It was butchers’ work. We just rained shells on the German gunners until we were deaf and choking. I don’t think a gun on the position could have been sold for scrap iron after we had finished, and the German gunners would be just odd pieces of clothing and bits of accoutrement. It seems swanky to say so, but once you get over the first shock you’ll go on chewing biscuits or tobacco when the shells are bursting all round. You don’t seem to mind it any more than smoking in a hailstorm. Then you get pulled up with a jerk when your mate on the left curls up in a heap. War is rotten, but you can even get used to working in a candle-factory. We hated smells more than we did the Germans: An Artilleryman.
Not Much Left
One night after a very hard day in the trenches, when we were wet to the skin, we had lighted fires to dry our tunics, and were at it when we heard firing along our front, and then the Germans came at us like madmen. We had to tackle them in our shirt-sleeves. It was mainly bayonet work, and hard work at that. They were well supported by cavalry, who tried to ride us down in the dark, but we held our ground until reinforcements came, and then we drove them off with a fine rush of our cavalry and infantry. At one point there was a fine race between our battalion and one of the Lancer regiments as to which should get at the Germans first. We were handicapped a bit because we hadn’t horses, but we won in the end, and charged right into the German hordes with the bayonet. After that the Lancers came up, and there wasn’t much left for anybody else when the Germans were done with: Private A. Tims.
One More River
We got our orders early in the morning to get across the Aisne, and we had to turn out early. It was very cold, and there was a heavy rain; but we got our pipes set a-going, and we were all right then. When we got up the river the fun began. There were no bridges, but the Engineers had made some rafts. Six men got on each raft, and with the burden we were up to the knees in water, and we were hauled across to the other side by a rope. When we got to the other side we got it hotter than ever. Some time after this three of us were lying in a field. I was smoking my pipe, and my chum was puffing at a cigarette. The man next my chum hadn’t a match, and wanted a light badly, and he got up to get a “touch” from my chum. As soon as he rose the poor beggar was hit with a shell and killed: Pte. Hamish, King’s Own Scottish Borderers.
A Revolver Story
In the mad rush through the village Dodds was also shot badly in the leg, and the poor horse, which was carrying us two, was brought down. The result was that the two of us fell helpless to the ground, and we were immediately surrounded by a crowd of Germans, who yelled and acted like a lot of savages. We saw them tearing practically every bit of clothing from one of our poor chaps who had been killed, and in my own case they stripped me of everything but my trousers and shirt. They took from me the revolver that I had taken from a German officer, and one of them was about to strip me of my shirt when a funny thing occurred. I often laugh when I think of it. When I was looking up and trying to think as little as possible about my arm, who should stand above me but the captured German officer whose guard had been killed. He said, “You are the man who took my revolver. Let me have it back instantly.” I said that I had not got it, and that one of his own men had relieved me of it. “Then come with me,” he said, “and find the man who took it, and I shall have him shot.” I went around with him as a matter of form, but I was not having any: Lance-Corpl. M. Nolan, Royal Scots Greys.
At the Fords
The fiercest fighting took place when the Germans tried to force a passage of the river at various points. As they came up the fords—every one of which was commanded by our artillery and bodies of picked French and British riflemen—they were galled terribly by the rifle fire, and we kept plugging them with shells as fast as we could. For a while it didn’t seem to be of any use, for as one man fell another stepped forward to take his place, but he only struggled on a few yards before falling in his turn before the hellish fire we poured on them. They had evidently made up their minds to get the pontoons into position regardless of cost in lives. The first party got theirs in position nicely, and then came rushing across like a swarm of bees rushing out of their hives to see what was wrong. A shell from a French battery hidden on our left dropped right on to them, and the thing went toppling into the river with its human load, being carried downstream under a heavy rifle and shell fire. The same thing went on the whole day, until we were sick of the sight, and mists of blood were floating before our eyes, and the cries of the drowning and dying men were always ringing in our ears. That was the daily programme as I saw it until I got hit and was sent home. Only at one point did they manage to cross the river, and then they had to face a bayonet charge from the Allies’ infantry, who rushed on them with rare joy and hurled them back into the river: A Driver of the Royal Artillery.