Hold the Oxo! Read online

  4

  Reality

  Feb 21, 1916, Bramshott, England

  Dear Mother and Father,

  We are leaving for France today. God bless you and keep you safe.

  Your loving son, Jim

  P.S. You talk about putting one’s head up over the parapet. I have been warned several times by fellows from the front. I will keep mine down.

  Jim does not write what he was thinking as he marched up the ramp to board the ship, leaving relative safety of England for the unknown across the channel. Did he think of the mine blasts he heard frequently from France and Belgium while training in Bramshott? Was he remembering the bayonet practice in which he thrust a bayonet into a dummy stuffed with straw? Did he wonder if he would have the courage to do the same with a human body, to withdraw a bayonet dripping with another’s blood?

  His diary, too, captured actions, not thoughts or feelings:

  February 21, 1916

  Left rest camp and took boat over to Le Havre. Went to camp in Le Havre and then to train in the evening. “Box Cars!”

  Jim with backpack and gun, date unknown.

  LEST WE FORGET

  Bramshott

  Bramshott Military Camp was located near the village of Bramshott Common in Hampshire, England, southwest of London. The St. Mary’s Church here holds the graves of more than 300 Canadian soldiers who had been stationed at the camp during the First World War. Ninety-five other Canadians who died in Bramshott during the First World War were Roman Catholics, and they were buried in Grayshott, four kilometres to the north, in St. Joseph’s churchyard. Many of the dead were victims of the influenza outbreak of 1918. In fact, more people died of influenza between June 1918 and December 1920 than during the war — an estimated 50 million people — making it one of the deadliest natural disasters in human history.

  February 23, 1916

  On the night arrived at siding and walked to Eke. Left Eke Mar 1 and walked to Donought — twelve miles distance.

  March 8, 1916

  Left Donought for front lines “Messines” No. 2 platoon in reserve.

  March 9, 1916

  Left trenches and stayed in barn all night. Left in morning.

  March 28, 1916

  Left B camp for trenches in “Ypres salient” No. 2 platoon in reserve on Bydand Avenue.

  Jim went into the battlefields of Europe as part of the 43rd Battalion in the 3rd Canadian Division and 9th Infantry Brigade of the Canadian Expeditionary Force (CEF). He was one of more than 600,000 Canadian men and women who enlisted in the CEF during the First World War as soldiers, nurses, and chaplains.

  5

  Ypres Salient

  In the spring of 1914, Ypres, Belgium, was a beautiful and quiet medieval town. The famous Cloth Hall, the centre of the textile industry, stood bordering the market square as it had for 700 years. Flax fields reflected the blue of a cloudless summer sky. Ypres stood like a ballet dancer listening to the prelude of spring surrounded by a tutu of fields. Vegetables pushed their way through the soil and children went to school, skipped stones on the canals, and gathered eggs from the neighbouring henhouses. Birds sang from wooded ridges south and east of town, boats plied the river and canals winding north to the English Channel.

  A counterpoint to children’s skipping rhymes was a rumbling, like thunder, coming from the east — Germany was flexing its muscles. Its neighbours watched. Riveting noises from German shipyards signalled a buildup of its navy, a challenge to Great Britain’s claim as monarch of the seas. People still hoped that, like faint and distant thunder, the slowly edging storm cloud of war would pass. Alliances and pacts were in place to prevent an outbreak of conflict. But alongside the vows of friendship and protection, a restless pride pulsed in the veins of both the European nations and Great Britain.

  After that shot of July 28, 1914, the country of Belgium declared itself neutral. Unfortunately, the town of Ypres lay between Germany and the English Channel. Belgium was the access point for the shipping lanes and sea ports that would protect U-boat activity in Germany’s “race to the sea.”

  Postcard showing the Halles of Ypres (Cloth Hall) in 1912.

  The Halles of Ypres after the bombardment of November 22, 1914.

