Letter From The Trenches
Research & Planning:
Background:
Full Name: John Alexander McCrae
Age (at time of enlistment): 41 years and 9 months
Marital Status: Single
Place of Birth: Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Address: 211 Paisley Street
Family: Parents - David McCrae (father) & Janet Eckford McCrae (mother and next-of-kin)
Siblings - Thomas McCrae (older brother) & Geills McCrae (younger sister)
Ethnicity: Caucasian, grandson of Scottish immigrants
Religion: Presbyterian
Occupation(s) At Home: Physician, educator, entrepreneur, former soldier
Training: Kingston at the Royal Military College for an artillery course in 1893, University of Toronto for medical sciences
Reason for Enlistment: he has a military background (fought in the Boer war in South Africa), his father was involved in the military, he thought every bachelor should go, and mainly he was afraid to go but was even more afraid to stay at home with his conscienceTrench Slang:
Blighty One or Blighty Wound – A wound severe enough to warrant being sent back home. Self-inflicted blighty wounds were a capital offense. Though none were executed, nearly 4,000 men were convicted of self-inflicted wounds and were sent to prison.
Alleyman – A German soldier. The British corrupted French Allemagne meaning “German”.
Base Rat – A soldier who stayed near headquarters in comfort and safety.
Battle Police - Military police patrols deployed in the trenches following an attack to deal with stragglers and men who had refused to go over the top. There are stories of summary executions occurring, but these were not officially sanctioned.
Gone west – Killed. Dead. “He's gone west.”
Pipped - Struck by a bullet.
Rest Camp - A cemetery.
Hate - A bombardment. Troops in the trenches often had to endure a morning “hour of hate”, meaning an hour of artillery bombardment.
Tommy - British soldier. Derived from Tommy Atkins, which, much like John Doe in the U.S., was a name on sample forms to represent a typical British army private soldier.
Poilu – French for hairy beast. A French infantryman in the front line.
Background:
Full Name: John Alexander McCrae
Age (at time of enlistment): 41 years and 9 months
Marital Status: Single
Place of Birth: Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Address: 211 Paisley Street
Family: Parents - David McCrae (father) & Janet Eckford McCrae (mother and next-of-kin)
Siblings - Thomas McCrae (older brother) & Geills McCrae (younger sister)
Ethnicity: Caucasian, grandson of Scottish immigrants
Religion: Presbyterian
Occupation(s) At Home: Physician, educator, entrepreneur, former soldier
Training: Kingston at the Royal Military College for an artillery course in 1893, University of Toronto for medical sciences
Reason for Enlistment: he has a military background (fought in the Boer war in South Africa), his father was involved in the military, he thought every bachelor should go, and mainly he was afraid to go but was even more afraid to stay at home with his conscienceTrench Slang:
Blighty One or Blighty Wound – A wound severe enough to warrant being sent back home. Self-inflicted blighty wounds were a capital offense. Though none were executed, nearly 4,000 men were convicted of self-inflicted wounds and were sent to prison.
Alleyman – A German soldier. The British corrupted French Allemagne meaning “German”.
Base Rat – A soldier who stayed near headquarters in comfort and safety.
Battle Police - Military police patrols deployed in the trenches following an attack to deal with stragglers and men who had refused to go over the top. There are stories of summary executions occurring, but these were not officially sanctioned.
Gone west – Killed. Dead. “He's gone west.”
Pipped - Struck by a bullet.
Rest Camp - A cemetery.
Hate - A bombardment. Troops in the trenches often had to endure a morning “hour of hate”, meaning an hour of artillery bombardment.
Tommy - British soldier. Derived from Tommy Atkins, which, much like John Doe in the U.S., was a name on sample forms to represent a typical British army private soldier.
Poilu – French for hairy beast. A French infantryman in the front line.
