., at about that time, it is sadi, that man's physical and moral courage is at its lowest ebb! T_____ and I, as "gun numbers," were deputed to stand by until we heard the bursting of the bombs, and then to open fire with our machine-gun to cover the raiding party. It was rather "jumpy" work waiting for the show to start. Surely enough at 3 o'clock, "bang, bang, bang," came from the German front trench, showing that our men were in it and bombing along it with their hand grenades. T_____ and I opened fire at once, and did not cease, except to reload, until we had fired over two thousand rounds. We had, as usual on these occasions, fixed a screen of wet sandbags in front of the gun to conceal the flashes as much as possible, but the boches were soon searching for us with their shells. A loud whizzing noise, growing into a piercing scream, a deafening crash, and we were thrown together into the bottom of the gun empolacement and smothered in mud. A big shell had landed just behind us, but beyond a shaking we were unhurt, and at once sprang up and resumed our firing. The water in the barrel casing of the machine-gun was now boiling, and was roaring through the rubber escape tube into a bucket of water to be condensed. The sound of bursting grenades and rifle fire came to us in the intervals, so the raid was still in progress. We reloaded, fired another belt through (250 rounds), and then paused. Now all is quiet in front; the raid is evidently over. We reload, tidy up the emplacement, which is now piled with spent cartridge cases, and await the slow coming of dawn. Then "stand to," a nip of rum, and two or three hours sleep on the dirt floor of our dug-out, before commencing our trench dutiies for the day.

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It was shortly after this that we occupied what was to us a fresh line of trenches at Foncquevillers (previously held by the Royal Warwicks) to the left of the Hebuterne sector. The very first night in this new sector we were severly bombarded. Sergeant S____ and I were sitting in a small dug-out near our gun emplacement. As I write it all comes back as if it were yesterday. It is pitch dark and unwontedly still......... the dead of a winter's night. When suddenly the silence is broken by "whizz-bang, whizz-bang," the Boches have started to bombard us. Soon shells are coming over thick and fast, and the crashes merge into one another. Several shells land quite close, and we can hear the great fragments singing through the air. If a shell hits the roof of this place our number will be up, as it is not nearly strong enough to resist a direct hit. The shelling continues. Suddenly Sergeant Pat C____ staggers into the dug-out. "A____ kiled and F____ badly wounded," he gasps. Their gun emplacement, next to ours, has just been struck by a shell and bursting there it killed poor Frank A____ instantly while Charlie F_____ has a terrible wound in his leg.

The shelling almost instantly stops, as S_____ and I rush to the gun to await any attack which may follow. But there is no infantry attack this time, and dead silence descends once more. Only the Verey lights rise continually from the Boche's trenches close at hand. As the bright white light breaks forth it illuminates the dismal scene....... the glistening wet mud of the trench walls, the sodden sandbags on the parapet, the irregular masses of twisted wire and posts, the jagged stumps of trees, and the water gleaming cold and white in the shell holes. What a life!!!

It is hard to realise we shall never see Frank again. He was so big, and cheerful, and fgull of life. Yet somewhere close, just behind those trenches in front, a German gunner fires his gun, and without even knowing it, stamps out that splendid life. We are left to ponder the problem of life and death, not knowing which of us will be the next to follow Frank into the Unknown; not knowing what lies ahead of us or what beyond.

[marina]

I don;t think I;ve read such a good account of the noise of the shelling before. Excellent!

Marina

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A Struggle Through the Mud - Winter Warfare - The Bombardment of Colincamps - A Heavy Load - How to get a Free Meal.

Our next move was to trenches in front of Colincamps. Here our first post was in Sniper's Square, a cheerful spot, appropriately named, for it was a target for rifle and machine-gun fire on three sides. There was deep snow on the ground and it was bitterly cold. Our dug-out was a small cramped hole, high up at the top of a steep bank, which rose from a sunken road, part of the Square. We had to crawl with the machine gun along a narrow tunnel and mount it at a loophole commanding an important position in the enemy's line. This however, was a secret position and we had orders not to fire from here unless we received a signal - the showing of a red light - from a spot about two hundred yards distant. I well remember when Sergeant S____ and I first mounted the gun in this position. He was ill with something like influenza, and I had a severe feverish cold and both of us must have felt about as strong as a pair of buck rats. We crawled, carrying the heavy gun as best we could, through the tunnel and then had a most difficult task to mount it in the cramped space by the loophole. Here we lay during the rest of the night with the bitter wind whistling round us. It is a marvel neither of us got pneumonia. It was here I spent a birthday.

When we came out from our first tour of duty here we went to Souastre. Here we were able to make fires in our braziers and keep reasonably warm, which was very essential as the snow was still deep, and more kept falling every few hours.

