Vous êtes sur la page 1sur 13

The Journal of James Winterbourne

September 1, 1914
It is the morning. My name is James Charles Winterbourne. It has been only a months
time since Great Britain joined this war in Europe. Mother and father gave me permission to
enlist in late February of this year, three months after my 19th birthday, and only last month
when war was declared did I finish up my training. Thanks to what is probably a combination of
fathers money and years of military service, I was able to attend Officer school which taught me
to lead a platoon. It seems now, Ill be doing just that. Ive been told Im leading 2 Platoon, A
Company, the 8th Dragoon Guards of the 1st Cavalry Brigade, 1st Cavalry Division, Cavalry
Corps, British Expeditionary Force. I think its rather a mouthful. 8th Dragoon is a regiment Ive
not heard of before, but nevertheless I look forward to meeting the men in it. Unfortunately, my
good fortune is paralleled by the misfortune of my predecessor, who led 2 Platoon for three days
before a German bullet claimed him.
In my next letter to him, I will thank father again for convincing the war office to postpone
my deployment. His reputation must precede him. I only regret that Elizabeth and I did not marry
sooner, for I left for France the day after the ceremony two days ago on the 31st of August.
A ferry took me from Dover to Calais which is known as a socialist stronghold. Calais is
located near the city of Ypres where Robert will soon be leading his men. It is a shame he could
not come to the ceremony.
I am now in a lorry taking me the 300km to the Battalion HQ near the Marne. The French
countryside is breathtaking. I have seen photographs of the front which look nothing like the
wide-open grass fields which stretch for miles that I see. The orange sun pelts my face with
warmth. It reminds me of when I go walking the county with Elizabeth. Actually, a few spots of
land we passed reminded me of when we played cricket at Eton. I do sometimes miss those
days back in Berkshire. What was the name of that lad who helped me break into Headmaster
Lytteltons Office to steal confiscated toffee?
Nevermind old memories. I am terribly excited for what lies before me. And theres
another feeling. Is it nerves? Fear?
September 6, 1914
So much has happened since I got to the Battalion HQ a few days ago, Ive almost
forgotten I had this journal to write in. I wonder how Elizabeth has gotten along these past days.
Yesterday the whole regiment, among other Expeditionary Forces, was dispatched to join the
French Fifth Army to exploit a near 500km break in the German First and Second armies
discovered by air reconnaissance. 2 Platoon did some scouting ahead of the convoy: The sky
was cast white by the clouds above us. When I dismounted Mac, my thoroughbred, to get a
closer look at what could have been a German position, which wasn't, the mud was so thick
where I stood that I became so trapped in the muck, it took all of my strength and putting all my
weight on Mac to free my boots.
We mounted up the other day and moved to the front where the French Fifth and Sixth
armies are, the latter lead by General Maunoury. The plan is Maunourys men will engage the
First Army while the French Fifth and B.E.F. pour in between the gap between the german
armies.

It is early, but the dawn is close and the black sky slowly is taking on a bluish glow. The
attack is imminent, but things are deathly quiet. A lone, straight trench, more of a ditch really,
has been dug to keep the majority of German bullets from us. I can see Maunoury, probably a
hundred meters to my left conversing with his aids. 2 Platoon is a little ways behind me, all of
them mounted. Ive gotten to know a lot of their names and Ive come to know they are a good
lot to lead.
Tommies and Poilus, all of them ready to go over the top, pressed against the short,
muddy wall of the front-most trench as far as I can see. They are all about my age, give or take
a couple of years. Some of them are silent, and some of them I can hear breathing. Quick
breaths. I am breathing rather rapidly too. Like reticent machinegun fire. Is this fear? My heart is
pounding in my chest. Is this excitement? My hands are shaking. I will mount my own horse and
wait for the blow of the whistle.
September 8, 1914
Mud and blood, I am covered in both. My recollection of events after the whistle was
blown is a murky swamp of images. We charged with the French Fifth into the gap between the
german lines and pinned the 2nd army near the two Morin rivers. I yelled to attack and 2
Platoon took off with me into the dark fog surrounded by the sounds of gunfire and exploding
shells. Things were very fast, and we were too, galloping into the German fire. Men were falling
to my left and my right. Some of them were shot and slumped into their saddles while the
horses kept charging forward, but the most of them who were hit ended up between their steeds
and the grass. Mac took me straight to the first machine gun in front of us. The german gunner
was not 5 feet in front of me when my lance met his neck.
I killed a man for the first time then, and I cannot put into words how I feel about that. I
am happy I killed him. But somehow I feel hollow. For the briefest moment when I rode past him
and looked into his eyes. He was a fit man about my age. He had blonde hair under his helmet
and dirt smudged on his face. His body contorted itself like a ragdoll picked up and thrown.
Warm blood spewed from everywhere as he briefly clutched at his neck and then did nothing.
In the last day and a half, the BEF crossed the Petit Morin and captured bridges over the
Marne river. 8th Dragoon despite the severe losses even managed to establish a bridgehead
8km into german territory. We are launching a surprise attack on the 2nd army this night and I
must prepare myself and the men for it.
September 10, 1914
It is evening, maybe 8 o clock. The sky is a dark purple and, under the moonlight, the
ground is a shiny grey, almost silver. The attack two nights ago was successful and the
Germans seem to be retreating, though not without returning fire. The BEF and the Fifth French
recrossed the Marne yesterday and, though our advance was slow, was able to push the
german line back over 60km. We tried to go further but the Germans are too well dug in: they
have a small but growing network of trenches which seem to allow them to move men and
munitions much more easily and more protected from artillery. Weve begun to do just the same
thing.
My lance broke shortly after the attack commenced a few days ago and Ive been using
my pistol since. It is a Webley Mk IV and has an attachable bayonet made from a French Gras

