Gas attack!

A whole arduous month after the visit of the priest i was awoken in the night by the smell of fear, and gas. I could feel it seeping into my lungs and knew that all was lost. I like my friends was going to die alone in this trench, surrounded by death and deceit. I cried out in pain a smy lungs started to break down, my breath now coming in wheezy gasps. I lay down as peacefully as possible and accepted my fate. ''Dulce et Decorum est pro Patria mori''- Rubbish.

Repulsion

We managed, miraculously, to, hold off the German attack. But Mund took a hit to the nose and we couldn't save his oversized honker. He then commited suicide in much the same manner as Chrisps because his nose had been his best friend for as long as he could remember (!?!?!?).

The next week passed without much event, and priests randomly came round to bless our guns before they were used. One came and sat next to me, by then i was a loner because all my trench mates had died. 'Silly isn't it, this war?' He said.
''Yup'' I said ''and they said it'd be over by christmas''

The kicking of butt

At precisely 7 am the crazy bombardment of the German front line started, cannons, heavy and light artillery, and our own rifle and snipers were all thundering away at the German fortifications. After an hour and a half of solid own@ge,we were finally ready to go over the top.

A whistle blew and we ambled along out of the trenches, there was no rush, the Germans would all be dead. Yet as Spatrick's head rolled along the ground and came to rest at my feet the horrible realisation hit me, they had deep trenches, and the bombardment had barely dented them!

As I pegged it a sfat as i could towards the German lines I saw Hugh get annihilated, his heart flying behind him still pulsing into another man's face, his brain pummeled on the ground and his barely regognizable liver spewed up my leg.

Just then we received two short sharp burts on the whistle 'Attack over'. We returned to our trench, just Mund and me, and cursed life. This war was rubbish. And then the Hun attacked.

Time to kick butt

After the events of last week we decided collectively that something must be done, many people other thatn my own friends had died, and we were no longer going to get whupped.

The plan was awesome, even by the smelly, camp yet easily respectable Corporal Bellenden's standards, and tommorow it was all going to come together and kick some deutsche butt...

Doing what must be done

Weeks went by without event, and all in all life was a bit on the boring side, believe it or not.

About two weeks after i had first arrived in the front line ( you lose track of time when you have nothing to go by) we had to defend from a mini-surge of German attacks, which saw the second of our number fall. This time it was Chrisps. It was strange because he actually survived the attack, and later commited suicide from depression. We mourn his cameo role yet are ever more scared.

My first trench

After a restless night's sleep on the train with the crew of morons, we arrived in Ypres to find the people in front of us stripping off for a good old medical inspection (shouldn't they have done that before we got here?). They checked our hearts, injected us with weird stuff and then sent us on our way to meet our new man in charge, Corporal Bellenden.


The first thing that I was ordered to do by Corporal Bellenden was to dig myself a good old trench with my trench mates, who strangely enough, ended up being the dumbasses that I had met on the train.





Through the pouring rain and howling wind we laboured until we had ourselves a prime dugout. ''Wup'' said Chrabbott when we had finished, before being splattered against the back wall of our brand spankin' trench by a german sniper. This was of course a huge shock to us all, yet we knew that he would probably not be the only one of our number to fall.

The Journey

Our reward for joining the army was a massive celebration on a national scale as we paraded through London to the cheers of millions of onlookers, some crying, others throwing us chocolates and cigarettes for our hopefully short stay in France. On of the things that I remember finding strange about the whole thing was that there weren't just British people, there were people who ahd signed up from Australia and India as well, who weren't threatened by the war themselves but, as part of the British empire, were obliged to send some sort of force to help us in the slog.

As the march finished outside Buckingham Palace a huge cannon fired, its thunderous noise reverberating of the white walls of the Monarch's residence. And so began a minutes silence, to remember all those who had already given their brave lives out there in the killing fields.

Then the goodbyes had been said and I was waiting at Piccadilly train station. A steady stream of people entered the thronging trains and I couldn't help but wonder how many of them would still be alive and well after the war, and what awaited them during it. My train came, the 5:45 to Ypres. I bounced aboard, my stomach full of sausages and eggs, what would be the best meal i had for a long time.

4 Hours into the journey, the peace of my compartment was disrupted my an obviously already established group of friends. They were a cheery bunch, and promptly plonked themselves down on the seat next to me. There was one slightly plump camp looking one who introduced himself as Spatrick (www.myworldwar.blogspot.com), a man of medium build with a prominent nose called Mund (www.bangwazoo.blogspot.com), another called Hugh (www.myww1trenchdiary.blogspot.com), Chrisps Mcboner (www.oychimichi.blogspot.com) and last and least Chrabbott (www.trenchdiary2.blogspot.com).

I chatted with them for the rest oif the journey, and when we reached Ypres got given 10 press-ups for talking with them by my our new man in charge, Corporal Bellenden.