Into The Trenches: A World War I Journal [2019]

Chapter 3

7 October 1914

Dearest Henry,

I am glad to hear that you are well. The house is very quiet without you. I must say I do not pine for your awful jokes, but I do miss you. I hold you to your promise not to get yourself killed. You must tell me about how it is to be at war. How are the other soldiers, the generals? What do you do when you are not fighting? Just please do not tell me of those you have killed.

Life at home is for the most part unchanged. Many men are joining the military as you did. More camps are being formed, and more soldiers are being sent out to the Western Front. There are posters and advertisements everywhere I look. If this goes on there will be few men left in most jobs. Mother has said that I ought to begin looking for a job soon, as I am nearly sixteen and you are away.

Yours truly,

Elizabeth

12 October 1914

A short description of my new friends and fellow soldiers.

Jacob is a strange one. He is a kind man about the camp, friendly with the other soldiers, though he doesn't talk about himself much. But the way he fights... he is terrifying. He's an incredible shot, and the look in his eyes makes you think he may turn and shoot you if you are in his way.

Ned is kind enough. He makes far too many jokes for his own good, but he is good-tempered and seems good friends with Richard. Richard I do not know well, but he is quite fierce when he wants to be. He is also fluent in French, which is helpful for speaking with nurses and other soldiers. My own limited skills in the language are little to no help.

They are all three between the ages of eighteen and twenty-one, Richard, I believe, being the eldest. They were also sent from various parts of England as reinforcements. Some are within that age range, while others are round my father's age.

I shall not trouble the reader with the gruesome details of my past several days; they have been the same as the first. It is far from the glorious battle I wished for when I left. 

19 October 1914

Our field-marshal, Sir John French, is ordering a two-branched attack on the Germans. French came from Antwerp, recently captured, and has brought his troops to Ypres. We fight alongside the army of General Foch of France. The goal is to recapture Lille and Brussels for Belgium. It is unclear whether the offensive will succeed.

It is becoming routine to venture into the chaos of no man's land, as horrifying as it is. I have seen more die than I can count, and the shock has not worn off. Jacob tells me that the Germans are the enemy and deserve to die, but I cannot believe it so readily. 

20 October 1914

The Germans launched an offensive of their own today, led by General Falkenhayn. They are attempting to break our line and capture Belgian ports along the Channel. The Belgian army is already weak. I do not know how long they will last. We fought harder than ever from the trenches today, and still no progress was made on either side.

1 November 1914

We are managing to hold off the attacks for the most part, mostly thanks to better rifles. A group of our cavalry was forced to retreat yesterday, but we are otherwise holding ground. Falkenhayn's forces outnumber ours, and they fight well. We are losing many soldiers, though the land remains the same.

The Navy in the Pacific does not fare so well. The Good Hope and the Monmouth were both sunk in a German attack, and no survivors have been found.

I am horrified at how many I have killed: more than I can count in a single day now. I brought the subject up with Jacob, who watched me with an inscrutable expression.

"The Germans invaded neutral territory and are killing innocents," he said. "They deserve what we're giving them."

"Do you think so?" I said. "Does anyone deserve any of this?"

Jacob was silent, staring at me for a minute. "Why did you come here?" he said finally. "What is it you fight for?"

"For England," I said after a moment's hesitation.

"There you are, then," he said. "Fight for England. I have my own reasons for fighting."

Of course Germany has wronged the Allies. But should every man in their army pay the price? My thoughts are mutinous, but I cannot help them. 

12 November 1914

Ned and I were sent yesterday with an assortment of soldiers to Hooge, a town not far from Ypres, as reinforcements for an attack by the Prussian Guards. We fought through the day with little change. The Germans eventually broke through our lines, but we formed a group of misfit soldiers with servants, cooks and such, and catching them by surprise drove them back.

We are on our way back to our original position, proud of our haphazard victory. An older man is passing round a bottle, and though I have rarely taken to drinking before, I accepted. Ned has taken a bit more drink than he ought, and is loudly telling jokes to the other soldiers. I have found I quite enjoy his company, though I do not know him well.