Letters From the Front

Dated: January 19, 1916

Next day we threw over four trench mortar 60 lb. bombs from our own trench, and only two exploded because of damp fuses which were not properly attended to. We frequently landed them in their front line and on their front parapet, doing no end of damage. As a matter of fact we strafed Boche more this last time than on many previous occasions that I remember, and his 'come back' was remarkably weak. The regiment we relieved had four men buried by a German Minenwerfer (a thrown mine shaped like a large shell and called often a torpedo). All were fortunately dug out by willing and brave men who worked in full view of Boche not 65 yards away, and only one chap was injured, his collar bone being cracked, I believe. The breach in the parapet was soon closed, and when my men came in, we finished the job by strengthening with sandbags and making a perfectly good parapet. Towards noon one day as I was trying to disclose a loophole opposite to four bored men and a sniper, the report of a gun—a report I shall never forget since first hearing it—made me stop and instinctively look in the direction of the sound, even though I was just about to pull the trigger, and I knew what to expect. Up, up, crept a Minenwerfer, higher and higher, and coming our way. I called attention to it at once, of course, and we all watched, and wondered not a little as to its probable objective. It seemed about over our heads when it reached the apex of its flight, and I am sure there was not one of us who did not heave a sigh of relief when it became evident instantly that the torp. was going well over to our left a bit. One day with our senior Major, I had an opportunity of observing our bomb (trench mortar) work from the trenches on our right, where a well-known Canadian regiment was relieving at the time. While we stood chatting with a couple of non-coms, and hoping to locate the Fritz Minenwerfer gun should it reply to us, to our surprise, and certainly to our discomfort, three German shells whizzed over our worthy heads, not more than a foot or two above the comparatively low parapet. A few minutes later, as we started for our own trenches, they opened with two more which again passed over our heads, just missing the parapet. It seemed as though Fritz had spotted visitors, and could see clean through the sand bags. The day we came out to these billets, a most unfortunate accident occurred. We were about to strafe Fritz with trench mortar bombs and rifle grenades after lunch— just a few parting shots. The Major and I were standing in front of his dugout watching, at a distance, say, of 35 yards (and on very slightly lower ground) from the gun, when the Corporal in charge pulled the string. The bomb exploded before it left the muzzle, and I cannot describe the awful feeling of dread that surged through one while looking at that great blast of grey-black smoke and flying debris. Neither of us ducked our heads until it was quite too late, and then I dreaded looking towards the gun. There were men on the ground struggling and groaning, and I shouted as I ran over, for 'stretcher-bearers at the double.' The whole gun crew of the four had been hit, and two died before our eyes in a very few minutes. My own platoon was my first thought really, as the gun was immediately behind their frontage of trench, and some were surely hit. Fortunately only one was caught seriously and he was well inside a nearby dugout, while others slightly touched and somewhat shocked were scattered up and down their trench in various attitudes, with a view to shelter. Altogether ten were hit and four have since died, one of our Company signallers, a nice boy too, dying on his way to the base. You will appreciate our feelings, I know. It is bad enough to get high explosives from the enemy, but to be caught in this way by a defective time-fuse was a heartbreak.