"Hell in the Trenches" - there's no better way to describe it.
Posted: Tue Mar 25, 2008 4:36 am
by Stef
yes, and Lazare Ponticelli (110) the last French veteran has died last week.
That's sad, I still remember the veterans meetings when I was a kid, my grand father was the president of the local "poilu" association.
I couldn't believe all the things I was hearing (and it was a "soft" version of the story when the children were around).
Now fore sure all those guys have gone
Is there any veterans from either camps elsewhere?
Posted: Tue Mar 25, 2008 9:47 am
by RoastBeastFan
The great short-story writer Saki wrote several stories from the front. His comments on the mud are memorable -- from The Square Egg,
In Zoological Gardens one has gazed at an elk or bison loitering at its pleasure more than kneedeep in a quagmire of greasy mud, and one has wondered what it would feel like to be soused and plastered, hourlong, in such a muckbath. One knows now. In narrow-dug support-trenches, when thaw and heavy rain have come suddenly atop of a frost, when everything is pitch-dark around you, and you can only stumble about and feel your way against streaming mud walls, when you have to go down on hands and knees in several inches of soup-like mud to creep into a dug-out, when you stand deep in mud, lean against mud, grasp mud-slimed objects with mud-caked fingers, wink mud away from your eyes, and shake it out of your ears, bite muddy biscuits with muddy teeth then at least you are in a position to understand thoroughly what it feels like to wallow—on the other hand the bison’s idea of pleasure becomes more and more incomprehensible.
Australian author Ion Idriess describes Gallipoli - different environment, similar privations:
Immediately I opened the tin the flies rushed the jam. They buzzed like a swarm of bees. They swarmed that jam, all fighting among themselves. I wrapped my overcoat over the tin and gouged out the flies, then spread the biscuit, held my hand over it, and drew the biscuit out of the coat. But a lot of the flies flew into my mouth and beat about inside. Finally, I threw the tin over the parapet. I nearly howled with rage … Of all the bastards of places this is the greatest bastard in the world.