To Fight Alongside Friends: The First World War Diaries of Charlie May

I see that last evening I boasted that it would take more than rats to disturb us. I was badly mistaken. They beat us – easily. The trouble was that Bunting

had laid my bed across a favourite run of theirs and they did not intend being put off it by a mere intruder like myself.

They ran over my legs, body, chest and feet, and I was adamant. But when they started on my face I must own that I slavishly surrendered, fell to cursing horribly and finally changed my lying place. Thereafter I fared better but Murray dropped in for it. They ate his iron ration and, evidently liking some, which incidentally proves that they are but lowly people, knawed [sic] through Prince’s pack and ate his also. I can tell you they are some rats, these.

Well we are here at last, in the fire trenches and are learning our job under the hospitable care of the East Lancs.

We are in the fire trenches and I can hardly express how strange it felt to stand on the fire slip for the first time, look out over the plain and see the Bosche trenches just ahead. And it has all struck one as so apparently safe. There is nothing to be seen bar sinuous lines of chalk mounds on the hill-sides. Nothing at all. One hears bangs, or the occasional popping of a Maxim, but one sees absolutely nothing and it is hard indeed to realise the danger, the more especially that our kind friends the East Lancs treat it all so jovially and in such casual fashion. I would not at first believe that the wily Germany lay tucked up just across there. It is only the fact that five men have been hit this afternoon has made me realise it at all.

The last three were out on a reconnoitring patrol when suddenly some bullets pinged past our listening post, the men heard a shriek and in a minute or two the patrol came staggering back. Quite cheerful they were, but a sergeant with a bullet through his foot made their going bad. The Bosche keeps pretty wide awake, evidently.

We are attached to B Coy [of the East Lancs] and the OC of it is a Lieutenant Salt.

And well worthy of his [MC] he is. He is really quite a boy and his officers more so but he is older than many in soldiering. He is anyway a great deal older than myself. He has been at it since Mons,

has been three times wounded and now wears the Military Cross. Yet he is most unassuming and diffident of imparting advice. I think he is a fine young fellow and a typical example of the British subaltern.

Murray and I have a dug-out to ourselves. A most pretentious place, lined with gathered silk and possessing an iron bed with a spring mattress. Corn in Egypt. A comfort-loving Frenchman built it for himself when they held the line. They say it leaks. I do not know, since now it is only freezing. But be that as it may, I am much obliged of my unknown pal, the Parisian decorator.

29th November ’15

This has been a wet day. Some wet! They were quite right about our dug-out. It does, leak, some leak! In fact a wash out, literally a wash out. It has defeated Murray and myself and we are here in the sandbagged mess-room very cold and very much smoked from the damp wood on our fire, endeavouring to get a wink of sleep before our several turns of duty. But to return to the rain. It has teemed, the trenches are ankle deep – some places calf deep – in mud and water and the communications trenches are rushing streams of brown water. The men are wet through but stick the job like Britons and I do hope for their sake that the weather may lift with the morning.

The Coy has taken over the line tonight on its own for the first time and we are all very bucked about it. The men have done Al and the East Lancs are pleased with them. I am glad indeed, because nothing tells a regiment’s efficiency so truly as the unsought opinion of other regiments. The guns have been strafing today no end but up till now we have dodged the show. It may be ours again tomorrow, though. One never knows.

Tonight I messed with the CO [of the 1st Bn, East Lancs]

down in Mesnil. He is a fine man and seems to have the happy knack of griping without strafe. He put on a regular beano for dinner, soup, fish, joint, sweets, coffee, dessert. I haven’t seen the like since our lunch in Amiens and I did it full justice. It is marvellous how the poor live!

30th November ’15

It has been fine today and the sun has even shone. The trenches have therefore dried up considerably and everyone is more comfortable. This morning I had some twenty rounds at the Bosches but whether with luck or not it is impossible to say. I did, however, find two definite ranges and was able to register these.

