Letters from the Front: From the First World War to the Present Day
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We are indenting for respirators, but I don’t expect we shall have much asphyxiating gas, as the wind is generally from us to the Turks. The latter set fire to the heather the other day, as a matter of fact, thus hindering the infantry from advancing and burning our wounded; when the Turk sees a wounded man in front of his trench he calls to others and they solemnly shoot at him and throw bombs. Guy saw them doing it. They also blazed away like mad with guns at a trawler flying the Red Cross, which was engaged in taking our wounded from the beach; but happily just missed it.
Hope you’re managing to get on the river: one feels in a foreign climate here, and doesn’t realise that possibly you’re having fine weather at home as well. One feels at times a great yearning to get back; but most times one’s too busy to think of anything but work; as a matter of fact, it’s not quite as deadly as that. They days pass very quickly: I shall soon be sending along a fresh instalment of [the] diary…
Must now go and see horses fed. ‘God bless you till I come back’ as the men say in their letters – implying that on their return, He can stop: be sure that my fortune or your prayers have preserved me so far and should continue to do so with luck.
Best of love to all.
Your very affectionate,
P.
June 21st
We have been blazing off ammunition in great style since above was written: you’ll probably see in the papers that an advance was made today. The part of the peninsula which we and other batteries were shelling this morning was simply a mass of dust which spread down Gallipoli and out to sea. We have been ‘standing by’ all subsequent parts of the morning… By the way, I believe we can send cables quite cheaply from here, so don’t be alarmed if you get one, because it will only contain a request for two boot-laces by return of post and not a notice that I’m pushing up the daisies of the Thracian Chersonese*…
Had better finish up this letter now, or a bombardment will begin again and I shan’t have a chance to send it off for another day or so.
Best of love to everyone: I hope you are keeping in good spirits and defying the evil Germ-Ottomans’ attempts to create despondency.
Yours very affectionate,
P.
June 28th
Dear Ma,
… I write this in the midst of a terrific battle: it is now 5.30pm and since 7 this morning we have been hard at it. From what I hear on [the] telephone we are doing very well – I know we meant to make a real business of it today. I am pretty deaf and fearfully hot: everyone else is all right.
War is so full of chances: three signallers today who really took considerable risks in lying wires out in the open and along the fire trenches, return unscathed to our camp here where they promptly get hit drawing their rations and filling their water bottles at the water carts!
We went for the Turk in proper style today, with mine and maxim and rifle and gun and aeroplane and destroyer (at sea) and howitzer and heavy gun and balloon. Expect after today we shall have a quiet time for a bit…
I write with my last stump of indelible pencil by one of the guns and with the ground strewn with empty cartridge-cases. The gunners are sitting about on the trails of the guns … and drinking tea… (More action) Am now standing by all loaded up in case of counter-attacks, so that if evil Turk shows his nose round the counter it may be blasted off him by one word.
8pm Have had more firing and am again standing by. I believe we have made a biggish advance; anyhow they sent up the right troops last night. It was the most impressive sight seeing them simply crowding up, all proper men, and with all the same expression on their faces. Hope they are all comfortable in the Turkish trenches.
I shall be dashing about most of tonight getting ammunition: am inclined to think that one earns one’s money occasionally. It will be rather a stirring night, as each side will be so nervous of the other that will be constantly shooting up flares which momentarily light up all the ground between the trenches and tho’ [sic] one is miles away, one feels most ‘conspicuous’…
Must go and eat. Best love to all. Will write a better letter soon.
Your very affectionate,
P.
July 2nd
Dear Ma,
… We did a big advance on June 28 and I have been walking about [the] last day or so looking to find where the new positions are. You know the things at exhibitions called ‘mazes’, where you walk into a room full of passages and try and find your way out? It is no exaggeration to say that the trenches are worse than that. They run in and out, never straight for more than 10 yards (so that if a shell comes in it won’t kill more than three or four) and there are duplicate firing trenches, supports, reserves, communication-trenches and so on; it is awfully difficult to find one’s way about, or to find where the enemy’s trenches actually begin. Generally the infantry put up a flag or biscuit-box to show how far they have got…
Had rather fun the other day: we were looking down a big ravine where we could see the Turks scuttling about at the further end, and we had machine guns popping off like mad at them. I did a bit of observing for one gun – a machine gun, you know, just presses a button like our dining-room bell and off go the bullets as long as you press.
It’s pretty hot here, and the glare off the whitish earth in the trenches is trying at times: but we go about without coats on generally. We are going to have khaki drill shortly, like the Gurkhas wear – little short bags like one wears for football…
I expect you can see from my letters that the war doesn’t worry me much, or what I run up against leave an impression on me that I can’t get rid of. One gets perfectly dispassionate – not, that is, being devoid of pity, but quite incapable of horror. These things are infinitely more ghastly in the reading than in the seeing. The great comfort is that we nearly always get back from the trenches at night, and where we are everything is quite sweet and clean. So you needn’t imagine me in a state of mental despair: but rather as very brown and getting much fatter, and thinking exclusively of what we shall get to eat…
Best love to all,
P.
