Into The Trenches: A World War I Journal [2019]

Chapter 5

We have returned to battle as though the Christmas truce never happened. I found myself shooting at men's legs, sparing them deliberately, having not the heart to kill those with whom I celebrated earlier. Jacob had no trouble.

I am finding it harder to see the German soldiers as enemies, even as they fight and kill us. I know not to speak of it to Jacob or Richard, as they will hear none of it. I wish I had never come here. 

5 January 1915

I write by the light of the kerosene lamp. I awoke several minutes ago screaming from a nightmare in which Jacob, Ned, Richard and Elizabeth were shot and killed before my eyes. It was in horrific detail, now that I have seen so many die in such circumstances. Jacob was woken by my shouting and calmed me down.

In my early days as a soldier I found comfort in sleep and the night. Those days are past. I am plagued by nightmares and insomnia nearly every night. There is no escaping the shots, blood and death.

16 January 1915

We were startled awake just now by the sounds of shells being let off by the Germans, presumably to further mar the battlefield. The noise was sudden and awful, though not uncommon to us. 

Jacob awoke at the explosions and flew into a terrified frenzy, and I remembered that his parents and sisters were killed in the same way. He was gasping and sobbing in a way I had never imagined of him, crying Mother and Father, then Anna and Ruthie, I presume the names of his sisters. I did not know how to console him as we huddled in the barracks to wait out the attack. He is quiet now, but I do not think either of us shall sleep. 

20 January 1915

Dearest Henry,

The state of the homefront is more fearsome every day. Yesterday Great Yarmouth and Kings Lynn were attacked, this time by Zeppelin airships flying overhead. It is only a matter of time before the ships and the bombs come here.

And if it is not enough to hear of the attacks, I am contributing to further attacks as I work in the munitions factory. The ladies there are quite kind, but it sickens me that we are ready to inflict the same horrors upon others that we are receiving. You would tell me that such talk is wicked, because the Germans are the enemy. I do not know what to think.

Elizabeth

8 February 1915

Dearest Henry,

German U-boats are creating a blockade off the coast of Cornwall. The majority of food import has been stopped, and we are in danger of famine. We shall have to farm with the few workers left in England.

The women in the munitions factory have christened themselves Munitionettes. We have become a part of the war effort at home, but for many of us it is more than that. My factory has formed a football team, and though I am not a member it is entertaining to see the practices and tournaments they have set up with other factories. Some even raise money to help wounded soldiers, to which I contribute.

Despite the work we perform there and the conditions of our workplace, I enjoy the time I spend with my fellow Munitionettes. I do not know your opinion of the events, but I suppose as we are the ones at home we ought to take charge of those positions left behind by you soldiers.

Love,

Elizabeth

11 February 1915

I fear for Elizabeth back in what we now call the homefront. News of more attacks are coming, this time closer to Kent. The Germans are also forming a blockade to prevent food import. Elizabeth wanted me to stay at home to escape the war, but even she cannot now. She has joined a munitions factory, as have many other girls and women at home. They are helping the war effort even from England. 

1 March 1915

It is Elizabeth's sixteenth birthday. She is becoming a woman, and I am not at home to see her do so. Perhaps I never shall be. I miss her so much that it pains my heart. The fact that she is so young—though not so young now—and she is involved in the war and helping to make the weapons is a shock to me. And beyond that, she and other women at home are working and taking charge of such practices I never supposed suitable for women, but it seems they are managing it quite well.

20 March 1915

Today I found myself in a state where I felt unable to bear the weight of everything I have done and all the lives I have taken in the past few months. "I don't know how I ever wanted this," I said to Jacob after another day of battle, of killing and feeling the horrible guilt of doing so. 

"Fighting for England, remember?" said Jacob.

I shook my head. "I see less and less difference between England and Germany every day."

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "I stand by what I said," he said firmly. "They deserve to die."

"Then so do we." Jacob stared at me in shock as I continued. "We've killed, we've attacked them with rifle, machine gun, shell. We've bombed their cities as they have ours. Whatever they've done, they are no more monstrous than we are."

"They killed my family," spat Jacob through clenched teeth. His breathing had become heavy and his eyes flashed in indignation.

"And we have broken many a family," I retorted, my voice rising to match his. "They are no different from you or me. They are men—fathers, sons, husbands, brothers, friends."

Jacob stood silently for a long time, then turned away. I reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off and left the trench.

I fear I have made him question far more than I should have. I should not spread such ideas, but it is becoming more and more clear to me that we are all merely human, no matter on what side of the war we fight on; each no more noble or monstrous than the others.