At this evening’s ‘stand to’ the Germans started heaving more torpedoes at the Jocks

on our right and one of my fellows, L/Cpl Rodman,

had the good luck to spot the place where they light the beastly thing. I at once reported it and the heavies are going to give them a dousing tomorrow morning. If it is successful, it will be most welcome and I hope, if only for Rodman’s sake, that it is. This evening later there has been a regular exchange of knocks between the artillery. Ours won easily. It was some sight and I was delighted that I witnessed it.

The Bosches brought down one of our aeroplanes within their lines today. Bust ’em. Never mind, it’ll be our turn again tomorrow.

1st December ’15

We are out of the trenches and back in our dear, draughty but dry billet in the château stables. It has been a good day full of interest but we are all tired and weary from lack of sleep and are therefore thankful to forsake the excitement of the firing line for the quiet and comparative safety of our present sanctum.

About 11 a.m. the Bosches started on our left sector with ‘whiz-bangs’ and concentrated these in the vicinity of Coy headquarters. They must have dropped thirty round us before noon. At the same time, they sniped us like old boots but we gave them back as good as their own at the latter game and, when our guns commenced, they dealt it out thick and plenty to the Bosche in shrapnel, light and heavy ordnance. It was all right. The shooting of our gunners is markedly superior to theirs. We drop right on the spot every time but they invariably waste from six to a dozen rounds feeling for theirs. When the good time comes that we have unlimited shell supply, Bosche is in for a thin time indeed. Also our fellows put the wind up several of their snipers, popping bullets all about them till they felt the neighbourhood unhealthy and quitted.

It is exciting work, sniping. In fact one must curb the tendency lest it should become a fascination. The Second-in-Command of the E. Lancs

and myself put in a couple of hours this morning at it and had quite a bit of fun worrying the Bosches in their trenches. One fellow was walking across the open 2,000 yards off, when I spotted him and let go. You never saw a chap move quicker in your life. He ran for a tree and jumped behind it and I let him have four more there. Whether I got him or not I don’t know but he didn’t move for the next half-hour. I know because I waited so anxiously for him.

Last night, or rather at 1.30 a.m. this morning, I got outside the barbed wire to look for a listening post which had lost itself. Naturally I didn’t find it. You seldom do, but I got lost myself instead. It was some tour and a bally Bosche Maxim which kept traversing our front added not a little to my perturbation. Three times I had to fling myself down in the wet grass, bury my nose in it and grovel whilst the damn thing went chattering over me. It is remarkable with what speed one learns to introduce celerity into ‘adopting the prone position’. The bally post came in at the end of the bottom of the lines and narrowly missed being shot for its pains.

We have no casualties, are quite satisfied and very sleepy, so to bye-byes. Only one thing before we go. The post waited for us on arrival. With what joy we pounced on it. It bucked the most beat of us up into smiles of laughter. Letters from home. What a tremendous lot that sentence means to us. And as for me, your letters are like a breath of spring in that they bring joy and happiness to me. And your photo has come this time also. Thank God for it. I think it is splendid. You look your lovely self, and I feel so proud when I look at it that I can say you are mine. What with your picture and Baby’s, I am happy. No man was ever blest with sweeter womenfolk.

2nd December ’15

A quiet day of rest and cleaning up. And much did we appreciate it. We did not wake till 7.30, nor breakfast till 9.30 a.m. A regular treat. Afterwards we rotted [illegible] about, written letters, instituted various improvements for our convenience and generally had a lazy day. This evening three platoons went out, under Murray, trench-digging. They were shelled and it rained very heavily so in the end they came back. Bowly took a section out to put up some wire, got under machine gun fire, and very wet dodging it, so had to come in too. Altogether I am glad I was prevented from going with them. I had to see the E. Lancs about tomorrow’s programme and that kept me till fairly late.

Shelmerdine and Prince have gone out to dinner this evening with the men they messed with in the trenches. So we have pinched their fire and am now sitting by it having pigged a Maconochie ration, a tin of sardines, Penau, a pound of jam, a loaf of bread and half a bottle of OO whiskey.