The Highland Division also served alongside the ANZAC contingent in the Dardanelles. Eric Townsend served as a captain in 1/5th (City of Glasgow) Battalion, Highland Infantry Division (157th Brigade, 52nd Division). His letters home offer an interesting insight into the general movements up and down the line.
The Dardanelles
3rd July, 1915
Dearest Mother,
We are at last somewhere in the Dardanelles and living the luxurious life in the trenches, though I couldn’t quite exactly tell you where we are even if I wanted to. There are not many square miles on the peninsula where I could be, so you know fairly exactly where I am…
These trenches are old ones and not in the form of a continuous trench, but consist of individual dug outs in a double line a few yards apart. There is plenty of room to lie down in them, but they provide no shelter from the sun which beats into them. I have rigged up a waterproof shelter which affords a little shade, but it is very hot, tho’ [sic] we had some rain last night and this morning, and last night the lightning played continually and was very bright… Our company is in the front line of the Battalion trenches and the next line is about 400 yards to the rear. Exactly how many lines we have at present I don’t yet know… We have had no shells on our trenches yet, but we were told that the Turks had this exact range and until we got one or two and have a few casualties I don’t think we shall be able to keep the men properly down in their dug outs. There has been a fairly steady but very slight gun fire all day, and no rifle fire that we could hear. Our sole fare today is bully beef and dry bread and very little water. I expect water and supplies will come up during the night.
Sunday, 4th July (Not a day of rest). Still alive in the same trenches with the shrapnel buzzing overhead, but none on us yet…
Last evening the remainder of the Battalion straggled past our lines after nine days in the firing line on their way back for
a rest. You will have heard how badly the Scottish Rifles were cut up – terribly sad…
Tuesday, 6th July. The scene changes again. The Battalion is in fairly advanced reserve trenches to which we came up last night. It was a long and weary job, and took from 8.30pm till about 1.30am today, at which point officers and men fell down together and slept. We are safer here than before for the trench is very deep and never gets shelled. The only dangerous thing in the front line is a charge. The heavy firing of [yesterday] morning I spoke of was a Turkish attack, repulsed with great loss. There is no rifle fire by day, but there are other sharp bursts at dawn and sunset when attacks are made and the Turks fire all night at random, just to show us they are still here. It lulls us to sleep! – At present we are very crowded – too short a trench. No casualties. Quite well.
Hope you are all the same.
Eric
4 Nov 1917
Dear Mother
The war has started again here, but we are entirely out of it in the meantime – in fact enjoying baths in the sea! More later.
Love to all,
Eric
Despite the cheerful optimism of this short note it was in fact his final letter home and Eric was killed in action shortly afterwards.
For most soldiers on the front line regular contact with the home front was crucial for maintaining morale. The British Forces Post Office (BFPO) could trace its history back to 1799 when the office of the Army Postmaster was initially established, but during the First World War its service expanded greatly with millions of letters exchanging hands.
Rifleman Bernard Britland sent a series of letters home to his mother during his time on the Ypres Salient in 1915 describing the general conditions in the rear echelons, his first sighting of a dogfight and even the occasional gas attack.
Ypres, Thursday June 17, 1915
Dear Mother,
I received your letter and parcel quite safe and in good condition. Thank you very much for the parcel it was a treat. Thank Aunt Pollie and our Bertha for the butter, milk and sweets. The bread and butter tasted a treat. The bread we get out here is nothing near so good as English bread and it is not so often that we can get butter. I would like a few teacakes if you could send them, either white or brown. I have never seen one since I left England.
We have done some moving about since we came over here and all marching too. From what I can hear we are a kind of flying column, ready to go where we are needed at a minute’s notice. We are seeing the country through it, so that is one consolation. At the present time we are in reserve trenches. The only thing we have to be afraid of here is when they start shelling us and that is not so often.
When we are marching through the country place, only a mile or two behind the firing line, you would never think there was a war on except now and then you come across a village which has been shelled and then you realise what it must have been like to the Belgians. It is mostly farming round here and we see the farmers going on with their work as unconcerned as if nothing was going on and yet all the time there will be the roar of the big guns and the rattle of rifle fire all around. It does seem a contrast to me…
I am getting as hard as nails and keeping in very good health. Many a time we have to sleep out in the open and up to now I feel no worse for it…
I think I will close now with best love to everybody at home and my best respects to all enquiring friends from your affectionate son,
Bernard.