  ON THE BATTLEFIELD

  The Second Battle of Ypres

  The early military uses of chemicals were as tear-inducing irritants rather than fatal or disabling poison. These gases had been used by both sides in the early days of the war.

  Poison (chlorine) gas was used for the first time on the Western Front during the Second Battle of Ypres as the German 4th Army attacked French positions around the northern Belgian town. British and Canadian forces moved in and plugged the gap but were unable to regain any ground taken by the Germans. The British had withdrawn to a second line of defence, leaving Ypres still in Allied hands but virtually surrounded. Casualties in the Second Battle of Ypres totalled approximately 58,000 Allies and 38,000 Germans.

  When Jim arrived at Messines, Belgium, in March 1916, the British Expeditionary Forces (BEF) were battling on the Western Front around Ypres. By then, the bravery of the soldiers fighting in the area was already legendary. They had defended the town during the First and Second Battles of Ypres (1914 and 1915) with only scant supplies and against overwhelming odds. The location of Ypres, in the only corner of Belgium not under German occupation, made the town a symbol of defiance.

  But Ypres was no longer the pastoral town it was before the war. Booths in the square still sold Flemish lace hankies, postcards, and soap to soldiers, but it was a ghost town. A gas attack on April 22, 1915, accompanied by the shelling of Ypres, sent people underground, into drainage pipes and basements, where the roofs often fell in on them. The townspeople left for France as the bombardment continued. The spires and roof of the Cloth Hall and of St. Martin’s Cathedral smouldered. Ypres was a city on fire; it was in ruins, but still undefeated.

  6

  In the Trenches

  France, March 9/16

  (Messines, south of Ypres, Belgium)

  My Dear Mother,

  Well, Mother, how is the weather in Manitoba? We had snow here two or three days ago but it is nearly all gone by now and it makes things rather sloppy although nearly everybody gets long rubber boots in the trenches and so keeps his feet dry. We are in the Reserve Trenches now and are billeted in farms back of the firing line.

  Mac Woods is in a different company than I’m in but he is trying to get transferred so we can get together again. Things are very dear here with hardly any canned goods or anything and we do not get very much pay. I borrowed a pound from Mac as he happened to have some in the bank in London; so if you’ll ask Father if he will take $5 out of my account and put it to Mac’s credit. Mac said not to mind it but I don’t want to owe him anything and be sure and take it out of my account as you said you were banking the money you got from the government. Now this doesn’t mean to send me any as I have a pound now and I think it will be enough when I’m drawing my regular pay. We draw 1 franc a day now, that is about twenty cents and the remainder is credited to us in England. There really isn’t very much news to tell.

  With love to all from your loving son, Jim

  In a letter home in August, Jim writes that

  Mac is back with us again. I don’t know how his feet will stand the marching as they are not in good shape, but mine are fine and I can stand the marching. It is the long marches and hard cobblestone roads that are worst but we don’t have many long marches.

  Did they know? Could anyone have known what they were trading the comforts of home for, whether a frame prairie homestead, a miner’s cottage, or the solid brick house in the city? Could they imagine that their home away from home on the Western Front would consist of holes dug in the chalk and marshes of France and Belgium? Could they have guessed that they would share these stench-filled trenches with rats and lice and thousands of other soldiers — more people than lived in the town of Ypres? Could they have foreseen tha
t their only protection from the North Sea seeping continuously up under their feet would be roughly thrown together “duckboards” underfoot and the rubber boots they were issued — that their view, if they dared lift their heads above the parapet, would be of shell craters filled with mud and decomposing bodies caught in the uncut mesh of barbed wire? And that the mere lifting of their head could invite the sniper’s bullet? Could they have imagined the boredom of waiting cramped in the trenches day after day, uncertain of what might happen?

