ticklishscribe
3rd Level Violet Feather
- Joined
- Apr 27, 2002
- Messages
- 7,697
- Points
- 38
October 31st 1914, postcard number 1.
My Dearest Polly.
Thank you so much for the postcards and stamps as some of them really put the patriotic spirit in our hearts over here, as we wonder what everyone thinks of the war and us.
Because there is so much to say here, I’m numbering the postcards so you can read them in the right order.
It seemed we marched for days heading to where we are now, and I’m still not sure where we are yet. As we marched we passed through nearly bombed out villages and farms and have seen hundreds of refugees seeking anywhere safe from the enemy’s artillery and planes
While I don’t know where we are I do know that where we are is a mud and blood soaked, debris-covered wasteland of nothing. When we arrived we immediately had to begin bailing out our trench and I almost felt like I had joined the navy. You can’t move without getting stuck in the mud and almost everywhere you look there are pools of blood from the dead and dying. There are so many corpses out here that field ambulance soldiers can’t keep up with taking them away. It’s very eerie to see arms and legs sticking out of the mud and wondering if that is all that is left of them. In some cases we’re not sure if that limb belongs to one of ours, or the enemy. And in some cases we have to cover our noses and mouths because the smell from the corpses is so bad.
Our Sergeant is a battle-hardened veteran and he tells us time and time again to watch out for the enemy. I haven’t seen the enemy up close yet, except to see helmets bobbing up and down as they move along their trenches. Some of the helmets have spiky points on the top and I’m told that those belong to the officers and the ones that look like coal buckets, belong to the enlisted men.
Love to all.
Sincerely, Arthur.
October 31st 1914, postcard number 2.
My Dearest Polly.
It seems the shooting has started, as every once in a while we have to duck as one of them is brave enough to shoot at us and I’m glad none of us have been hit. On the way here we saw some of the wounded and the dead being brought to the rear and I can tell you that it was not a comforting sight. Our sergeant tells us that orders will be coming down soon and that we will be going over the top in force. By “Going over the top” I mean leaving the somewhat safety of our trench and heading out over the open ground into the fire of the enemy.
We’ve tried to see where their machine guns and artillery are but they’re very carefully hidden and our sergeant assures us that there are many of them out there. Some joke about writing last letters to home and I hope that that never happens. If you’re wondering if I‘m scared the answer is yes, as none of us know what lies out there. We’re hopeful that our artillery will deal with them and that there’ll be none surviving to shoot at us. We’re also hopeful that there are few Germans on the other side.
Our sergeant has also warned us about enemy planes who drop bombs on us as they fly over and some of us wonder how we can keep an eye on all of this at the same time, while trying to not get shot. Give my love to all and tell them that I think of them fondly.
Sincerely Arthur.
October 31st 1914, postcard number 3.
My Dearest Polly.
The Germans not only shoot at us with their rifles and machine guns every so often, but they also send over the occasional artillery shell. We all head for the dugouts or try to find sort of cover and then wait for the shell to explode God knows where. I was saying that none of us have been hit. Well two other men who began their training with me are already dead, and it was sobering to see the field ambulance soldiers picking up what was left of them for burial. No one envies the job that they have.
We see the occasional high-ranking officer in the trenches but we feel that they all must be well behind the lines, planning our over the top campaign. They sit at the rear and we go over the top. I saw one officer sitting in his tent enjoying a nice meal like you’d get at a pub or better, while we have to open tins and think ourselves lucky if we can heat them up. Meals are mostly had on the run here, as we never know if the Hun is going to come over the top and/or send artillery shells at us.
I often wonder what kind of news of the war you get at home and if anyone you know or lives near you has gotten a telegram. I’m not sure who has the sad job of writing them, whether it’s the Vicar or our Commanding Officer, but we’ve seen enough dead to last a lifetime.
Sincerely Arthur.
November 1st 1914, postcard number 4.
My Dearest Polly.
News and orders have arrived and we are to begin an offensive tomorrow morning at dawn. I’m not looking forward to going over the top and I hope that when I do, I won’t be shot or shelled. Our objective is to capture some Belgian village ahead of us, but it seems so far away that it looks impossible without most of us dying in the attempt.
I think of you every day and hope that I can come back to you one day. Have a drink to life, and me at The Cloisters. Tell everyone there that I miss them and tell Freddie, if he hasn’t already joined up, that he still owes me a pint for loosing our last darts game.
Sincerely, Arthur.
November 5, 1914, postcard number 5.
My Dearest Polly.