Field Post Office
Saturday July 3, 1915
Dear Mother,
I received your very welcome letter and the [parcel] from G. Howard. I also received a letter from Pollie in the same post. They were delivered to me in the trenches and at the time of writing we are still in the trenches. We are still at the same place I told you about in my last letter, we are in the support trenches here and we have to carry rations up to the troops in the firing lines. We do this at night but in the daytime we are not allowed to leave the dug outs, for if we do the enemy are almost certain to start shelling us and we have a lively time for about an hour. The Germans have sent gas bombs over our trench several times but the only effect it had on us was to make our eyes smart. You would have laughed if you had seen us sitting in the dug out with tears streaming down our faces. As soon as we smell it we put our smoke helmets on, and if we get these on in time it does not affect our eyes. The smoke helmets we use seem to be very good ones. They are made like a bag and fit right over our heads and we fasten them inside our tunics. In the front is a transparent piece of tale or mica, so that we can see what we are doing. There has been a lot of shelling here this week but I am still one of the fortunate ones. I am still keeping in good health and hope you are all the same at home…
I think that is all just now so I will close with best love to everybody from your loving son,
Bernard.
Field Post Office
Monday July 26, 1915
Dear Mother,
We have left the rest camp and we are at present living in dug outs outside the town which I mentioned before. We are a few miles from the firing line but expect to go there any day now…
Yesterday we had an open-air service and after the service the chaplain held a communion service in a loft over a barn. We had to climb a ladder to get to the loft. It was a very interesting service and was a strange contrast to the communion service I attended at Easter at Mossley. The chaplain is trying to make arrangements for a confirmation service for those who have not been confirmed. I should think it should be a very interesting service.
We had a very interesting experience here last night just after tea. We were outside our dug outs when we saw a German aeroplane flying about. Our anti-aircraft guns started firing at it and then three or four of our own aeroplanes appeared. All at once we saw the German machine burst into flames, tipple over a few times and then dive straight down to the earth. Whether it was the guns or one of the aeroplanes which hit him I do not know, but whichever it was, both the men in it were killed and the machine wrecked. It fell from a terrible height. It is the first I have seen fetched down and I must have been terrible for the two men…
Give my kindest regards to all enquiring relatives and friends. I am your affectionate son,
Bernard.
Rifleman Britland’s letters are quite different in tone to Charles Tame who served with the transport section of the 1st Battalion, Honourable Artillery Company, also in Ypres. Tame did not hesitate to tell his sister about some of the bloody and brutal fighting he witnessed on the front line, including the execution of prisoners.
Transport Section
1t Battn HAC
British Expeditionary Force
My darling Hilly,
How can I thank you for your kindness to me on so many occasions, my wants you have so quickly supplied in such extremes as these. The medicine which has just arrived is appreciated more than words can say, and in fact you have done for me as much as mother could do. I shall always be very grateful to you and when I return I shall worship the ground upon which you walk…
Now this is my private letter home, I therefore intend to tell you everything concerning this Great War and myself. We have just been through a very rough fight at Ypres, capturing three German trenches under very heavy shell fire, we were in the charge with the Royal Scots, First Rifles and Worcesters. I am sorry to tell you two officers have been killed (Stone and Dathow), two officers wounded, including the colonel, the doctor, Capt Lancaster, Capt Osmond and Capt Boyle, 250 men killed, wounded and missing. I do not know who they are yet, but no doubt you will see the list in the daily papers before I shall. Please send it out here.
Thanks to you for your good prayers. I am unhurt, the chap next to me had the back of his head blown off, and the fellow next but one on my left was shot through the right lung. Seven of our transport horses were killed, three were blown to atoms. ‘Owen’ is quite well but did not like it I am sure, as he pushed me over on my back twice in his exc
itement.* We were under shell fire for eight hours, it was more like a dream to me, we must have been absolutely mad at the time. Some of the chaps looked quite insane after the charge was over, as we entered the German trench hundreds of Germans were found cut up by our artillery fire. A great number came over and offered themselves as prisoners, some went on their knees and asked for mercy, needless to say they were shot right off which was the best mercy we could give to them.
The Royal Scots took about 300 prisoners, their officers told them to share their rations with the prisoners and to consider the officers not with them, the Scots immediately shot the whole lot, and shouted ‘Death and Hell to everyone of ye s—’ and in five minutes the ground was ankle deep with German blood and this is the life we had for two days. All that I saw were men and horses all mixed up in death, it was as I have said just like a dream, I could not believe my own eyesight, and could not realize what I saw to be reality, only a dream, or, I might say a nightmare. War makes every man turn to his God, and asks Him for help. He is the only protection he has, it also helps him to understand death more clearly, his life out here is not worth a blade of grass, unless God says otherwise. It does seem indeed very strange to me to be in such a position as to see dead men and horses, and to smell them all day and night, everywhere, and at all times, it is really an awful life and unnatural one…
They are badly in want of officers out here, I do not want promotion, I want the war to finish and to go home. The weather now is getting very hot indeed, most of our chaps sit about in the fields naked, the poor horses feel it very much also. We are having a trouble with the water supply which is very short. I believe someone is trying to have it pumped inland from the coast, the man who succeeds should receive the VC. The water we are now drinking is absolutely thick and muddy, but yet it seems to do us no harm so it must be good. I drink as little as possible. I have found a new invention which suits me very well and quenches my thirst better than anything else, it is to chew a small quantity of long grass and then put the old pipe on.