  IN THE TRENCHES

  Sappers and Kickers

  In the chalk, “sappers” lay flat on their backs, barefoot, with sandbags lining the floor to silence the noise, and picked with bayonets fitted especially for the job. They softened the chalk with vinegar when necessary, caught the freed pieces in their other hand, and stored them in sandbags to be carried back to waiting cars on tracks. If they were lucky, they advanced about 18 inches in 24 hours; it was tedious work.

  “Clay-kickers” had been used to tunnel under the streets of London to lay sewer, road, and railway works. The clay near Ypres resembled that of London, so the Mining Corp was formed. Clay-kickers used steel spades on their feet to dig out clay while lying on a wood cross. They could tunnel at the rate of about 10 feet per day. As the Germans also were digging tunnels, both sides developed listening devices to locate the enemy’s tunnels. By 1918, the Mining Corps consisted of 60,000 members who were digging tunnels. They could then plant explosives under enemy lines — the enemy’s position given away by the sound of their voices in the night, talking or singing songs of home.

  In the trenches at night, soldiers could sometimes hear their enemy’s laughter and singing. From their respective trenches, day and night, both enemy and Allied “sappers” and “kickers” picked away at the earth under no man’s land.

  “No man’s land,” the narrow stretch of land between the enemy trenches, was where, on Christmas Day, 1914, a white flag was waved and the enemy soldiers shared handshakes, cigarettes, and stories of home. Later, though, generals discouraged such activities because opposing soldiers might develop friendships and lose their desire to fight one another.

  — — —

  By the end of 1914, trenches stretched for 765 kilometres, from the Swiss border to the Channel Coast. In some places, enemy trenches were less than 27 metres apart.

  IN THE TRENCHES

  Trench Foot

  Much of the land on the Western Front was only a half-metre above sea level. As soon as soldiers began to dig trenches, the water would seep up from just below the surface. Constantly standing in water caused trench foot and other ailments. With trench foot, the feet would gradually go numb and the skin would turn red or blue. If untreated, trench foot could turn gangrenous and result in amputation. By the end of 1914, about 20,000 cases of casualties resulting from trench foot were reported by the British Army. Something had to be done. In an attempt to keep the soldiers’ feet dry, wooden planking, known as duckboards, was placed at the bottom of trenches and across other areas of muddy or waterlogged ground to act as a dry bridge for the soldiers to cross. Waterproof footwear, extra socks, and regular foot inspections also helped to reduce the number of cases.

  The front lines were manned by millions of men — infantry battalions, cavalry squadrons, artillery battalions, and pioneer companies. Backing these up were catering wagons, signal corps, pay corps, field ambulances, nurses, doctors, horses and their handlers, technical battalions, blacksmiths, carpenters, mechanics, meteorological units, aircraft units, veterinary units, map detachments, engineers, and many others.

  The main trench and the communication trench were built in a zigzag pattern and broken by traverses to prevent crossfire and movement of shrapnel along the line. Since most of the land was only a few feet above sea level, the cold water seeped in as soon as soldiers began to dig.

  Trenches, April 25/16

  My Dearest Mother,

  I rec’d your letter today dated Apr 2 and one also from the Bible class and it certainly is a fine day, the sun shining bright. It wasn’t very good weather a few days ago but it has stopped raining now and the trenches were certainly in some mess while the wet weather continued but most of us have long rubber boots and do not notice the water so bad.

  Mac and I are what they call wirers, that is fixing wires up in front of the trenches and having to work by night time and sleep in the daytime and we have to do our own cooking. You would be surprised to hear of what good dishes we have sometimes. The average dugout in the front line holds about two and you have to curl up in some peculiar shapes in some of them. There are three of us in the one dugout now and one lad had some rolled oats and we made porridge. It was the first porridge I’ve had since I left England and it was certainly good. We get the raw rations and ham to cook them ourselves. The greatest shortage we have is bread and all the troops in France seem to be short of the same thing. The food is good though and nothing to kick at.

  Here I am sitting outside the dugout writing and the sun beating down, getting ready to move back to the reserves this afternoon.

