World War I - Letters From The Trenches

Letter 4

Dear Henry,

I have stopped writing the truth when I send mother letters, because I don't want her to worry or be scared for me. But I wanted to write to someone about what's happening here, and you came to mind.

We are in the support trench now. I can almost taste the tension in the air, as we wait to move forwards, so I have no idea what it will be like once we actually get to the Front Line. I suppose it's because we feel so useless, as we can't actually fight or do anything now, apart from sit around and wait and try not to get our feet wet. It's so muddy at the minute - when I do move around, which is rarely, I sink in the mud so it's past my ankles. I try to be quick, so I don't sink as much. The one thing I don't wish to get is trench foot. I would much rather be shot straight through the head. I've been told about it - Your foot swells up, and if you take your boot off you cant get it back on, which makes it worse. If it gets worse, more often than not amputation is needed, and if you do get lucky and the swelling starts to go down, it causes unbearable pain. I've had that proven to me - I can hear shouts sometimes, and everyone goes silent for a couple of seconds, and looks at each other. Luckily none of us have it from the football club. Yet.

 There are rats everywhere, and lice. The lice are worse, I think. They get everywhere, and you can't get rid of them, and they itch so much. Everyone's got them. They're far more annoying than the rats. I almost feel sorry for the rats sometimes - They're just trying to survive, like us, and people sometimes try and stab them with their bayonets when they're bored for fun.  I saw one rat run up to a dead body and then run away again, and when it came back it had a whole plague of rats with it, and they jumped on the body and started to devour the skin. I got away from them as quickly as I could, but the image was burned into my brain for the next few hours.

We've had one gas attack since we moved forwards. It was terrifying. A shell dropped and landed next to us, and I almost froze with shock, but Billy jumped up and started to pull me away, fumbling for our gas masks. The gas billowed out of it. Albert wasn't so lucky, and was hauled away in a stretcher, coughing loudly, his eyes wide with fear. We don't know what happened to him. He was always really quiet, and I didn't really talk to him, but I still notice the absence of him regularly. I can only hope he's back home, that they're figured out a way to save him.  I've woken myself up a couple of times screaming at him to run.

Billy is more moody and pessimistic than ever now, and keeps muttering about sticking his head above the trench and asking the Hun for a favour. He said he'd prefer that, as he doesn't think he has the courage to shoot himself in the foot so he can go home injured. He doesn't think it's worth it, because if he's found out, he might be shot for cowardice. And he also says he's not good enough at acting to pretend to be mad. It scares me that he's thought about it that deeply.

James barley ever laughs now, and I miss his jokes.

 Send my love to Mother and Rose.  Tell Rose I love her, as always, and I can't wait to be home with her. I hope you're okay as well and your legs aren't bothering you to much. I hope you aren't still wishing you were here. Trust me; you really don't want to be. And we aren't even on the front line yet.

I don't know if I'll write another letter before Christmas, even though it's a few weeks away still. I think everyone is depressed at the minute because we know we won't be back now. So... an early merry christmas, I guess.

Love

Charles Reeves.