Posted As Missing

4. Remeniscences for Relief

As the truckload of wounded German soldiers swayed along the uneven road, David watched several as they battled motion sickness. Three men hanging over the tailgate reminded him of the Atlantic crossing and the seasick soldiers lining the rails. To some, the sea voyage was torture; to me, it was a wonderful experience.

He continued running pleasant thoughts through his mind to avoid thinking of the pain. Thirty-four transport ships. They told us it was the largest army ever to cross the Atlantic. The people in Plymouth were so surprised to see us; they had no idea we were coming. Guess that's the purpose of censoring our letters and cards.

Again, he scanned the crowd of wounded soldiers in the back of the truck, looking at all the different uniforms.

They seem much like us — many different regiments and battalions, many different uniform styles. Wonder if there are any here from Josef's – from my battalion. They wouldn't recognise me, anyway. Of the eleven hundred in the British Columbia Regiment, how many do I recognise? We're all the same – an army of ants, especially now, wounded and turned inward. If they're like us, their hospitals are too crowded to take any who can move on our own.

He thought of the long process of disembarking tens of thousands of soldiers and moving them to camps on Salisbury Plain. His pain returned as he thought of the four dismal winter months, training in mud, cold and rain.

But the trip to Stonehenge, and the excursions to Bath and Bristol, drew his mind back to more pleasant times. Those had been delightful breaks from the training, the dripping tents, and the crowded, fetid huts. They call me a private, but I've absolutely no privacy. The pain returned again.

Marching off the Plain in early February. What a great experience. We felt so proud, so disciplined as we headed to the trains. Amazing what a few months of training can do.

He thought about the crossing from Avonmouth to St-Nazaire. We had no idea where they were taking us, but the food sure improved once we arrived in France. God! That British stodge was horrid. Three days in the railway freight cars and only five hundred miles. Three days on a Canadian train will take you six times as far and a lot more comfortably.

He winced at the pain as he smiled at his memory of the soldiers pronouncing Ypres as 'Wipers' when they arrived to join the British First Army. Have to remember not to smile for a while, but the Brits were even worse with the pronunciation.

They seemed desperate for reinforcements, and we went straight into the trenches. We had no battle to prove ourselves, but it still gave us confidence knowing we were trusted to hold the Front Line. What a relief to finally be moved back from the trenches at the end of March. That break at Estaires made me feel almost human again.

After the break, on the 15th of April, the Canadians took over the Allied front line northeast of Ypres. Then, on the 22nd, the German offensive began, and the division was thrown into the Second Battle of Ypres – and into the first effective chlorine gas attack of the war.

That was so awful. David winced at the pain in both his wounded face and his memory of the men to his left collapsing when the yellow clouds came. They had no warning, no way to fight it. So many of them. So many. He shuddered.

The Canadian 7th Battalion was to the right of the French Colonial troops in the front-line trenches when the Germans launched their first gas attack. Both groups took heavy losses, the French retreated, but the Canadians stood their ground. Word quickly spread around their trenches: "If another gas cloud comes, piss in your handkerchief and breathe through it. The chemicals in your urine will neutralise the gas."

So strange, desperately needing to pee but daring not to lest I needed it. Then the idea to piss in an empty Maconochie tin and save it. God! That Scottish stew was horrid; even piss would improve it. I wonder how Fritz eats. Surely, it can't be as bad as Tommy's rations.

The Germans had begun advancing toward the four-mile gap left by the French retreat. The Canadian 8th Battalion, from its position in reserve, was immediately mustered and ordered forward to push the Germans back and hold the line.

As dusk fell on the 22nd, David had taken a grazing shrapnel wound and been sent back to have it sutured and dressed. Fresh from a day's rest, he later answered the call for volunteers among the lightly wounded and went forward with members of his battalion's Headquarters Company late on the 23rd to reinforce the 8th Battalion near Saint-Julien.

They scrambled to hold off the Germans through further gas attacks, without reinforcements and with no support on either flank. Wonder how the rest of them fared. So many had already fallen. So few left.

His pain grew sharply. Let me get back to thinking of the mountains, of climbing ... Pleasant thoughts.