drakegoodman
Member
A shameless plug for my good friend, PhD student and historian at the Australian War Memorial, Aaron Pegram's book:
Both Sides of the Wire by drakegoodman, on Flickr
Both Sides of the Wire reverse by drakegoodman, on Flickr
Some poignant passages I highlighted as I went:
"The German is ever treacherous, and that night they paid the very limit the price for treachery. Three of them came from a dugout, holding up their hands, and as Sergeant Gordon Graham approached to take them prisoner, two of them suddenly dropped their hands, pulled out their revolvers, and opened fire at the Sergeant at almost point blank range. One bullet passed through his ear, another through his left arm, a third went through his lungs and lodged within an inch of his heart. The Sergeant, as game a man as ever wore a uniform, quiet in speech as in manner, swore volubly for the first time in my hearing and brought down all three of the brutes with successive shots from his revolver as he collapsed. In that act of treachery every German in the trench - in all about sixty men with two officers - pronounced his own death sentence. Not a man was spared. Fuming with just rage, every feeling of mercy in our fellows hardened in an instant to savage retribution. With bullet and club they sternly squared the account. Raiding parties carried at that time a heavy club - an iron cog-wheel attached to an entrenching tool handle - a silent, somewhat horrible weapon, not fit for a Briton to use in war, and rejected soon afterwards.
I had chased a German down the trench until, in a paroxysm of fear that could only invoke pity, he threw up his hands, trembling the while in terror. We had learned just sufficient German to assure a prisoner that if he surrendered no harm would come to him. To give him confidence I walked up and patted him on the shoulder, whereupon in fawning fear he stroked my face and wrung my hand, all the while chattering some inexplicable assurance. Docile as a child and still in deadly fear, he was handed over to one of my men to take back while I worked further down the trench. In the meantime the Graham incident had occurred, 'No prisoners' was the word, and the poor wretch died with the rest - our one satisfaction being they were a Prussian regiment."
"We located and fully accounted for a strong post which the enemy had formed across the Bapaume Road. Having carefully reconnoitered the position, we placed machine guns in position and, with the range carefully ascertained, opened up on them in daylight with the Stokes gun; a deadly bit of ordnance with fire so rapid that eight 12-pounder shells are in the air together."
"At Ypres we held Sanctuary Wood, the burial ground of so many great Canadians who stood up to the mystery and horror of the first chlorine gas attack. I had just sufficient gas on one occasion to realise something of their fate. It was three o'clock in the morning when the gas came over, and on a long frontage men were so scattered that it was only tear shells, but soon one was screaming with pain. In trying to get one man up I had to take off my helmet for an instant. Almost instantly there was a smothering, burning feeling, but a fortunate sudden sickness saved me from it's worse consequences. The trenches were a continuous horror ...".
"At one point of the advance we passed a shell hole eruption from the piled earth of which a dead shrunken blackened arm was thrust out gruesomely, with the stiffened fingers extended. One laughing devil as we passed placed a tin of bully beef in the extended hand, with the remark, 'Get up you loafer - we're doing your work!'. It was a big bluff, in normal circumstances would have been instantly resented as something too gross even for war."
http://www.allenandunwin.com/default.aspx?page=94&book=9781742376165
Both Sides of the Wire by drakegoodman, on Flickr
Both Sides of the Wire reverse by drakegoodman, on Flickr
Some poignant passages I highlighted as I went:
"The German is ever treacherous, and that night they paid the very limit the price for treachery. Three of them came from a dugout, holding up their hands, and as Sergeant Gordon Graham approached to take them prisoner, two of them suddenly dropped their hands, pulled out their revolvers, and opened fire at the Sergeant at almost point blank range. One bullet passed through his ear, another through his left arm, a third went through his lungs and lodged within an inch of his heart. The Sergeant, as game a man as ever wore a uniform, quiet in speech as in manner, swore volubly for the first time in my hearing and brought down all three of the brutes with successive shots from his revolver as he collapsed. In that act of treachery every German in the trench - in all about sixty men with two officers - pronounced his own death sentence. Not a man was spared. Fuming with just rage, every feeling of mercy in our fellows hardened in an instant to savage retribution. With bullet and club they sternly squared the account. Raiding parties carried at that time a heavy club - an iron cog-wheel attached to an entrenching tool handle - a silent, somewhat horrible weapon, not fit for a Briton to use in war, and rejected soon afterwards.
I had chased a German down the trench until, in a paroxysm of fear that could only invoke pity, he threw up his hands, trembling the while in terror. We had learned just sufficient German to assure a prisoner that if he surrendered no harm would come to him. To give him confidence I walked up and patted him on the shoulder, whereupon in fawning fear he stroked my face and wrung my hand, all the while chattering some inexplicable assurance. Docile as a child and still in deadly fear, he was handed over to one of my men to take back while I worked further down the trench. In the meantime the Graham incident had occurred, 'No prisoners' was the word, and the poor wretch died with the rest - our one satisfaction being they were a Prussian regiment."
"We located and fully accounted for a strong post which the enemy had formed across the Bapaume Road. Having carefully reconnoitered the position, we placed machine guns in position and, with the range carefully ascertained, opened up on them in daylight with the Stokes gun; a deadly bit of ordnance with fire so rapid that eight 12-pounder shells are in the air together."
"At Ypres we held Sanctuary Wood, the burial ground of so many great Canadians who stood up to the mystery and horror of the first chlorine gas attack. I had just sufficient gas on one occasion to realise something of their fate. It was three o'clock in the morning when the gas came over, and on a long frontage men were so scattered that it was only tear shells, but soon one was screaming with pain. In trying to get one man up I had to take off my helmet for an instant. Almost instantly there was a smothering, burning feeling, but a fortunate sudden sickness saved me from it's worse consequences. The trenches were a continuous horror ...".
"At one point of the advance we passed a shell hole eruption from the piled earth of which a dead shrunken blackened arm was thrust out gruesomely, with the stiffened fingers extended. One laughing devil as we passed placed a tin of bully beef in the extended hand, with the remark, 'Get up you loafer - we're doing your work!'. It was a big bluff, in normal circumstances would have been instantly resented as something too gross even for war."
http://www.allenandunwin.com/default.aspx?page=94&book=9781742376165
