One Hundred Days

Vimy Ridge

April 1917.  Victoria, British Columbia.

My dearest Mother,

A great Canadian victory has been achieved and new reports of the battle are teaming in daily. In fact, so great was the triumph that the Canadian Corps has been talked of in headlines worldwide. I have been able to glean information from certain publications from our American counterparts, thus circumventing the odious censorship of our own counterparts.

The resounding result is the same: our Canadian boys are heroes! Even King George himself has congratulated our troops on their splendid achievement! It is as if we Canadians have emerged out from under the shadow of Britain as a nation capable of greatness. Like a rising phoenix stretching her wings as she rises from the ashes of her former self. We are no longer a senior dominion, but a country united!

This news is so refreshing after the hardships presented to us by the battle at The Somme last fall. Our boys were been given the distinction of being a formidable assault force. However, I shall not forget that this title came at a great cost. The destitute loss of so many of our men in one battle cannot and should not be endured again.

I am not naive enough to believe that there will be no bloodshed in the pursuit of peace. Nay, to place hope in such a conclusion would be utter folly. I do, however, believe that preparation is key. The most remarkable inference that has been distilled down from that particular loss is thus: inexperienced and patchily trained volunteers do not an army make.

In the early days, so many men were caught up in the promise of glory, a foolish notion still touted about in propaganda. They were wet behind the ears. It is one thing to envision yourself a hero, saving your family from a faceless enemy. It is another thing altogether to stare down a young man over the barrel of a gun. I cannot fathom what that must be like.

Reports also suggest that the men were woefully unprepared for the conditions they faced. Muddy and cold trenches dug into the ground, filled with rats and lice. Emma's brother Charles wrote to her describing long periods of dreary boredom intermingled with periods of complete and utter terror. With the threat of death constantly around the corner, it was impossible to relax. His health and stamina were as worn as the leather on his boots.

Some days I cannot bear to think of the poor reality of our boys on the Western Front. I was not surprised when Dorothy Parker told me that her brother had malingered after his medical leave. Arthur has spoken to her freely about the conditions he faced on a daily basis, and how he felt he did not have the training he needed before his first battle. His innocence was lost in no man's land, crushed beneath the weight of his dead comrades.

When Arthur arrived home, he was a changed man in more ways than one. His mind has been affected by what he has seen. Dorothy says he can scarce stand to hear the chiming of the grandfather clock in their sitting room. Immediately, Arthur braces himself into a fetal position. More than once she has found him cowering under the dining table gingerly stroking his injured hand.

Nonetheless, he has been adapting well to his new disability. The loss of his middle finger on his left hand will not affect his shooting abilities, and the army has cleared him to return to the field as soon as possible. (Strange though, isn't it? He may be maimed, but he is still useful unlike those who have been rendered blind by mustard gas or lost a limb in a shell blast.)

Yes, I do see why Arthur continues to exaggerate his pain in order to seek more time at home. How does one confront the horror once more when he is being suckled at the nurturing breast of his childhood home? It may have been easy to take up arms in the early days as we all had excitement and pride to carry us. Now we are only left with death and defeat.

In all confidence, I share with you that Dot suspects Arthur might have inflicted the injury upon himself by exposing his hand to the line of fire. A radical action, indeed, but I can believe that in his deeply shell-shocked state it seemed like a more practical solution to ending his suffering than facing death by firing squad as punishment for desertion. But I digress. Let me speak again of our victory that has made this a very happy Easter, indeed!

The Canadians have taken Vimy Ridge! It is a feat that had been impossible for the British and French troops before now. Father and I have often discussed how important securing this fortification was for the Allies. The Ridge's position provides a commanding view over the countryside, and has provided the German's with a considerable advantage for so long. Now we hold the key in visualizing the enemy's defensive position. This triumph rivals that of Jesus' rising from the grave! Hallelujah!

Just over a month ago, Louis had written to me in detail about the tactical strategies that were being planned. Apparently, the arduous Battle of Verdun and the harrowing defeat in the early days fighting over The Somme have provided much needed intelligence to the troops. When his fellow Canadian officer Arthur Currie learned the entire CEF would be united on the battlefront, he was determined to protect his men.

Currie, the commander of the 1st Battalion, has had the lads intensively trained in hand-to-hand combat and they have been given specialist roles as either machine-gunners, grenade-throwers, or as riflemen. Each soldier has access to models of the battlefield with the recent reconnaissance - maps created from aerial photographs of the ground to guide their way. Louis even went as far as to claim that Old Kaiser Bill would throw up the sponge if he knew how well primed the Allied forces are.

Louis was adamant in expressing that the men would not stop at anything before Vimy was taken. Each soldier has been told that they must keep marching forward, even if they see their fellow officers or soldiers fall. Yes, their orders are to keep moving at all costs and wait for the stretcher-bearers to collect the wounded. Only a swift and consistent artillery barrage can be counted on to force the Germans to stay deep in their dugouts.

Yesterday came zero hour. Despite crossing increasingly treacherous ground, our men did as they were commanded and overran the Germans. The incredible bravery instilled in our men through adequate instruction turned our civilian force into a set of professional soldiers. The world shall proclaim that the Canadians are proud to sacrifice themselves for the greater good in the face of seemingly insurmountable challenges and certain horror.

I hear most of the Ridge has been caught and that our men continue to march shoulder to shoulder, meticulously advancing the line with precision and discipline. I do not doubt that the Prussians will be forced to concede their position in a matter of hours. Hallelujah, indeed!

Your loving daughter,

Helen