bayonet. It feels cold in my hand now, cold like ice, but when I shoot it it becomes burning hot. I
couldnt tell how many germans Ive killed with it, but the happiness, the allure I get from killing
Britains enemies, it has gone away and been replaced by other feelings. Guilt, but not regret.
Sadness? But I am not sad, I dont think. Its times like these I try to think of Elizabeth. The
thought of her helps me with, whatever this is.
Battle is dirty and chaotic and you can never quite tell what is going on at all times.
Ive unloaded my Webley a few times to practice twirling it around my index finger like
Ive seen cousin Connor do when he visits from America. I dont know why. I suppose it helps
me take my mind off of that german machine gunner. For some reason, I cannot quite get him
out of my head.
September 12, 1914
Both sides of this fight are very well dug in. I dont know how far these trenches stretch.
Is it possible they will soon stretch the entire length of the western front? What I do know is that
there has not been very much action here. It seems everyone who tries to go over the top is met
with german bullets. The good news is the Germans have it the same. The area between the
allied and enemy lines grows ever more dangerous with the expansion of our, and our enemys,
trench network. The larger these Godforsaken trenches get though, the longer it looks like well
be here.
I woke in the middle of last night in a cold sweat. I dreamed of explosions knocking me
to the ground and bullets cracking around my feet. It was dark and the only colour I saw around
me was a dark, bloody red. Over and over I saw men suffering, but not dying. Men getting
wounded, shot, blinded, limbs blown off, blood gushing from orifices, but no one dying - save for
that german machine gunner. I saw his life, that I cut off, flash before my eyes. I saw him
holding a beautiful woman in his arms. I saw tiny, children racing around his legs. I saw him
sharing a drink with his old father. And I saw him holding his grandson in his arms. A smile on
his face. Tears in his eyes.
September 17, 1914
Weve not moved an inch. Nothing has happened. We are bored and cold and the food
terrible.
September 20, 1914
I heard Robert is quite good at getting himself caught in the middle of small skirmishes
near Ypres these days, but I havent heard from him for a while. I asked about him to one of my
superiors who told me they would try to find how hes doing.
September 25, 1914
Ive gotten to know one of my sergeants quite well in these last couple of weeks. His
name is Remi Bordeleau. At first his accent, name, and carefully trimmed mustache resulted in
my mistaking him for a frenchman, like you might suspect. He does love his familys country but
his british blood is true. He has promised me to teach me about the finer wines as soon as we
have leave.

