Elbows of trench suddenly gape by the roadside and as suddenly cease. At one time these were parts of a well-proportioned alley, set with fire-bay and traverse, boarded floor and well-built parapet, running for mile after mile in one continuous crooked line from the steep Vosges of the South to the sand dunes of the North. Here was a sap that once stretched across No Man's Land, there was a front line, and further back, crawling through holt and hamlet, all that remained of a communication trench could be dimly discerned. The hamlet was now a medley of tortured beams and fallen bricks, the holt a congregation of peeled stumps that in the distance looked like an assemblage of lepers, and sap, fire-bay and communication trench were defaced, disfigured, their shapeless ruin adding to the ravage which had deformed the face of the country.
In imagination I could picture the country in days of peace with its rich pastures and fields of corn, its long roads lined with rows of magnificent trees, its hedgerows, dykes and canals, its populous villages where the bells of eventide called the faithful to prayer. This and much more could be pictured, the snug farmhouses, with their ricks of hay, the red-tiled cottages, the merry cafés, the shrines by the roadside, the windmills circling to the breeze, the old men smoking their long-shanked pipes, the women, bravely arrayed in mutch caps and white aprons, carrying on the work of their household, the children playing.... Where were the children now?
Even as I thought of this I could picture a date not so very far back, the winter of 1916-17, the most trying winter of the war. Here in this battle-wracked region the Australians were up against it. And "up against it" means everything, from the shattering on the parados of the mail bag with a letter from home, to the horrible death as men were sucked inch by inch into the rising mud of a slushy trench, sinking down into a grave where every effort to get clear was futile and where the tomb, cold, clammy and slimy, rose up to engulf the helpless victim.
The endless, ghastly horror of that winter will never be forgotten by those who lived through it. Two things are impossible: one, the forgetting of that Somme winter by those who knew it; and the other, the inability to picture the life of the trenches by those who have never fought in them.
Take the case of the young soldier suddenly dumped into the trench of war. Let the man be a sundowner from far back, where life is hard, in the Australian scrubs, or let him be a clerk from some shop or office in Sydney or Melbourne. For both, the life that they had formerly known was comparatively comfortable when placed in contrast to the life which Europe offered them when they came there as soldiers. One came from the parched Paroo, the other from the Sydney shop; both donned the habiliments of war and after a certain period of training found themselves stuck in a stinking drain on the Continent of Europe. This drain was the trench, with a fire-bay that was a miniature lagoon, the fire-step covered with slush, the parapet and parados falling in as if they were ditches built of wet sand. Water was there, water mixed with litter and clay. It was impossible to lie down, for the slush rose over the body, finding its way into eyes, mouth and ear. When the men slept they slept standing, to find when they awoke that it was almost impossible to move hand or foot. They simply stuck there and had to be hauled out by their mates. No fires were allowed to be lit, for the position had to be kept hidden from the enemy. Even if fires were allowed, there was no fuel, no coke, no wood and no matches.
And it was constantly raining or snowing, filling the alleys of war with slush and slime. In addition to the rain which winter brought, there was the eternal rain of scrap-iron sent across from the enemy gun emplacements. If a man was wounded he had to lie in the trench all day, for the sniper was always on the wait for the men engaged in the task of helping their stricken brothers. To move through the trench with a weighty stretcher was impossible.
At night, when the darkness covered the battle-area, the stretcher-bearers crossed the parados and carried the wounded back to the dressing station, their way beset with danger, bursting shells, hidden holes, and the trip wire that littered the terrible fields. And the mud rose to the men's knees, threatening to drag them down into its clammy depths. But despite this, the great work of war, the deeds of mercy and endurance, were carried on by the brave soldiery who had come so far to fight, not for the glory of their Empire so much as for the freedom of the world.
The dangers which beset the men going out also beset the men coming in. Ration parties were sent to bring in food to the trench garrison, but dangers being many and the way difficult, all food was cold when it arrived. Often it never came to hand at all, and those sent for it never returned to report themselves to the battalion. They left, the men of the ration party, with steaming dixies of tea, so the head-cook in some broken-down house at the rear, reported. "But they never reached here," said the battalion orderly sergeant in the front line. And somewhere in the semi-liquid mud that stretched from the field kitchen to the trench, the ration party disappeared from the sight of their mates for ever.
Then, after long days of hardship and nights of waiting (how many days and nights had passed they knew not), the men who garrisoned the front line were relieved and went back to support trenches for a rest. Here they would sit in a trench as wet as the trench which they had left, sleep in a shelter which hid the sky from their eyes but never kept the rain away from their sodden clothes. But despite this the trench had some advantages denied to the men nearer No Man's Land. They could light a fire and cook meals, make tea and fry a rasher of bacon. But the wood to make the fire was seldom to be obtained, and when it came to hand it was too wet to burn. Still, their own efforts to make their stay in support comfortable, helped a little to relieve the tedium of the time. The rest came to an end at the close of three or four days, and back again they went to the front line trenches.