In Flanders Fields And Other Poems [11]
meals. Looking to the south between the trees,
we could see the ruins of the city: to the front on the sky line,
with rolling ground in the front, pitted by French trenches, the German lines;
to the left front, several farms and a windmill, and farther left,
again near the canal, thicker trees and more farms. The farms and windmills
were soon burnt. Several farms we used for observing posts were also
quickly burnt during the next three or four days. All along behind us
at varying distances French and British guns; the flashes at night
lit up the sky.
These high trees were at once a protection and a danger.
Shells that struck them were usually destructive. When we came in
the foliage was still very thin. Along the road, which was constantly shelled
"on spec" by the Germans, one saw all the sights of war:
wounded men limping or carried, ambulances, trains of supply, troops,
army mules, and tragedies. I saw one bicycle orderly: a shell exploded
and he seemed to pedal on for eight or ten revolutions and then collapsed
in a heap -- dead. Straggling soldiers would be killed or wounded,
horses also, until it got to be a nightmare. I used to shudder every time
I saw wagons or troops on that road. My dugout looked out on it.
I got a square hole, 8 by 8, dug in the side of the hill (west),
roofed over with remnants to keep out the rain, and a little sandbag parapet
on the back to prevent pieces of "back-kick shells" from coming in,
or prematures from our own or the French guns for that matter.
Some straw on the floor completed it. The ground was treacherous
and a slip the first night nearly buried ----. So we had to be content
with walls straight up and down, and trust to the height of the bank
for safety. All places along the bank were more or less alike,
all squirrel holes.
This morning we supported a heavy French attack at 4.30;
there had been three German attacks in the night, and everyone was tired.
We got heavily shelled. In all eight or ten of our trees were cut by shells
-- cut right off, the upper part of the tree subsiding heavily
and straight down, as a usual thing. One would think a piece a foot long
was just instantly cut out; and these trees were about 18 inches in diameter.
The gas fumes came very heavily: some blew down from the infantry trenches,
some came from the shells: one's eyes smarted, and breathing
was very laboured. Up to noon to-day we fired 2500 rounds. Last night
Col. Morrison and I slept at a French Colonel's headquarters near by,
and in the night our room was filled up with wounded. I woke up
and shared my bed with a chap with "a wounded leg and a chill".
Probably thirty wounded were brought into the one little room.
Col. ----, R.A., kept us in communication with the French General
in whose command we were. I bunked down in the trench on the top
of the ridge: the sky was red with the glare of the city still burning,
and we could hear the almost constant procession of large shells sailing over
from our left front into the city: the crashes of their explosion
shook the ground where we were. After a terribly hard day,
professionally and otherwise, I slept well, but it rained
and the trench was awfully muddy and wet.
Sunday, April 25th, 1915.
The weather brightened up, and we got at it again. This day we had
several heavy attacks, prefaced by heavy artillery fire; these bursts of fire
would result in our getting 100 to 150 rounds right on us or nearby:
the heavier our fire (which was on the trenches entirely) the heavier theirs.
Our food supply came up at dusk in wagons, and the water was any we could get,
but of course treated with chloride of lime. The ammunition had to be
brought down the roads at the gallop, and the more firing the more wagons.
The men would quickly carry the rounds to the guns, as the wagons had to halt
behind our hill. The good old horses would swing around at the gallop,
pull up in an instant, and stand puffing and blowing, but with their heads
we could see the ruins of the city: to the front on the sky line,
with rolling ground in the front, pitted by French trenches, the German lines;
to the left front, several farms and a windmill, and farther left,
again near the canal, thicker trees and more farms. The farms and windmills
were soon burnt. Several farms we used for observing posts were also
quickly burnt during the next three or four days. All along behind us
at varying distances French and British guns; the flashes at night
lit up the sky.
These high trees were at once a protection and a danger.
Shells that struck them were usually destructive. When we came in
the foliage was still very thin. Along the road, which was constantly shelled
"on spec" by the Germans, one saw all the sights of war:
wounded men limping or carried, ambulances, trains of supply, troops,
army mules, and tragedies. I saw one bicycle orderly: a shell exploded
and he seemed to pedal on for eight or ten revolutions and then collapsed
in a heap -- dead. Straggling soldiers would be killed or wounded,
horses also, until it got to be a nightmare. I used to shudder every time
I saw wagons or troops on that road. My dugout looked out on it.
I got a square hole, 8 by 8, dug in the side of the hill (west),
roofed over with remnants to keep out the rain, and a little sandbag parapet
on the back to prevent pieces of "back-kick shells" from coming in,
or prematures from our own or the French guns for that matter.
Some straw on the floor completed it. The ground was treacherous
and a slip the first night nearly buried ----. So we had to be content
with walls straight up and down, and trust to the height of the bank
for safety. All places along the bank were more or less alike,
all squirrel holes.
This morning we supported a heavy French attack at 4.30;
there had been three German attacks in the night, and everyone was tired.
We got heavily shelled. In all eight or ten of our trees were cut by shells
-- cut right off, the upper part of the tree subsiding heavily
and straight down, as a usual thing. One would think a piece a foot long
was just instantly cut out; and these trees were about 18 inches in diameter.
The gas fumes came very heavily: some blew down from the infantry trenches,
some came from the shells: one's eyes smarted, and breathing
was very laboured. Up to noon to-day we fired 2500 rounds. Last night
Col. Morrison and I slept at a French Colonel's headquarters near by,
and in the night our room was filled up with wounded. I woke up
and shared my bed with a chap with "a wounded leg and a chill".
Probably thirty wounded were brought into the one little room.
Col. ----, R.A., kept us in communication with the French General
in whose command we were. I bunked down in the trench on the top
of the ridge: the sky was red with the glare of the city still burning,
and we could hear the almost constant procession of large shells sailing over
from our left front into the city: the crashes of their explosion
shook the ground where we were. After a terribly hard day,
professionally and otherwise, I slept well, but it rained
and the trench was awfully muddy and wet.
Sunday, April 25th, 1915.
The weather brightened up, and we got at it again. This day we had
several heavy attacks, prefaced by heavy artillery fire; these bursts of fire
would result in our getting 100 to 150 rounds right on us or nearby:
the heavier our fire (which was on the trenches entirely) the heavier theirs.
Our food supply came up at dusk in wagons, and the water was any we could get,
but of course treated with chloride of lime. The ammunition had to be
brought down the roads at the gallop, and the more firing the more wagons.
The men would quickly carry the rounds to the guns, as the wagons had to halt
behind our hill. The good old horses would swing around at the gallop,
pull up in an instant, and stand puffing and blowing, but with their heads