October 2, 1914
Ill make this one a letter.
Dear Elizabeth,
Just writing to tell you Im alright. I am keeping myself entertained and the boys have
been great company. Please give my love to mother, father, Emily, Lucius, and Fred. Im not
getting much word from Robert these days so if youve gotten anything from him, would you
mind sending me a copy? How are things getting along in the familys house? I hope you and
mother havent had words about the carpet in our room yet. I would rather be home for that
conversation.
Let me know youre alright by writing to me, wont you?
Yours always, love,
James
October 28, 1914
We saw some action a few weeks ago. I think it was the 6th of the month. We tried to
cross the no mans land and take the German front line but nothing really worked out as
planned. We had to leave the horses behind. Theres no getting them over the trench. Also, one
riding horseback here is certain to be killed. We arent much of a cavalry unit now I suppose.
During the charge, a shell went off near me on top of Brand. His Lee Enfield flew, along with a
lot of mud and brains, toward me and Im told it knocked me in the face quite well. I woke up
yesterday with a few stitches on my forehead. I dont seem to be experiencing any trouble
besides that but I am having a hard time remembering taste of brie. Thankfully, not many died in
the charge and the living have a weeks leave. An entire week! Before the end of the day
tomorrow, I will know the taste of fine cheese again.
November 3, 1914
Things are good. Remi and I have been hopping around the restaurants and coffee
houses and been having a fantastic time. The warm sun on our faces, the endless blue
stretching far and above us. I saw a few of the boys in a place called Jims Cafe and ate with
them for a bit. Later we met a few lovely women - one of them who was especially pretty and
nice and insisted on paying for my food was named Melanie - and had a day with them in a
small pastry shop. It seems a waste to cut this fun out the day after tomorrow but weve got a
job to do.
November 8, 1914
It grows colder each night and I could have sworn it began to snow earlier. We are back
on the front with little to do. Sometimes I have to give the boys orders just to give them
something to do. We keep the horses about a kilometer behind the front in a deserted little barn.
It is always warm in there. During the day I go back and forth quite a bit from the stables to the
trenches. We keep the horses brushed and fed and I gave private Davis the responsibility of
mucking the stables. Things seem alright as long as people have something to do. Davis is
probably having the most fun.
November 29, 1914

Robert is gone. I just got the letter. They told me he was a hero. I feel ill.
December 16, 1914
More dirt, more mud. More bombs, more blood. It is dark and cold. It is late. Weve got a
couple of fires going the boys are huddled around. The fire is so warm. I miss the warmth of a
girl in the night. Under sheets. I can only have happy dreams when I am awake, because when I
sleep I see only darkness. And in the darkness are the cries of pain and suffering of the men
Ive killed and the loved ones theyve left behind. Sometimes I hear Robert weeping in the
corner over me. And sometimes I hear myself wailing into the night over him. In my dreams, I
am standing over him.
December 25, 1914
This time last year, mother, father, Emily, Lucius, Fred, and I sat around the living room
and drank coffee and hot chocolate milk. We had presents and ate delicious food. Potatoes and
carrots and pork and cabbage in a large, hot, savory stew. Elizabeth came by later that day and
exchanged gifts with me. We admired each other very much then.
It is quiet. The morning light is white on the snow. I hear birds chirping in the distance
and I never until now knew how much I missed that. When I woke, there were men in the no
mans land huddled over trash bins which had been set fire. In my confusion, I made my way
over the top to the nearest fire to ask the boys what was happening. To my amazement, the first
man I saw wore a German officers uniform. My hand jumped to my hip and tightened around
the grip of my gun. But the German turned around, looked me up and down, put his hands up,
and smiled. Behind him I saw my subordinates, among them Remi.
Something mustve snapped in my head because I released my grip and made my way
to the trash bin fire where I joined Remi and the German officer. That day we didnt fight. We
didnt hide from shells. We played football with Germans.

January 1, 1915
Christmas seems like a distant memory. A fade of white and warmth in this hellish place.
There was a German attack today. When they charged, they didnt make it far. The boys all lined
up along the sandbags stood and fired for a half of an hour at the advancing Germans before
their retreat began. We chose to not pursue them. The new year seemed too depressing.
January 15. 1915
Dear father,
I am doing fine. War is not the same as it was when you were young and rode into battle.
I wanted to see the world. I wanted to see the countries. But all I see forever in every direction is
the desolate, dead, dying emptiness we are squabbling over. Please give my love to Emily,
Lucius, Fred and mother most of all. And tell Elizabeth I am fine as well.
Sincerely,
James
February 2, 1915