We are now fed to repletion and are sitting, well-fed and happy, before our stolen fire yarning and getting more and more sleepy. It is grand to think that you are going to sleep both dry and warm. It fairly braces you. We little appreciate in our ordinary lives what home comforts mean. A man may thank his God every night for his blankets and the good roof over him. Yet I know he won’t any more than will I when the war is over and we get back to our firesides, our slippers, sheets, hot toddy, hot water, baths and carpeted floors. It is perhaps easy to philosophize when one has not got them handy but, once one is amongst them, it is damned hard not to take them as only your fair due from the world.

3rd December ’15

It is always a source of wonder to me to watch the power practical experience gives a man when imparting knowledge to others. In my little time I daresay I have been lectured as much as any and more than most by johnnies who have been entrusted with the thankless task of improving my mind. Many of these oases of boredom have endeavoured safely to pass by resort to the strengthening arm of Morpheus,

others I have endured with a dull eye and rebellious heart, but I do not remember ever having the faintest desire to sink so low when the man who spoke did so from knowledge born of what he had actually done himself. And Captain Woodgate was like that today when he spoke to us. Much he told us we already knew and there was much which we did not but whether he spoke of familiar or unfamiliar things, he held us just the same because we felt he had done and seen those things of which he spoke. He is a good fellow and a fine man and once again I must record our feeling for the E. Lancs. They have done all they can for us, no trouble has been too much for them and I trust we will all benefit from their example and experiences.

We have finished our paths today. They are broad brick fairways through a sea of mud and are very clean and dry and comforting. Did we stay here a week or two I feel sure the château would become something of home from home. Certainly we have an affection for our stable and as for the old rat who sports about my carcase of a night I feel that he and I would become firm friends in time were it not for his bad habit of pinching our scanty cheese. That one little failing will, however, yet prove his undoing do we but remain here long enough. There is almost an element of sadness in the thought. Sadness, that is, for the rat.

4th December ’15

D Company has come out of the trenches today very muddy, very wet but quite cheery and safe. They have had rather a tough time from the rain and trench mortars. The latter have pounded the trenches without cessation for two days but without effecting a single casualty. This afternoon our guns set about them in retaliation and have pounded their lines most unmercifully. I hope they have laid out a few of the beggars.

I got working parties of the Coy. going first thing this morning and cleaned up billets and lit fires for D coming in. Poor devils they were grateful for the job, the fires putting new life into them.

Tomorrow we turf out at 7.45 am to march some 15 miles back. I believe we march on again the next day to reserve billets where I trust we may stay a while and get thoroughly cleaned up.

Tonight I am going to dinner with the CO of the E. Lancs and am looking forward to it. All the other of our officers are pigging with D Company in our billet on tinned grub and whiskey. The E. Lancs fellows are coming up later to say farewell and I have no doubt if we do not watch it but that we will march out of Mesnil with fat-heads in the morning. Never mind, it’s worth it when you have bumped into jolly good pals.

5th December ’15

Sixteen miles march today [to Puchevillers].

And a long sixteen they were, what with wet great-coats, mud-laden, feet still wet and puttees hard-caked with trench clay. Still, we are here now and right for a night’s rest in good billets which is a reward one gets to look forward to with amazing keenness. The men are all comfortably tucked down on good, clean straw and the officers are in various cottages with a little mess room in an old lady’s cottage. We have a fire, a bottle [of] vin blanche [sic] and the old Madame to chatter to us about her boy who is fighting in the Argonne.

It is quite interesting, quite warm and produces in one that grand feeling of happy sleepiness which a hard day’s slog always produces.

We have left our good friends the East Lancs but I trust only for the time and that we may meet again one of these fine days. They were most decent to me last evening and I must once more speak of all their kindnesses to us.

Young Shelmerdine has done well again today. He always turns up trumps when it is wanted of him and I think he will do well before this job is over.

We move on again first thing tomorrow morning for another dose but I hope by then we will be finished for a time so that the men may get dry, have a bath and get their clothes cleaned. They do wonderfully, the men, putting up with every inconvenience and discomfort cheerfully and slogging along on their flat feet to the end. The battalion has had a good dose of graft ever since we landed, as good a dose as any could have had but every time it has got [at] them, and that is everything. The Manchesters are all right and the 22nd one of their best battalions.

And now to bed to the sleep of the just. I share my couch with Prince so at least we will be warm.

6th December ’15