World War One Letter

Somewhere in France Somewhere in France
Dear Mother, March 1

It’s been months since I last wrote a letter to you – and that was when I was still a trainee. I’m really joyful and thankful that I had the chance to receive your letter before winter. I terribly miss you and I hope I did not make you worry. The censorship is still being done; but I am grateful that I was able to send a letter earlier than expected.
Right now, I’m writing in a nearby casualty clearing station – recovering from injuries caused by the devastating battles that happened on the Western Front. Until today, I cannot believe that I’m in France – a country that has been a mystery to me before I enlisted in the war. And being able to become one of the survivors – after two major battles in the trenches against the Huns – was a miracle to begin with.
When we first set foot in the trench – an in-ground tunnel to protect ourselves from the enemy while fighting – I noticed that the soldiers have an unpleasant condition. Most of them haven’t had the chance to have a decent wash for weeks. The odour was also intense and unbearable that it made most men in the trench ill. We could smell the dead bodies that are starting to decompose on the trench and on No-Man’s-Land. Not to mention the smell of exploded bombs that remained after a few days, dormant mud coffin-nail smoke and cooking smells – which contributed to the displeasing odour of the trenches. They said we will soon get used to it over time, but it felt impossible for it to subside at the moment.
The smell also attracts the rats – which explained why we see them everywhere we went in the trenches. What’s worse is that the rats become as large as a cat due to the amount of wastes they intake. One night, I was sleeping in the dugout. I felt something trying to get through my flesh, and it was a rat! It was really hopeless to have a good sleep since the rats cannot distinguish the difference between a dead body and a living body. Aside from the smell, what really bothers me is the fact that it was always cold and wet in the trench no matter the weather condition. We had to shave our hair as well – to avoid cooties which made us scratch since the day we went here. Most of us are also starting to catch trench fevers due to these horrifying conditions. Add to it is the fearful and miserable experience I had encountered when a friend of mine went on his way to the fire-step and accidentally exposed his head, and one thing I knew is that he was lying on the ground in front of me – blood and inner organs exposed. The sight frightened me, but I was more terrified to show it.
To continue, on February 1915, we reached the Western Front and joined the French-Algerian troops in the trenches. In April, the Huns carried cylinders of white stars and released them in the air. They probably had respirators at the time while we had nothing; basically because we never thought that respirators would be useful during the war. We watched – speechless and terrified – as the gas slowly advanced towards us. The French-Algerian troops mindlessly decided to retreat – leaving a large gap in the frontline, which would give the Huns a chance to pass through it and invade our trenches. We, Canadians, as dedicated soldiers decided to remain on the frontlines and tried our best to defend the trenches. As the white star reached our position, we had to urinate in a cloth and breathe into it to avoid the effects of the gas. It was profoundly unimaginable that we have been under artillery and gas attacks for 3 days and we managed to hold our grounds. Unfortunately, only several of the platoons have survived. I was lucky that I was included as one of them; yet I was overwhelmed by those who have lost their lives.
It took us a while to recover from the injuries after the battle in April. Afterwards, our General, Douglas Haig, attempted a push through the German lines. He assembled us at the front lines and made us use over a million registers on the German front lines. I personally think that General Haig overthrew the capability of the artillery barrage. He immediately ordered the troops over the top to the German front line. We did not exactly know why these troops never returned to our trenches. We were all starting to feel uncomfortable about this. The next thing I knew was that we, the second wave, are ordered to go over the top as well. I was awed to advance at the moment but we had no choice except to follow General Haig. As we were passing through No-Man’s-Land, several of my platoons dropped. They were slain by blind pigs. I witnessed most of them had their legs blown off, and the whole of their face and body were peppered with shrapnel. I was convinced that I would be swallowed by defeat at any moment because of the terrible events that I saw. Yet I kept on going with the troop. We were forced to funnel through a single hole in the barb wire and I was shot by – I assumed – a dum-dum. It was painful and I thought I would never see the light again. Before I lost consciousness, I heard an intense roar of an unidentified artillery weapon – which was later revealed as a machine gun. And that’s what was left in my memory. Later on, I found myself here at the casualty clearing station. A lot of the platoon survivors developed shell-shock due to the horrendous battles and blood that we tolerated. I’m honest that the alarming happenings are still vivid in my mind, but I am trying to overcome it to avoid being the next one to have shell-shock. I’m grateful that I was able to write to you before the Huns decides to change their minds on sparing us. I pray to God that this war will soon end, and that you and father are safe.
Yours completely