  I wish to thank you very much for that Easter card you sent. It certainly is a nice one. How did you spend your Easter Sunday? We were right in the front line Easter Sunday and didn’t have any eggs either. If I had of been out in the billets I would have had a few as we usually live on eggs while in billets.

  I hear there was a riot in Winnipeg between the soldiers and the policemen. They don’t want to start to fight there as they can get all the fighting they want to do over in this country.

  Do you receive all my letters because I write one every week and I like to know if you get them. Do you get my three pound regular every month? There will be quite a few pound saved up in England in my account when I get back as we only draw a franc a day here out of fifteen dollars a month.

  You asked me how the sox were for size — well that pair that Aileen sent is just the right size and good and long in the leg and they are not too thick and easy to wash but I have plenty of sox already. Will you send a little tin of cocoa as it is very good in the trenches when you come in rather chilly. You needn’t send any more Oxo. We don’t use it much.

  Well, Mother, this is about all the news I have this time.

  With love to all

  From your loving son

  Jim

  The first barbed wire used in the First World War was installed on wooden fence posts. This cumbersome work required three men to accomplish — one carrying the posts, another carrying the barbed wire, and the third hammering posts in place for stringing the wire. The noise of the pounding alerted the enemy snipers of the soldiers’ presence and invited enemy fire — making it extremely dangerous work. With the development of “pigtails” (an iron corkscrew which could be inserted into the muddy no man’s land), the task became easier and quieter, though still remained dangerous. At first, soldiers who needed to cross over the barbed wire had one soldier lie down on top of it as a human bridge. When all had crossed on top of him, fellow soldiers would lift him straight up carefully so as not to tear his skin. This practice was stopped when sharp porcupine-type spiked balls were laid under the fence by the enemy.

  — — —

  Soldiers hunker down in dugouts or “funk holes” in the trenches. Date unknown.

  Courtesy of Library and Archives Canada, PA 001326.

  A preserved tunnel at Vimy. In the 1920s the French government put aside a whole section of the ridge as a memorial park, preserving the trenches, shell holes, and mine craters.

  What remains of officers’ quarters in the trenches at Vimy.

  As Jim sat outside the dugout writing, he could almost smell the bursting of leaves on the elms Father had planted around their new home for protection against the north and west winds. He could feel the rush on his face of moist warm air heavy with the smell of animals as he opened the barn door at milking time. The sun outside the trenches was warmer than it would be at home — more like a fall sun in Ma
nitoba, when the wheat sheaves stood leaning against each other in stooks to keep out the rain. He thought of the smell of burning — of clearing land — of decaying leaves preparing for winter. It was a smell he enjoyed.

  Instinctively, he covered his nose to block out the stench of the decaying corpses of men and horses in no man’s land, of the stagnant water in the trenches, of thousands of his fellow soldiers, all in need of a bath and huddled in the trenches, where they repaired sandbags or wrote letters or played cards. Then there was the smell of fear, as the men waited for the next attack.

  Down the line another soldier heard the crashing of the waves against the rocks near Peggy’s Cove — the crashing noise that had frightened him as a boy now seemed like a distant murmur compared to the noise of the artillery barrages overhead, of shells pounding no man’s land — creating a cratered landscape where two years before there had been freshly planted fields. He thought of being out on the boat with his father, hauling in the catch — of the smell of fish fresh from the sea, of kelp and salt, and the comfort of the mist on his face.

  On the other side of Jim sat a man with his face to the sun. He was listening, waiting for the hoot of the owl, the howl of the wolf, or the cry of the loon. He saw wide open spaces as his parents had known them — a land where they could ride freely, wind in their hair. He felt the excitement of changing campsites in summer, of following his father on the trapline in winter. And he remembered fences — a creeping barrage across the prairie. Fences he had joined the army to escape. He looked out from his trench and saw the barbed wire fence and lowered his head.

  7

  Surprise Weapons