I have the most awful nightmares every night. I always wake up sweating profusely and
panting from the visions of death I see. It is painful sometimes just to close my eyes: Everytime I
do, I feel bullets cracking at my feet and shooting past my body. The only comfort I get these
days comes from caring for Mac - I like to feed him, to brush him, I like when I rest my head on
his chest and feel his breathing - and the tear-inducing jokes Remi manages to tell. The last one
was about a lawyer and a cannibal but it is far too rude to write down. Im sure the Germans are
suspicious of us when they hear the hysterical laughter that sometimes comes from just behind
our lines.
February 4, 1915
We will try to make an advance tomorrow. That is the rumor going around most recently.
The company commander will begin extensive shelling of the krauts later today through
tomorrow at dawn which is when the whistle will sound. Well be on horses tomorrow because
weve gotten word of harsh fog moving through the battlefield early tomorrow. Now, it is the
afternoon. The sun is hot on my skin but in its shadow it is deathly cold. The meat today wasnt
particularly terrible today and the coffee was tasteful and rich. The bread was fluffy and
delicious. I smiled today which is something I havent done on my own in a while. I think if I were
to die tomorrow, I think Id be ready.
April 21, 1915
I feel like shit, which is better than I was feeling two months ago. My leg aches and hurts
a little bit but it could have been much worse. In the battle that took place on the 5th of
February, I fell off Mac and broke my leg, only to get up to be shot in that leg shortly after. The
battle raged on until nightfall. When the boys found me, I looked like only a head and an arm
and the rest of me was buried under mud. I imagine if I had been conscious then, them digging
me out would have hurt a lot. But I was not awake, I was comatose. I was asleep until yesterday
when I woke up in a hospital in a small town west of Paris. The doctors tell me my leg will heal
up just fine and I can go back to the front in another month when I am ready which makes me
feel, uneasy.
I almost dont want to go back. There is a part of me, deep in my stomach, that tells me
not to return to the front. But if I trusted that feeling, I could be court-martialed, arrested, maybe
shot for cowardice. At least I wont have to think about the front for a while.
April 30, 1915
There is a girl who delivers pastries to the hospital twice a week I met several months
ago. I believe her name is Melanie. I first met her when Remi and I were hopping around cafes
in Paris. She doesnt speak English well, but I dont speak French well either. Ive seen her twice
now giving cakes to the wounded. When she first came by, she instantly recognized me and
gave me the most beautiful smile. She also gave me a cake. The second time she came around
bringing pastries this morning, she sat with me for a few hours talking with the help of a
wounded french soldier who spoke English. I told her about my life at home and what London
was like, and I told her about what it was like on the front. She told me about her family, her
brother who had gone to fight in Flanders but never returned. She told me about her job in the
bakery and how she loved to see so many different faces each day.

When she had to go, she asked me if she would ever see me again. I told her that I
would be in the hospital for the next 3 weeks, but that whenever I came back to Paris on leave
from the war, I would visit the bakery where she worked. She smiled, took my right hand, and
kissed my palm. She was absolutely lovely.
9 May, 1915
I got a letter from Remi today simply asking for an update on how things were doing. I
sent him back one telling him I return on the 20th and that I wished the platoon the best until my
arrival.
Melanie has come by a few more times to talk with me and I have enjoyed every
moment of her company. She is compassionate, loving, sweet, and wonderful in everyway. We
usually talk about things before the war: what we used to do as children, what sort of places we
had been. She told me she was 19 and her family owns a few acres of land west of Calais.
The hospital they have me holed up in is moderately comfortable. In the morning, warm
sunbeams shine through the windows three meters left from my cot. I usually get up around 8
oclock to walk around a bit. The aches in my leg are nearly gone, though I have a bit of a limp.
When I return from my walk, breakfast has usually been served. Bread, sometimes some eggs
or meat, and coffee. After, I can read or write or rest up or walk around. The nurses are always
needing help, so a few times I have asked to assist them in whatever their tasks to which they
are usually resistant though grateful. My room, which I share with a dozen other British and
French men, is fairly small with light blue walls and wood floors. The floors are stained with
spilled coffee and drops of blood. The sheets of the cots are warm and bright white. There is a
door on the wall to my right where everyone enters and exits, and a small stack of blankets near
it on the floor.
18 May, 1915
Though Ive healed up well, the nurses still dont like me to leave the grounds of the
hospital. However, I managed to convince one of them to look the other way yesterday so
Melanie could take me to see a nearby river. We sat in the grass near the water watching the
orange sun set on the dark horizon in the west, and when we were quiet, we listened to the
distant sounds of shells dropping and exploding in the east. We didnt talk much about the war
or the world or the fighting at all. We talked about our futures. We asked each other questions
about things. We ate some bread and drank some wine and talked about food. We felt the cool
grass between our fingers and toes and watched each shimmering star appear in the dying,
pink light overhead. It was perfect.
20 May, 1915
Im in the lorrie taking me back to 2 platoon. It fills me with sadness to have to leave the
hospital. Things were so comfortable there. And Melanie was there are we had such a great
time.
I suppose I have to go back to the front. No, I have to go back. The men would meet
certain death if I never returned, and Remi I dont think likes the responsibility of leading the

