The only poor souls out in No Man’s Land were either dead, dying or from a listening patrol. These patrols were hazardous to say the very least. Their only chance of survival if a light went up, would be to fling themselves on the ground immediately and remain still.
The lads lay in their firing positions waiting for first light, this was it, they’d trained hard for this moment. Dawn was the most likely time for an enemy attack, soldiers were woken up and sent to their stand-to positions to guard their frontline.
‘Quiet here isn’t it,’ remarked Bertram.
‘Just how I like it, I love this light show,’ David replied.
David glanced at his brother-in-law and looked concerned.
‘Are you shaking Archie, you’re not scared, are you?’
‘No… well a little,’ Archie answered.
‘If my sister could see her hero now,’ said David, shaking his head.
‘Nothing wrong with being scared Archie, it keeps you alert, and for your information I’m scared too,’ Bertram said.
It wasn’t quiet for long. The men were about to receive a baptism of fire. It was first light when the artillery barrage began. All hell broke loose around them at a time when they were supposed to be at stand-to- alert and ready for any eventuality.
‘Fucking hell here comes the iron rations!’ shouted David.
‘We’re in it deep now!’ Archie shouted back.
All three men crouched at the bottom of the crumbling, muddy trench, with their heads between their legs. An engineer sergeant looked down at the three crouched figures and laughed.
‘Come on you three, move out of the way, we’ve got work to do. Bloody hell, I can tell you lot are green. You needn’t worry lads, those Whizz-Bangs aren’t landing anywhere near here but you’ll know about it alright when they do’ the Engineer Sergeant said, lifting a sandbag from one side of the trench to the other.
In the trenches the soldiers identified shells by their size, effects or sound. Whizz-Bangs were fired from high-velocity guns and gave no one time to even duck. It soon became evident to the men that the Royal Engineers were by far the hardest working men in the army. Regardless of whether bombs were falling or not, they were always busy repairing, constructing and consolidating the trenches somewhere along the line. When they weren’t fixing the trenches the Royal Engineers worked hard at reversing the captured trenches, even with enemy shells dropping all around them. These men carried out exceptional and perilous work throughout the war.
After stand-to, the men had breakfast and then carried out their daily chores, including cleaning latrines, repairing duck boards and filling sandbags, making sure they kept their heads down, out of sight from enemy snipers. Their first day on the front line was a very quiet one, which allowed the men time to get used to the routine.
The following day was Sunday and was also relatively quiet, apart from sporadic fire from the Hun guns and the odd sniper fire if someone was stupid enough to put their head above the parapet.
‘It’s Sunday today, the day of rest, so surely they won’t be sending their little packages of joy over today,’ said Bertram, making small talk as usual. ‘And another thing I’ve noticed, the ladders, what are they for?’
‘Bertie, stop being silly, you know full well what they’re for. They are for when we venture over the top,’ David replied.
‘What, surely not… have you seen those rickety things, a man could have a serious accident climbing up one of those and get killed I’m telling you!’
‘Oh shut up Bertram, sometimes I wonder about you.’ David shook his head in exasperation.
‘What do you think the folks are up to at home?’ Archie asked.
David reflected for a moment before speaking ‘They’ll be on their way back from church by now, then father will have his afternoon nap while mother makes the Sunday dinner.’
‘Mmm Sunday roast, I could just eat that now, roast beef, roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding,’ said Archie, licking his lips at the thought.
Bertram started to whistle the hymn ‘Onward Christian Soldiers.’ Archie joined in and then so did half a dozen men along the front.
‘Quiet down there!’ shouted the section commander, Corporal Robinson.
Bertram’s whistling continued for a short time until a huge explosion put paid to it. The earth heaved, shattered boulders and roots were flung into space, leaving a mass of smoking debris. A yawning crater appeared about twenty yards in front of them.
‘Fucking hell, that was a big one!’ Archie said.
‘One hell of a Whizz-Bang,’ Bertram replied.
Dear Diary,
This is our seventh day in the trenches. Every morning at first light, we come under heavy bombardment. The other morning, I was having such a lovely dream. I dreamt I was sitting in my Granddad’s garden eating cakes and bread and butter when they started again. How inconsiderate of the Hun. I need to write a letter of complaint to the Kaiser.
Other than that, it’s been a rather quiet affair. After our daily morning shelling, we spend most of the day repairing the damaged parapets and picking up empty cartridges left behind by the previous occupants, which litter the bottom of the trench, along with resting, writing letters home and cleaning our equipment.
The other day David thought it would be a good idea to boil water for tea, the smoke would show the Hun we were still there and not going anywhere.
They were relieved on the 27 August. On the whole it had been a quiet trip with very few casualties, but at least the men had been bloodied and knew what to expect the next time. After just two days of rest, the 10th Sherwood Foresters joined up with the 7th Border Regiment. Together they moved on to a place called Sanctuary Wood, relieving the troops of the 9th Brigade, from their occupation of trenches A4 to A1, on the 31st August.
Sanctuary Wood was very different to the trenches they had previously occupied. There was never a quiet spell here. There was always a constant flow of casualties, mainly caused by enemy sniper and shell fire. Before the war, the wood had been undoubtedly a beautiful place, but not now. The wood was littered with broken branches and bark, shell holes, wire coil and tree stumps. The smell of blood and decaying corpses permeated the air.
They weren’t there long before it began raining bullets. Enemy bullets whistled over their heads or skimmed the ground in front of them. The men of the 7th Border Regiment and the Sherwood Foresters returned fire, but they didn’t have any targets to fire at. If they didn’t stick their heads above the parapet they’d be ok, it was the same for both sides.
‘Damn snipers are everywhere, but you can’t see them. I hope there isn’t a bullet with my name on it out there,’ said Archie, as he fired another shot.
‘Yes, snipers abound, this place is a hell hole, I much prefer our last accommodation,’ Bertram replied.
‘I’m quite enjoying this scrap and it's not the bullet with my name on it that concerns me; it's all those other ones flying around marked ‘To Whom It May Concern,’ David quipped, ducking every time a bullet whistled through the air.
Positioned about three yards away from David, was their section commander, Corporal Robinson. David noticed he was showing a little too much skin to the Hun. David was about to warn him, when a bullet knocked the Corporal’s helmet clean off, sending it flying towards the rear of the trench, about ten yards away.