May 3rd, 1915
Dear mother,
Fighting in this war is not what I thought it would be like when I joined the military. You must be worried, as all mothers are but I am well and healthy. I know that with all of the propaganda back home, they make war seem like an adventure, a good salary, and they make it seem as if we are all going to return safely home. No one expected such gruesome deaths and the non-stop fighting. Even though I have served before in the Boer war of South Africa, nothing could prepare me for the horror of this terrible war. Our current battle is with the Tommies and the Poilu against the Alleymen of course. Major-General Arthur Currie leads us Canadians, and has proven himself worthy in the Second Battle of Ypres in Belgium. My horse Bonfire was a wonderful gift and he keeps me at peace and distracts me from the war. I have made many new friends, all courageous men who fight in the 1st Brigade Canadian Artillery with me. Sadly, but not surprisingly, many of my friends have gone west or sustained a blighty one. The rest camps are already full and men are now being piled on top of each other carelessly. I am one of the lucky ones. My position as a surgeon limits me from being out on the field but I still live in the trenches. The reason for this letter is actually to tell you about a tragic event that happened yesterday. But, I’ll save that for later.
Let me tell you about the average day in the trenches. First off, the conditions in the trenches are very poor. Many of my patients come to me with Trench Foot, a painful condition obtained from the long days spent in the unsanitary and soggy conditions. Quite preventable indeed, but this is war. And a soldier’s comfort is not our number one priority. There are no truly safe places to stay when I am at battle, but the base rats are much better off than the majority of us. As you know I am also in the artillery and I serve if I am needed but I try to focus my energy on helping victims. The trenches were about 6 feet deep, to enable a man to stand upright and walk around with getting pipped. In some areas where the trench wall is compromised, I must bend over a little since I am 6 feet tall. We rarely have the luxury of sandbags to hold up our walls and shells can collapse the dirt on sleeping men and bury them alive. Sometimes, when it rains the water can reach chest height. I do not want to fully describe the scenes in our trenches after an attack to you mother since it might frighten you. We were walking on our own men, all lifeless, usually with a gruesome injury. I am a surgeon, so blood and missing body parts does not affect me as much as other men, especially the young ones. What frightened me the most though was the fact that we have become so accustomed to seeing maimed men littered everywhere, that it doesn’t affect us anymore. War can change even the most innocent men into murderous monsters, intent on killing the enemy.
I am told by Major-General Currie that back home, our battles are very significant. We are currently fighting near Ypres, Belgium or it is also traditionally called Flanders. One of the main battles started when the 1st Canadian Division and British troops were sent in to take over for the tired French troops. Germans were very powerful and hoped to break through the Canadian and English lines. I have to admit, those Alleymen were highly skilled in their war tactics but as time went by, I think they started to get a little desperate for a win. They were so desperate that they resorted to using illegal poisonous gas to try and kill us all. The General has told us that this was the first time that anyone used chlorine gas in this war. It was unexpected and devastating to our troops. Gas masks were not readily available so many men suffered in the wrath of the deadly gas. As a hasty defense, we had to put urine-soaked cloths to cover our mouths and noses and it actually helped us Canadians hold off the Germans. This gas was a sickly greenish-yellow haze, slowly creeping its way towards us. That’s when it hit us, soldiers were suffocating and writhing on the ground. First the hard hit French line, then the British lines broke and fled for their lives. As night fell upon us, General Currie calmly issued orders for the Canadians to hold their own even though we were running around blindly in the gas-cloud. I even heard rumors that our very brave General went to the rear himself and brought up some British reinforcements that were unwilling to move forward. I had very few patients because most of their deaths happened in an instant and there was no way we could save them. It was very tragic indeed. It made me realize how lucky I was to have escaped with my life.
As we develop more sophisticated weapons, the number of men that have gone west is rising. The war has just started, so I am not familiar with the strategies we are using and I am often not involved in the attacks so far. Although I am quite a good soldier, my medical experience is more useful at a time where there are so many casualties. The number of patients I have to treat is astonishing, and can be quite overwhelming after a German attack. The newest weapon I have seen are these giant, slow “tanks” as the British call them. They have a small crew of a few people and there are machine guns sticking out from every side. However, they have proven to be ineffective in the mud and cannot be used around the trenches. It seems as if every few weeks new and more advanced versions of the original tank were being developed in a rush to outdo one another. Machine guns are becoming more and more common on both the Allies side and the Triple Entente. I have seen the hail of bullets rain over our soldiers, wiping most of them out in seconds. Gone are the days of hand-to-hand combat, it is now the age of technology and taking our men as efficiently as possible.