platoon. At least, he hasnt been though officer school so he shouldnt have to lead. He has
done a good job in my absence though.
22 May, 1915
I have just arrived in the town of Festubert where the 8th Dragoon was recently moved.
The BEF and British First Army have resumed an attack on a German salient between Neuve
Chapelle and the village of Festubert, which began on the 15th, just two days ago. Before the
attack began, there were 2 and a half days of British shelling. Many of the soldiers fighting are
from the Indian continent. They do not bother me - rather, I have no quarrel with the Indian
people. But seeing so many brown-skinned people at once when you have seen almost none in
your life is interesting. The line where the british attack began has now advanced 2km. Ive
heard we owe the Canadian Division much thanks for this accomplishment.
The boys are happy to have me back. Harrison, Leonard, and Charles personally told
me so. Our new home is not much different from our last one near the Marne, though you can
see much more shelling has been done. There is mud and dirt everywhere, and every crater a
brown puddle. We continue our advance.
24 May, 1915
We have very nearly driven the German salient to defeat. Some of the Germans run
from their posts and cover when they see our mounts charging over and around the massive
piles of mud and collapsed trees. Ive killed a number more Germans and it is a good thing.
They are our homes enemy and we are here simply to defend our home.
The sky is filled with smoke, and the clicks and clacks of bullets still shoot past my body
and feet, but I am not afraid. I cannot be afraid for myself or the boys, so I am not. But my fear
has been replaced with guilt.
What is Melanie to me? Is she a friend? Is she something more than a friend? I have a
wife. Have I let myself betray Elizabeth?
It is true that I care for Melanie, but is this feeling love? Lust? Or is it simply that she
makes me smile during these dark times. The thought of her fills me with happiness. Is that a
bad thing - to feel happy - when you are surrounded by death?

Clear my head. The advance continues and we have to mount up for another go.
4 June, 1915
The day is calm. Quiet and cloudy midday. We continued our advance until we had taken
3 whole km, after which the fighting ceased and the shelling began again. I find it hard to
describe the conditions of the trenches which we are so dug into. I only seem to use the words
dirty and muddy. But they are worse than that. There is lice. Lice seems to get everywhere, all
over the men. Im afraid I have some right now in my clothes. There are also the rats. Large as
a small cat, some of them. They like to eat at the flesh of the dead. They usually disappear for a
while after a battle to pick off the skin and muscle from the victims in the no mans land, but they

return a few short hours later to the trenches, which are warmer than the hills and craters of the
battlefield.
8 June, 1915
Some of the boys have gone to the hospital for horrible cases of fungus in their feet.
Others have contracted rabies and been sent away. My feet are almost constantly moist. As I
inspect them now, they are damp and wrinkled, like when one spends too much time in the bath,
but thankfully, I have not seen the sorts of troubles some of the others in the regiment have.
It is nighttime again, but the stars are hidden by a layer of dark clouds. It will begin to
rain soon which is exactly the thing we do not need right now. Remi has a small stash of wine
under a tarp the rats havent seemed to be able to get into. It isnt a secret kept by only Remi
and I - almost all of the boys have taken to drinking from it and resupplying it whenever they
can. He has poured me a cup and I think Ill put it to good use now.
30 June, 1915
We keep on fighting but what is being accomplished? One day, maybe we will take a few
kilometers from the Germans, and the next day we will lose a few kilometers. And for what? I
have seen hundreds of men die before me for useless dirt. Ive seen mens brains fly out the
back of their heads as they fought over a crater. The BEF keeps on trying to advance, but I think
the Germans have it the right way. We need to play on the defensive side like them. The
problem is, the Commander keeps sending us into the no mans land to play on the offensive.
5 July, 1915
Dear Melanie,
Just writing to tell you Im fine. How is the bakery? And how are the men at the hospital? And,
how are you?
From,
James
5 September, 1915
Dear Father,
All is well for me. The boys are fine, though the constant fighting and waiting for fighting has
rendered us all constantly exhausted these past months. Im sorry I didnt write back sooner. I
read in your last letter that Fred is to get married soon. That hes found himself a nurse in the
hospital in town. Tell him Im very happy for him.
But how are you doing? And what of mother? You wrote she had had a fall not quite a
week ago. How is she healing up?
The war becomes more and more unpleasant. While snipers and defending and
attacking are a danger, shelling comes for us more often these days, and poison gas has
become a concern. Thankfully, we havent seen it used much in these parts, but weve all been
issued gas masks in case. We dont get to saddle up much these days which, while a shame
because Mac is the most worthy horse Ive ever had the chance of riding, is actually beneficial
to my good health.
And tell Elizabeth I love her.