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Hebuterne

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After three days rest we went into another part of the line at Colincamps, further south. We halted a short distance beyond the village and took our guns and equipment from the mule drawn limbers. My load was two belt boxes full of loaded belts for the gun, with 250 rounds in each. Then we entered the communication trench. The further we went the deeper the mud got. It was thick, and of a bright yellow colour. Soon we were up to our knees in it. We were wearing long thigh gum-boots, but the mud got deeper. Corporal M_____ is immediately in front of me; he is shorter than I am, and I calculate that when the yellow mud and water, now as thick as ordinary porridge, is up to his middle, it will be trickling into the tops of my thigh boots. I had taken the precaution to sling the ammunition boxes round my shoulders, fastened together with a strap. This communication trench seemed about two miles long; it was probably quite three quarters of a mile, and very deep. It twisted and turned, and we frequently slipped and fell up against the sides of the trench. The mud now reached the top of my thigh boots, but just missed trickling in, I am glad to say. Though Corporal M_____ was not so forunate, he bore his discomfort with commendable fortitude, and did not even swear. He was quite young, certainly under twenty, and was very keen and efficient N.C.O., and usually cheerful under the most adverse of circumstances.

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By now my shoulders ached and burned from the weight of the boxes, but on and on we floundered through the yellow mud. At long last we turned left-handed, and soon afterwards found ourselves in the fornt line.

Immediately in front the ground rose sharply, and we were told that the enemy were just the other side of this slope, only about fifty yards away. It was now dusk, and the snow had commenced to fall again. In the trench the mud was up to our knees, but the floor of the dug-out was just above high water mark, and comparatively dry. T______ and I made some tea in a mess tin, and we all had a good warming drink and felt more cheerful. Just as I stepped out of the dug-out into the trench there was an ear splitting crash and the earth shook. It was a minnenwerfer (known to us as a minnie) which the Germans had lobbed over, and it had fallen and exploded just behind our trench.

It is now quite dark, and I am on guard, standing on the fire step, rifle in hand, and gazing over the parapet at our wire. The snow falls thickly now, and stings my face. Now and again a Verey light rises from the German trench, and shows up the ghastly wilderness around. Our officer comes up, and stands beside me on the fire step for a while. "Well, how do you like winter campaigning, S______?" he asks pleasantly. "Not at all, sir," I reply. What other answer could I give? No one but a homicidal maniac, with a fondness for wallowing in mud and snow, could enjoy himself here!

The weather remained severe throughout this tour, and the enemy constantly lobbed "minnies" over; but as none of these fell actually in the trench they did no damage. They did not shell us, however, as their front line and ours were too close together, and they might have dropped their shells in their own trench as easily as into ours.

[marina]

Grimmer and grimmer. Ceasr h minds the weather conditions more than the shelling. I keep thinkingabout what he said arlier - that they feared the dshells less as because of the weather and conditions, getting hit didn;t seem so bad.

I;m beginning to see what he meant.

Marina

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This forward position was far from comfortable, however. A low mound rose just in front of our wire, and immediately on the other side of this was the German front line trench. As the position was absolutley "blind" it would have been easy for them to have rushed us at any time during the night, or for that matter, equally easy for us to have rushed them in a night attack. Nothing of this kind happened; each side left the other severely alone.

When, at the end of four days we were relieved we retired to the village of Colincamps. At this time the village had not been badly damaged by enemy shell fire, though the civilian population had been evacuated. It was so near the line that the communication trenches led directly out of the southern end of the long village street. In happier times it must have been a pleasant spot, surrounded by orchards. On the left hand side of the main street as one came from the trenches was a B.E.F. canteen, where we were able to buy biscuits (as a change from the Army dog biscuit variety), chocalates, cigarettes, writing pads, and other useful articles.

We were billeted in a barn near to the northern entrance to the village. Two enormous Naval guns, of the largest calibre, were stationed in the orchard on the other side of the road. The roof of our billet had been partially destroyed by shell fire, and when these guns fired the concussion used to send the loose tiles rattling to the ground, which made things a bit dangerous for anyone who happened to be passing in the road below.

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One night we were awakened by a severe bombardment; the Gerrman guns were shelling our trenches very heavily, and we at once jumped into our equipment and stood by, expecting to go up into the line at once in support of the battalions there. The shelling ceased, however, in about half an hour, and we resumed our broken slumbers. Sleeping was none too easy here, as we had no blankets; we lay on the earth floor of the barn, covered with our greatcoats, and got what sleep we could. It was, at any rate, better than the trenches in this weather. On our next tour in the trenches we occupied the left front position, and had a moderately quiet time.

On being relieved once more, and returning to the village of Colincamps, we felt quite at home. One sunny afternoon - I find by my diary that it was March 31st, the anniversary of our landing in France - I was engaged in writing letters in the B.E.F. canteen, when there came a rising screech followed by a terrific bang just outside. Shell splinters rattled against the wall of the canteen and thudded on the roof. This was big stuff and it was time to "beat-it." Those of us who were engaged in the peaceful occupation of writing home hurriedly sprang to our feet and made for the door; in the rush two of us tried to get out together, and got stuck in the narrow doorway. As I got into the road another big shell came screaming over, and burst with a terrific crash right on top of the incinerator a few yards away from the canteen, throwing the contents high into the air in all directions. I made for a cellar under a ruined house just on the other side of the road, to find it already occupied by about forty other soldiers.

[marina]

I wonder how common it was t 'leave each other severely alone'? Must have been tempting.

Marina