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Updated: June 29, 2025
In the silence of the night those who are delirious re-fight their recent battles. You're half-asleep, when in the darkened ward some one jumps up in bed, shouting, "Hold your bloody hands up." He thinks he's capturing a Hun trench, taking prisoners in a bombed in dug-out. In an instant, like a mother with a frightened child, she's bending over him; soon she has coaxed his head back on the pillow.
A man who had been in the war from the beginning answered: "I can see you haven't been out here long, and have never been in a proper raid. I'll never forget the last time we were bombed. We were out on rest about fifteen miles behind the line. Fritz came over and I had the wind up so badly that I left the tent to go into the open fields. I ran for my life.
A few hours after the relief was complete orders came up for patrols to go out to see if the enemy had or had not gone back yet. Our artillery, which was not yet strongly represented behind this sector, also began to fire at extreme ranges on the German back area east of Marchélepot and Chaulnes. The enemy, on his part, sniped at and bombed our patrols at night.
This was unpardonable, but the Turks noticed nothing out of the ordinary, and unerringly bombed the working-party in the wadi, quite content at finding so obvious a target. But the whole business seemed a gross waste of time and labour unless you followed the wadi for about a mile farther along. This very unusual negligence on the part of the engineers was then fully explained.
A distressing attack of tooth-ache took me twice to the C.C.S. near Doullens. I found that town more deserted than it used to be, for the Germans had shelled and bombed it vigorously since their offensive started. On April 16, after a week's rest, the 42nd Division took over the trenches running from Gommecourt to Hébuterne.
Someone lit a candle. Cards and coins and overturned beer-mugs littered the floor. The smell of spilt beer mingled with the smell of stale tobacco. A few of us stepped out into the open air. We inhaled a pungent, sulphurous stench. We were sure our camp had been bombed this time and were fearful lest any of our friends had been hit. We walked past the Church tent it was full of rents and holes.
From the very beginning the work had been carried on with difficulty owing to the congestion in the trench. Steps were taken, however, to get the casualties removed and the work was carried on more rapidly. The enemy's communication trench was severely bombed by the grenade teams which had been established at the various stations and the enemy bombers became much less troublesome.
There, frequently outnumbered by the garrison, the men stabbed and bombed, fought to put out machine guns that were turned on them and so stay the tide coming out of the mouths of dugouts simply fought and kept on fighting with a kind of divine stubbornness. Tennyson's "Light Brigade" seems bombast and gallery play after July 1st.
Just a paragraph to the effect that "Several seaplanes last night bombed Zeebrugge or Cuxhaven." They dashed out into the frigid North Sea with an errand, but their share in the fights and the valuable assistance they have been to Great Britain as scouts are seldom mentioned. Still, they "carry on," asking for no encouragement.
A week later Lieutenant von Mahl crossed the British lines at a height of fifteen hundred feet, bombed a billet and a casualty clearing station and dropped an insolent note addressed to "The Englishman Tamm." He did not wait for an answer, which came at one o'clock on the following morning a noisy and a terrifying answer.
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