Fighting the Boche Underground

by H. D. Trounce

Our first dugout was in a communication-trench called the Boyau Bentata, and about twenty yards from the junction of this trench with the firing-trench, here called the Doublemont Trench. This junction was evidently well known to the enemy, who pounded the spot regularly with T.M.'s. It is unfortunately necessary to keep sentries at points like this, and we took a certain morbid interest in noting the casualties at this place. They were many. I had to pass it a dozen times, at least, during the twenty-four hours, but always happened to be in a hurry. There are many undesirable places like this in the trenches. Warning and information as to their location is always a part of the programme when "trench reliefs" are carried out.

Some daring work is done at night by the various patrols in No Man's Land. No one without experience can understand how easy it is to lose oneself on these excursions. It is absolutely imperative to take one's bearings very carefully before moving far in No Man's Land. Many men wander into enemy trenches. Time and time again we have captured Germans who had become hopelessly lost at night, and who surrendered themselves in our trenches after having spent two or three very unpleasant days in shell-holes in No Man's Land. Our men, too, would occasionally disappear in the same mysterious way.

To a man in No Man's Land at night the enemy trenches and our own look very much alike. Star-shells are going up on both sides, and often there seems to be nothing to indicate which is which. As summer came on, the grass in No Man's Land grew very long, and some very daring scouting took place in the daytime, as well as at night. One man in the new division, an Argentine cattle-puncher, would tie a lot of long grass and brush around his body and then slowly crawl around in the daytime, crossing to the enemy trenches frequently. He would pack his bully and biscuits with him, carry a water-bottle, and be away sometimes for forty-eight hours at a time. He did some very good work and brought back useful information as to Hun machine-gun posts and other things, and by infinite care lived for two weeks in this way before he got a bullet through his lungs.

A battalion of the London Scottish were in this division, not all regular Scotchmen, but of Scotch descent. I recall very distinctly the first time I got a working-party of these fellows. They had to work on top of the trenches at night, bucking the sand-bags from our mines, emptying them into shell-holes, mine-craters, etc. I could not help but sympathize with them in the trenches at night for the first time, clad in their short kilts and slipping around in the mud and hard rain on the wet and slimy sand-bags, meantime dodging the machine-gun fire of the enemy. I think they have about nine yards of material in these kilts, and they seem to like wearing them, but I can't say I envied them.

As up in the Flanders trenches, we would often go to the infantry officers' dugouts to meals, especially if anything better than the usual army rations was to be had, and we were often invited to join the Jock officers at dinner in their company headquarters dugout. They had a strange habit of asking their pipers down to play for them at dinner, just as they do back at their camps. You can imagine how the bagpipes, played by a full-lunged Scot, would sound in a dugout thirty feet underground and about six by eight feet in size with five or six big Scotchmen filling the place. The piper was invariably rewarded with a tot of whiskey after his effort.

The arrival of mail was always eagerly anticipated, and we were seldom disappointed. The British Postal Service, which is under the direction of the Royal Engineers, was particularly efficient. In all the time I was at the front, our mail was seldom delayed. We received the London newspapers the day after issue, and the Continental Daily Mail the day of issue. My own mail from way off in California was received regularly almost every day, reaching me nearly always three weeks after mailing. My friends in California sent me a plum-pudding, candy, and other perishable stuff for the Christmas of 1916, and it arrived on time and in good condition. The number of parcels alone handled must have been enormous, many officers and men getting their supplies of tobacco, papers, magazines, and other good things regularly through the mail. It has reached such a point that I understand many officers now send their laundry back to England each week-end.

When our turn came around for a rest we would ride back to our camp at Berles. Here we used to have some mighty good times. A third of the officers would usually be out there, the H.Q. officers always, and there was not too much work to do. We would arrange football games for the men, get up matches with other units at rest; play cricket, fix up boxing tournaments, track events, and occasionally visit some of the villages near by. Here at B. we were clear away from any shelling, and got a thorough change. Only occasionally were we even visited by a bombing enemy plane. The summers are very pleasant in France, and we could sleep out-of-doors. Usually our back camps were much closer up, about three miles on an average, and we would be shelled occasionally, but there is nothing much to worry about in camps at this distance except at these odd times. The best billets are usually the fine old châteaux, nearly every village boasting one of these, but the corps and division staffs would usually secure them first.

Back in the rest-billets it was amusing to hear the average man's philosophy on war in general. We all agreed that in the next war, perhaps a decade or so in the future, we would all lean back in our comfortable Morris chairs at the club and patronisingly remark to any young fellow around who was planning to enlist, "Go to it, old man, you're sure a lucky man—only wish I was twenty years younger—I'd be with you," then leisurely pause to light a fresh cigar, order another drink, and continue to read with much inward satisfaction the newspaper man's optimistic account of the latest victories.

An amusing incident happened one night with a new mining officer who at the time was occupying one of our dugouts just behind the firing-line. It was at a time when the German miners were tunnelling all around us and we stood in doubt as to where some of their tunnels extended. One night he sent an S O S call that the Huns could be heard talking to the right of our dugout, estimating the distance at about ten feet. Our O.C., a game little chap, happened to be at the Savoy, our dugout at Aux-Rietz. Receiving this message about 2 in the morning, he hurried up to the scene and, after a very short investigation, discovered that the sounds of enemy mining were the result of one of our own infantry working-parties opening up a new trench just at the back of this dugout. When satisfied that it was not a practical joke and that the officer had been genuinely concerned, he dropped the matter and did not proceed with the court-martial which the rest of us feared would ensue.

Our O.C., Major C., a former regular officer in the British army, was always on hand when any interesting events were happening, and would turn out at any moment, day or night, to go up to the trenches and assist his officers. In other words, he was a "Regular Fellow," and very popular with his command.