Soldiers' Stories of the War

by Unknown

There was a little trumpeter of the Royal Garrison Artillery, to which we were attached, and a fine youngster he was, about sixteen years old. We called him “Baggie.” He used to stick it very well, but at times, when he saw women and children hurt, he gave way and cried. But that kind-heartedness did not prevent him from being always eager to come with us when we took the ammunition up to the guns in the firing line. “Baggie” never knew fear for himself, but he felt it badly when others were hit or hurt, and that took place day after day.

There was another little trumpeter of the Royal Engineers who got badly upset for the same reason. He was billeted in a timber-yard, and I saw a shell fall in the yard and burst and send the timber flying in all directions. It seemed as if tremendous mischief had been done, and that there must have been a heavy loss of life; but, as a matter of fact, only one man was injured on the head and face by splinters.

The trumpeter rushed out, and I went up and talked with him to cheer him up a bit.

“It’s no good!” he said. “I can’t stick it any longer! I try to be brave, but I have to give way!”

Then he broke down and fairly cried, and a very pitiful sight it was, for he was only a kiddie, fifteen or sixteen years old.

I was always troubled myself when I saw how these little chaps were upset; but they did not break down through anything like fear—they were not afraid, and were splendid when they were with the men—it was the suffering and the fearful sights they saw that bowled them out.

These trumpeters—mere lads—went through all the marching and fighting that led up to the fearful business at Ypres, and they came out of the business splendidly. Little “Baggie,” for example, was right through it from the Aisne, and was up and down with the Siege Artillery all the time. He was present when one of the lieutenants was killed, and when I last heard of him he was still on the move and well; and I sincerely hope that he is all right now, and will come safely home.

I mention these things about the youngsters particularly, because they struck me as being out of the common, and so you notice them more than the ordinary matters.

While speaking of the earlier days of the war, I might say that, after the Marne and the Aisne, when we were going back over ground that we knew and on which we fought, we saw some sickening slaughter scenes, and realised to the full what an awful thing a war like this is.

One very peculiar incident which comes into my mind was the finding of a dead Uhlan in a wood. He had evidently been badly wounded, and had made his way into the wood for safety, but he had died there. When we found him he was sitting in a crouching position. On examining him, we found two postcards which he had written. We could not read them, but, as far as we could tell, they were addressed to women of the same name, but living in different places. We buried the Uhlan in the wood, and handed the postcards to a German officer who had been made prisoner, and he gave us to understand that he would see that they were sent to their destinations when he got a chance to despatch them. That incident was only one of many similar sights we came across in our part of the business.