Sincerely,
James
25 September, 1915
It is quite late now. I find it harder to write in this journal as the war goes on, but today
was rather exciting, so I will try to go into as great detail as I can manage.
Despite our lacking heavy artillery, ammunition, and troop reserves, earlier today the
B.E.F. launched an attack near Loos. We were dispatched back down to our first home near the
Marne. Our italian allies in the meantime attacked across the Isonzo river. The french, seemed
to be able to take the village of Souchez, but theyve made almost no progress in the southeast.
We havent made much progress ourselves, rather weve taken quite a beating. Earlier
today, we went over the top and slowly, while crawling, advanced through the mud, the boys
behind and beside me. A few krauts popped their heads over the craters we were crawling in
and over, but they were quickly eliminated by a defensive line back at the trench.
We took refuge in a large hole in the ground which appeared almost directly in front of
us, dirt blasting in each direction. Some got in my mouth, leaving a chalky feeling and taste for
the rest of the day. This was probably during midmorning. The sky was an infinite of light blue,
scratched in all directions with trails of grey smoke. The ground today was dry, but the dirt was
very, very loose. The dirt was being kicked up so much, it seemed like it was flying into your
lungs. All of us coughing, the sun beating down on us, I peered over the mound of earth I was
hidden behind to hear and feel the cracks of bullets landing just next to my head.
A german machine gun was posted just ahead of our location. Remi leaned into my ear
and shouted something I didnt hear past the machine gun fire. What? I shouted back. He
yelled back Grenades! I nodded to him and shouted to Harrison who I gave the satchel of
grenades. He tossed me them and I gave two to Tom and Remi, who were standing next to me,
and one for me. I waited for the machine gun cracks to stop and when they did, signaled with
my finger to Tom and Remi to have at it. The three of us quickly got to our feet, threw the
explosives with all of our might at the gunner, and then dropped to the ground. Imagine the
shock of a trains whistle blowing past your head, your brains shaking inside of your skull.
Krakoom. That was the last thing that happened before we became even more seriously pinned
by German fire and had to retreat, losing a few good men along the way. Remi and Harrison
made it back, as did Leonard and Charles, but some German found a spot to lay Tom down for
good.
Tom was a good man, and a young one too. Ill tell the chaplain to write to his mother
and father.
1 October, 1915
Do I love Melanie? I feel so warm inside thinking about her. Does she feel the same way
about me? When I remember Elizabeth, my heart aches missing her. I love Elizabeth. But how
can this be? Can I love Elizabeth and Melanie at the same time?
What do I do? Whatever this is I have with Melanie - do I end it? But in over a year at
war, never have I felt the touch of someone I love, save for Melanies hands in my hands and
her lips on my forehead.

God, what do I do?


3 October, 1915
After Captain Dalton was killed yesterday by a sniper from poking his head up to
observe the battle, I was promoted to Captain of A Company. Seeing as how Daltons second in
command was mortally wounded minutes afterwards, Ive promoted Remi to Captain as my
second in command. Harrison is the newest Lieutenant of 2 Platoon.
This battle is a stalemate in these parts of Loos, with neither side making much of any
progress. The Italians and French are taking meager amounts of land from the Germans. Earlier
today we went over the sandbags again to advance but the machine gun fire and shelling
became too dangerous. We lost two good men, Brown and Lewis.
When the fighting petered out, I sent a few chaps to fetch the bodies and bring them
back, but all that was left of them were their skeletons thanks to the rats.
The rats make for a tasty treat when youve no food.
5 October, 1915
The killing doesnt seem to bother me much. Its the dying. If I hold the life of a man who
would gladly kill me in my hands, I choose to live. But its the not holding the lives which disturbs
me. There is nothing I can do for the boys when they poke their heads up too high. All I can do
is do my best to remind them to keep low.
10 October, 1915
The B.E.F. has lost about 15,000 lives just in the last two weeks over Loos. The numbers
are sickening.
16 October, 1915
Dear Melanie,
I do not quite know how to put what I want to say into the correct words. Something has
come up. I dont believe we should communicate anymore. I would rather not go into the details,
but I believe this is best for the both of us.
You helped me find a light inside of me. And that light helps me see through the
darkness I see today. I am afraid if we met again, that light would no longer exist.
I treasure my memories of you, the days we spent together, and the night by the river we
laid together.
I will remember you. Please remember me.
Love,
James
19 October, 1915
I feel loneliness. I miss Elizabeth, so desperately. Why havent I ever invited her to meet
me during the past year? That is something I shall do.
20 October, 1915

