Letter 52.—From a reservist in the Royal Field Artillery (Published in the “Glasgow Herald”):
I got a nasty hit with a shell on the thick of the leg. The Germans caught us napping on Wednesday, and what slaughter! It was horrible to witness. The Germans came along the village, killing the poor women and children and burning all the houses. Our division could not hold out. We were expecting the French troops to meet us, but they were two days late. Our battery had a lucky escape of being cut up. We entrenched our guns to come into action next day, but somehow or other we cleared out, and had only gone ten minutes before the place was blown up.
The officer in charge of my section had his head blown off. I was carried off under heavy fire on a fellow’s back, and it is to him I owe my life. It was a long way to hospital, shells bursting all round us. We dropped behind some corn stacks, then on we went again. I had no sooner got bandaged up when a chap came galloping up and said the Germans were in sight. I was the second last man to leave the hospital, and ten minutes later it was blown up. You cannot imagine what things were like. The women and children of England can think themselves lucky, for the poor women here had to walk from village to village, young children in their arms. It touched my heart to see the sight. The Germans did not use rifles, but big guns, against our infantry’s rifles. They are most brutal, killing all wounded in a most horrible fashion.
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Letter 53.—Front Trooper S. Cargill:
The Germans let all hell loose on us in their mad attempt to crush us and so win their way to Paris. They didn’t succeed, and they won’t succeed. I saw one ghastly affair. A German cavalry division was pursuing our retiring infantry when we were let loose on them. When they saw us coming they turned and fled, at least all but one, who came rushing at us with his lance at the charge. I caught hold of his horse, which was half mad with terror, and my chum was going to run the rider through when he noticed the awful glaze in his eyes and we saw that the poor devil was dead.
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Letter 54.—Front an Irish soldier, to his sister in County Cork:
I am writing this on a leaf out of a field service pocket-book, as notepaper and envelopes are very scarce, and we are not allowed to send picture postcards of places as they give away where we are. Well, this is a lovely country. The climate suits me very well. Everything grows like mad here. It is rather like Ireland, only ten times as rich. All that I have seen yet—and that is a good lot—is far and away better than the best part of the county Limerick. I think it would be a pleasure to farm here.