Dear Mama and Papa,
How are you doing back in England? Hope all is well. Here at the Western Front it is a living hell.
All day we dig trenches, and pray to God that we do not get hit by enemy artillery bombardment. The trenches are narrow, possibly only able to fit 2 people in a spot. The trenches run along forever, I have never seen the other side of the trench though. You are lucky you aren’t in my position haha. All my friends have vanished, off the face of this earth, and my only best friend is my weapon, the Lee Enfield 0.303 rifle. I sleep, fight, eat and whatever you can name with my weapon.
I am eager to come home, but Sergeant Chapman says we won’t be coming home any sooner. Every now and then, there is a ripple of machine gun fire in the air. It is frightening to hear bullets whiz right next to your ear. It’s almost like there is a beehive right next to you, and if you move, the bees would sting you (but in our case, the bullets would take your life).
Yesterday was possibly the worst day yet, we had just captured an enemy trench, but the floor was half full of mud and water. We started draining it, but our work soon became needless. The captors before us already had buried their dead in the mud. The place was full of rotten, swollen, bodies. The smell, it smelt.... like vomit, mixed along with.... you know... it was basically vomit and human waste and everything altogether.
Yesterday I even witnessed a soldier who shot himself, and sacrificed his leg for his eagerness of homesickness. He couldn’t bare it no more here in the trench. He said “Harry, I am going home to my wife and kids. I’ll be some use to them as a cripple, but none at all dead!” and he pointed his gun at his toe, and squeezed the trigger. Instantaneously two of his toes blew off, and the others were left hanging by a thread. That was how far some soldiers would go, they would do such extreme things to themselves to get home. Let’s hope I am not that fast on the trigger.
Everyday I have to put up with the intolerable stench of corpses, possibly dead or alive. The bodies had been exposed for days, all swollen and mostly burst. All we can do is hope we can move soon to a new trench. But rarely will we find one without at least 50 bodies for the least. As I said, trench life is a living hell.
Mama and Papa, is it Christmas time yet? We don’t have time to keep track of dates here in the battlefield, have you had your turkey yet? Haha, our feasts rarely get any special. All we have are tea and dog biscuits. On rare occasions would we get meat, possibly once every 2 weeks (that would be considered lucky). Never would we get a second of comfort, and we would have to eat the most terrible of terrifying foods,while dipping our feet in cold, damp, wet water and put up with the smell of dead corpses.
Many soldiers would get frostbite or trench foot as they call it. It is almost a sensation of someone trying to pull out the bullet that was fired into your shoulder, just that its 100 times worst. The eerie feel lasts forever, never stopping, your feet start to swell, swelling 3 times above the regular size. Your foot would be completely numb, and someone could even stab a bayonet into your toe and you wouldn’t feel it. Many of the soldiers end up amputating their feet.
Each and every second us soldiers live by the fear of getting hit by an enemy sniper. It seems like the enemy snipers are equipped with some fancy scopes. As soon as we hear a sound or echo in the distance, we have to follow the order of hit the deck. Although there is the wary of disgust on the floor, it is for our own protection that we hit the deck when we hear a sound pop off in the distance. The snipers only pop off a few rounds to keep us occupied when we think its the safest time in the day. Most of the time, they don’t manage to hit us, but occasionally they sometimes do.
The rest of the German army charge forward towards our traverse (Front Line Trench if you would like), but they are stupid, and blind enough not to see the wire obstacles, and the barbed wire entanglements just 40 yards out of us. I mean seriously... Would you not see a whole line of stupid glittering silvery stuff? Come on... Oh well, its unfortunate for them that most of the time the raids fail.
Just recently there were some curious activities just a few clicks off of our trench camp. I’m not sure exactly what it was, but it had some smell of garlic. Sergeant Chapman stated it was some sort of gas...? Ah... I recall now.. Sergeant Chapman called it Mustard Gas I think. He said that to all the traitors who tried to run would be caught by the Germans for some reason. And they would get caught and be exposed to Mustard Gas (he said to keep it a secret between him and I). He said it would lead to death if too exposed. Phew I ain’t nowhere close to any of that stuff. What a relief.
It is so frightening here. Everyday I am opened to seeing all my friends dying, (now that they are all dead) I feel very lonesome. I do not know what to do. All I can keep thinking about is Mama and Papa at home. I’ve seen some of our machine gun post men ordered by our own Lieutenant to light up any deserters, or either let them run away and get captured by the Germans by waving a white flag. Our Lieutenant is very harsh, and he takes everything deep down to his heart. He is sort of like those patriotic-militaristic-and-imperialistic people.
Mama, have you ever wondered to yourself why humans go to war? Well lately, this question constantly comes across my mind. And honestly, even though I am experiencing front line trench warfare I can’t give you a definitive answer.
Papa, how is work? Doing good old man? Must be hell of a struggle to be making cash, or is it the other way around? Haha. How’s the weather doing back there? Although the frontline’s of Verdun seem like a hell of a crisis, the weather is the absolute best I could have wished for. According to my new buddy Richard Beasley (he’s an weather expert) he says the Northern part of France is in an temperate climate zone, which is marvelous (you could say I fished my wish). Beasley says we are in the better side of France in terms of weather: The South-east is full of an Mediterranean climate. The West is in an oceanic weather zone, and inland, it’s not the best pick out of the 4. You know what? When I come back, and I mean when I come back from this living hell. I probably would like to come back to London and become a geologist or a historian! In fact, that is exactly what I am going to do!
Anyways, how is Joan doing? Haven’t been in touch with her for a while. Please tell her that I kindly send a Hi from the frontline of the Battle of Verdun haha, and tell her I will be coming back soon. Please tell her I love her as well.
Yours truly,
Private First Class Harry Patch
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