World War I Soldier's Diary Entry

April 30, 1915

My name is Anthony R. Howard and I am an Englishman. I fight on the side of the Allies. I've have been in this treacherous war since early 1915. My Regiment currently resides in Ypres, which is in Belgium. I am a member of the 9th London Regiment, also known as Queen Victoria's Rifles. 

A few days ago, I fought one of the toughest battles I'd hoped to never encounter. On April 17th, we mounted an attack against the Germans on Hill 60.  We were doing the best we could at keeping the line on the Western Front. Prior to the attack, the hill had been undermined for days with five galleries being driven under the Hillock. The plan was to detonate large mines under the Hill to destroy the enemy and their positions, then we, the 13th Infantry Brigade, would occupy the area. 

The plan was thorough and well-organized. Yet we could only hope everything would go according to plan.  Once we captured the Hill, I was ordered to the Front Line in preparation for the Germans to make their counter attack. We became animals in cages at our trenches as we were bombarded with hand grenades. The man to my left was dead; the man to my right moaning in agony as he was shot in the left side of the head. The sounds of the shelling was overwhelming. The sounds of the men who were suffering in "no man's land" was unbearable. We as soldiers were helpless. To retrieve a comrade would be suicide. The decision between bravery and death or cowardice and life is a difficult one. Two corpses from me, there was a younger lad, about the age of sixteen. He huddled in the corner of the trench, death-grip on a picture in his hands and tears running down his face. He had just seen his best friend die in agony.  For thirty-six hours we lay there, fighting off the Germans. At dawn, we began to smell the rotting corpses of our previous comrades. I reflected on one soldier who had died telling me of his children back at home including a pregnant wife. Oh, the many sad letters I have delivered for fallen soldiers to families. 

The life of the soldier consists of death and misery. I sympathize for all the men who have fallen. Many of my comrades have I seen die brutally. Some died from bullets; some from bombs or hand grenades. Occasionally, one was hit straight between the eyes by a sniper. Machine guns could take out an entire Regiment in minutes. I've heard that not too many miles away, a Regiment was even hit with poison gas by the Germans. Our Allies hit not too far from us had no gas masks, and therefore many were killed by it, or blinded. But worst of all was that these weren't the only causes of death. I've seen many soldiers fall to Malaria, Trench Foot and other diseases spread throughout the unlivable trenches. Yet, those of us who have survived haven't done so easily. 

In trenches, we must avoid mud when it rains and attempt to stay warm when it snows. We have to fight off the rats when eating what little food we have, which is already of poor quality. If I get the chance for some shut-eye, I keep my helmet on to prevent the rats from crawling on my head and eating the grease in my hair. And this helmet I wear is nothing but mere decoration. It does nothing to protect a soldier's head, as I can prove in witnessing a bullet go through a helmet straight through a man's head. I have witnessed this on numerous accounts. 

The life of a soldier is emotionally disturbing. Some soldiers have gone insane with Shell-Shock battle fatigue because of what they have seen and heard. I have experienced so many people die instantaneously feet away from me, splattering their blood over my face. Their last facial expressions will forever be imprinted in my memory. I will have nightmares years to come of these brutal battles. I say years to come because I have not had a solid night's sleep since this dreadful war began. The thing I have hated most about fighting in this war is leaving my comrades behind. We must abandon them in retreat, running away from them as they waste their last breaths begging for help. I will forever hate myself for leaving those soldiers behind.

I pray every chance I get between firing my gun that this war will soon be over. We have been told though, that soon we will be heading to France, where there should be more troops to fight along our side. That day will be a glorious day.

After a hard-earned victory,

Anthony R. Howard