Today I had to take some messages back to headquarters and on the way there I was shot at by one of the new enemy airplanes. I heard his whining engine, but only knew where he was when the bullets from his gun started ripping the ground apart around me. It was a two-seater observation plane with a machine gun in the back and the observer sure knew hot to use it. I threw myself to the ground and luckily I wasn’t hit. As they flew away, I could see that it was one of the new types we’re supposed to be weary about. They’re very fast and manuverable so we’re told and so we’re always looking to the sky to look out for them.
When I got to headquarters, I passed by the field hospital and saw all the dead, dying and wounded. I thanked God I wasn’t one of them and prayed I’d never be. I saw Canon Scott, administering last rights and felt sorry for the poor fellow. Strangely I also felt glad that the dying man was now out of it for good. That he was in a happier place, with no mud, blood, dead bodies everywhere and the constant shelling and shooting.
Sincerely, Arthur.
November 8, 1914, postcard number 6.
My Dearest Polly.
If I sent you a picture of me right now you’d see that I’m covered in mud. The Germans gave us an artillery barrage this morning and it was raining mud everywhere. Today I met my first Germans when they cane over no man’s land and into our trenches. It was pure mayhem as we fought hand to hand and I killed one by using my bayonet and shot three others. I was so scared watching them running toward us and even more scared when our own machine guns began cutting them to pieces.
Our own planes were strafing them as they came across and it was wave after wave of men falling dead. The ones that did get into our trenches we took care of. We managed to capture several of them and the Sargent and two men took them back to headquarters.
Sincerely, Arthur.
November 12, 1914, postcard number 7.
I hope you are well and are not suffering too much what with the food rationing and all. We hear the German submarines are sinking ships one after the other and I feel sorry for all the lives lost
My first combat is over and I’m relieved. But our Sargent assures us that they’ll be back again and again. Private Westham looked out the trench to see if they were coming and was immediately killed by an enemy sniper. I watched as he just stood there, then slowly crumpled to the ground, dead but his eyes wide open. The Sargent closed them and we carried him away. I will miss him, as I met him when I joined up.
We also have to carry away the dead Germans, as we don’t want them in the way of the fight. When we can bury the dead, we just dig shallow graves for them, cover them with earth and then if we have them to use, we stick their rifle into the ground with their helmet on top. It’s a crude and terse grave marker, but it helps mark the dead.
Give my love to everyone.
Sincerely Arthur.
My Dearest Polly.
Thank you so much for the postcards and stamps as some of them really put the patriotic spirit in our hearts over here, as we wonder what everyone thinks of the war and us.
Because there is so much to say here, I’m numbering the postcards so you can read them in the right order.
It seemed we marched for days heading to where we are now, and I’m still not sure where we are yet. As we marched we passed through nearly bombed out villages and farms and have seen hundreds of refugees seeking anywhere safe from the enemy’s artillery and planes
While I don’t know where we are I do know that where we are is a mud and blood soaked, debris-covered wasteland of nothing. When we arrived we immediately had to begin bailing out our trench and I almost felt like I had joined the navy. You can’t move without getting stuck in the mud and almost everywhere you look there are pools of blood from the dead and dying. There are so many corpses out here that field ambulance soldiers can’t keep up with taking them away. It’s very eerie to see arms and legs sticking out of the mud and wondering if that is all that is left of them. In some cases we’re not sure if that limb belongs to one of ours, or the enemy. And in some cases we have to cover our noses and mouths because the smell from the corpses is so bad.
Our Sergeant is a battle-hardened veteran and he tells us time and time again to watch out for the enemy. I haven’t seen the enemy up close yet, except to see helmets bobbing up and down as they move along their trenches. Some of the helmets have spiky points on the top and I’m told that those belong to the officers and the ones that look like coal buckets, belong to the enlisted men.
Love to all.
Sincerely, Arthur.
October 31st 1914, postcard number 2.
My Dearest Polly.
It seems the shooting has started, as every once in a while we have to duck as one of them is brave enough to shoot at us and I’m glad none of us have been hit. On the way here we saw some of the wounded and the dead being brought to the rear and I can tell you that it was not a comforting sight. Our sergeant tells us that orders will be coming down soon and that we will be going over the top in force. By “Going over the top” I mean leaving the somewhat safety of our trench and heading out over the open ground into the fire of the enemy.
We’ve tried to see where their machine guns and artillery are but they’re very carefully hidden and our sergeant assures us that there are many of them out there. Some joke about writing last letters to home and I hope that that never happens. If you’re wondering if I‘m scared the answer is yes, as none of us know what lies out there. We’re hopeful that our artillery will deal with them and that there’ll be none surviving to shoot at us. We’re also hopeful that there are few Germans on the other side.