The nights are so cold again. I feel frigid inside of my chest. Peaking out of my small
tent, cannot see above the top, nor would I want to. The trench walls are narrow and muddy.
The ground is uneven and sloshes under your feet. It constantly smells like gunpowder and
earth, except for when you are around the latrines which are like chemical warfare.
Blood has stained my uniform again. My bayonet has found a taste for blood and so
have I. I feel empty inside of myself. Every life I take and every life I order to be taken leaves me
feeling like there is a black, gaping hole in my chest sucking all light I have left into it.
Its times like these I try to think of Elizabeth. The thought of her comforts me. I try to
remember the twinkle in her clear, blue eyes and her pearl white teeth. The beautiful white
wedding dress and veil I last saw her in. I remember her smooth cheeks and her flowing brown
silky hair. I remember the curves of her face. The feel of her skin and the curvature of her body.
The feel of the small scar on her back. I remember the way she smiled at me when she was 11
after I picked her a flower. I remember when I was 15 and on leave from school and her family
had dinner with us. How we looked across the table at each other the whole evening. How after
dessert, we went out for a stroll around the garden, and mother told us we couldnt be alone so
father sent Robert and Emily to join us. And how Robert and Emily understood the moment and
left us alone in the garden. And how we took each others hands. And how the red sun was
hitting the purple sky and the green grass. And how she closed her clear blue eyes and shared
with me our first kiss.
Damn the war.
26 October, 1915
Dearest Elizabeth,
My love how are you? I dont have much time to write, but wont you plan on meeting me
in Paris as soon as I have leave? I will let you know when exactly, but plan for it. Please give my
love to mother, father, Emily, Lucius, and Fred.
Love, yours now and forever,
James
27 October, 1915
I found some time yesterday to write a letter to Elizabeth. I miss her so.
The B.E.F. has lost more troops in Loos: 40,000 last I asked.
Remi and I shared a cup of wine today. We needed it.
4 November, 1915
We are retreating. This day is not ours. It is our enemys. A breakthrough of the German
lines could not be reached by the French or the Italians. The French IX Corps split off a week
ago to aid us but it did not accomplish anything.
6 November, 1915
Defeat at Loos.

14 November, 1915
Weve earned a few days leave from the front. I suppose Harrison and Charles might
join Remi and I for a day of hopping around the cafes again, but I intend to meet with dear
Elizabeth who has found the time to make the trek down to Paris for a few days.
I need a new journal. I'll buy one in Paris. I can't have these memories with me during
these times. The entries about Robert, about the nightmares, about Melanie. The words make
my pain and guilt so much worse. I'll give this journal to Elizabeth to bring home and ask her not
to read a word inside.
I will right things. I will be truthful. I will be faithful.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------4 August, 1919
Ironic how I write in this journal on the anniversary of Britain declaring war on Germany.
They call it the Spanish Influenza. Elizabeth is no longer with us.
11 December, 1919
I miss her. I miss my unborn child. But there is nothing I can do. The nightmares come
for me every night.
9 January, 1920
I am in Ypres. I miss Robert. All I have of him is a stone. Robert Charles Winterbourne, it
reads. 1893 - 1914. Melanie is here with me, and she has agreed to come with me. Wherever I
am going. Her family is gone too. A silly stove burner brought their entire house to the ground.
Melanie was working at the bakery at the time. I feel guilty being with her, but she is the best
thing that has happened to me in a long time. I dont think I have ever told her I truly loved her,
but I think she knows, and I know in my heart that the feeling is mutual.
I received a telegram from Remi the other day asking me how I was doing and saying if I
was ever near Cornwall to stop by. I think Ill do that.

Vous aimerez peut-être aussi