Our sergeant has also warned us about enemy planes who drop bombs on us as they fly over and some of us wonder how we can keep an eye on all of this at the same time, while trying to not get shot. Give my love to all and tell them that I think of them fondly.
Sincerely Arthur.
October 31st 1914, postcard number 3.
My Dearest Polly.
The Germans not only shoot at us with their rifles and machine guns every so often, but they also send over the occasional artillery shell. We all head for the dugouts or try to find sort of cover and then wait for the shell to explode God knows where. I was saying that none of us have been hit. Well two other men who began their training with me are already dead, and it was sobering to see the field ambulance soldiers picking up what was left of them for burial. No one envies the job that they have.
We see the occasional high-ranking officer in the trenches but we feel that they all must be well behind the lines, planning our over the top campaign. They sit at the rear and we go over the top. I saw one officer sitting in his tent enjoying a nice meal like you’d get at a pub or better, while we have to open tins and think ourselves lucky if we can heat them up. Meals are mostly had on the run here, as we never know if the Hun is going to come over the top and/or send artillery shells at us.
I often wonder what kind of news of the war you get at home and if anyone you know or lives near you has gotten a telegram. I’m not sure who has the sad job of writing them, whether it’s the Vicar or our Commanding Officer, but we’ve seen enough dead to last a lifetime.
Sincerely Arthur.
November 1st 1914, postcard number 4.
My Dearest Polly.
News and orders have arrived and we are to begin an offensive tomorrow morning at dawn. I’m not looking forward to going over the top and I hope that when I do, I won’t be shot or shelled. Our objective is to capture some Belgian village ahead of us, but it seems so far away that it looks impossible without most of us dying in the attempt.
I think of you every day and hope that I can come back to you one day. Have a drink to life, and me at The Cloisters. Tell everyone there that I miss them and tell Freddie, if he hasn’t already joined up, that he still owes me a pint for loosing our last darts game.
Sincerely, Arthur.
November 5, 1914, postcard number 5.
My Dearest Polly.
Today I had to take some messages back to headquarters and on the way there I was shot at by one of the new enemy airplanes. I heard his whining engine, but only knew where he was when the bullets from his gun started ripping the ground apart around me. It was a two-seater observation plane with a machine gun in the back and the observer sure knew hot to use it. I threw myself to the ground and luckily I wasn’t hit. As they flew away, I could see that it was one of the new types we’re supposed to be weary about. They’re very fast and manuverable so we’re told and so we’re always looking to the sky to look out for them.
When I got to headquarters, I passed by the field hospital and saw all the dead, dying and wounded. I thanked God I wasn’t one of them and prayed I’d never be. I saw Canon Scott, administering last rights and felt sorry for the poor fellow. Strangely I also felt glad that the dying man was now out of it for good. That he was in a happier place, with no mud, blood, dead bodies everywhere and the constant shelling and shooting.
Sincerely, Arthur.
November 8, 1914, postcard number 6.
My Dearest Polly.
If I sent you a picture of me right now you’d see that I’m covered in mud. The Germans gave us an artillery barrage this morning and it was raining mud everywhere. Today I met my first Germans when they cane over no man’s land and into our trenches. It was pure mayhem as we fought hand to hand and I killed one by using my bayonet and shot three others. I was so scared watching them running toward us and even more scared when our own machine guns began cutting them to pieces.
Our own planes were strafing them as they came across and it was wave after wave of men falling dead. The ones that did get into our trenches we took care of. We managed to capture several of them and the Sargent and two men took them back to headquarters.
Sincerely, Arthur.
November 12, 1914, postcard number 7.
I hope you are well and are not suffering too much what with the food rationing and all. We hear the German submarines are sinking ships one after the other and I feel sorry for all the lives lost
My first combat is over and I’m relieved. But our Sargent assures us that they’ll be back again and again. Private Westham looked out the trench to see if they were coming and was immediately killed by an enemy sniper. I watched as he just stood there, then slowly crumpled to the ground, dead but his eyes wide open. The Sargent closed them and we carried him away. I will miss him, as I met him when I joined up.
We also have to carry away the dead Germans, as we don’t want them in the way of the fight. When we can bury the dead, we just dig shallow graves for them, cover them with earth and then if we have them to use, we stick their rifle into the ground with their helmet on top. It’s a crude and terse grave marker, but it helps mark the dead.
Give my love to everyone.
Sincerely Arthur.
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