Oh yes, the tragic event that I was going to tell you about. I am devastated by my close friend’s death. His name was Alexis Helmer, was popular among all his fellow officers and the poor boy was only 22 years old. Yesterday, he died instantly and did not suffer. May he rest in peace. He was hit directly by a German shell and after we collected all his body parts that we could find and wrapped him in an army blanket. His closest friends and I tried to give him the burial he deserved that evening. I recited some passages from the Church of England’s ‘Order of Burial of the Dead’. A simple wooden cross marked his grave and wild poppies sprouted on the ravaged land, so full of life amongst the dead. I was very inspired by his passing though, to express my sorrow in a poem. Seeing those bright red poppies in the fields gave me the title to this poem I call, “In Flanders Fields”. I know how much you love my poetry mother, and I hope you enjoy this one as much as you did my other poems. You will find a copy with this letter. One of the most memorable moments in this war so far was when the French and the Germans called for a truce on Christmas Day just this past year and all the fighting just stopped. I’ve heard that they exchanged gifts, made conversation and even engaged in a game or two of football. It occurred to me that soldiers don’t despise each other, the governments do. When I go on artillery, I empathize with the Triple Entente. We both are very similar. We have loved ones, family, friends, and a life away from all this fighting. Men are going insane after a while and the number of self-inflicted blighty wounds increases. It is very depressing to watch. We all have no idea what the Alleymen are going to do next, however I think we have the right leader to deal with them when the time comes. Major-General Arthur Currie is one of the best and most composed leaders I’ve worked with. On a lighter note, I have acquired quite the array of furry friends. I love going on long rides with my horse Bonfire in the beautiful French countryside. Bonneau my dog keeps me company when I do my rounds in the medical wards. I also have a rabbit, a hen, a kitten, and Follette who is Bonneau’s mother. My animal companions help distract me from the raging war and reminds me of home.
Please give my best wishes to Thomas and Geills and let father know that I am thinking about him. Mother, I miss you very much and I hope to see you soon.
With much love,
John
Dear mother,
Fighting in this war is not what I thought it would be like when I joined the military. You must be worried, as all mothers are but I am well and healthy. I know that with all of the propaganda back home, they make war seem like an adventure, a good salary, and they make it seem as if we are all going to return safely home. No one expected such gruesome deaths and the non-stop fighting. Even though I have served before in the Boer war of South Africa, nothing could prepare me for the horror of this terrible war. Our current battle is with the Tommies and the Poilu against the Alleymen of course. Major-General Arthur Currie leads us Canadians, and has proven himself worthy in the Second Battle of Ypres in Belgium. My horse Bonfire was a wonderful gift and he keeps me at peace and distracts me from the war. I have made many new friends, all courageous men who fight in the 1st Brigade Canadian Artillery with me. Sadly, but not surprisingly, many of my friends have gone west or sustained a blighty one. The rest camps are already full and men are now being piled on top of each other carelessly. I am one of the lucky ones. My position as a surgeon limits me from being out on the field but I still live in the trenches. The reason for this letter is actually to tell you about a tragic event that happened yesterday. But, I’ll save that for later.
Let me tell you about the average day in the trenches. First off, the conditions in the trenches are very poor. Many of my patients come to me with Trench Foot, a painful condition obtained from the long days spent in the unsanitary and soggy conditions. Quite preventable indeed, but this is war. And a soldier’s comfort is not our number one priority. There are no truly safe places to stay when I am at battle, but the base rats are much better off than the majority of us. As you know I am also in the artillery and I serve if I am needed but I try to focus my energy on helping victims. The trenches were about 6 feet deep, to enable a man to stand upright and walk around with getting pipped. In some areas where the trench wall is compromised, I must bend over a little since I am 6 feet tall. We rarely have the luxury of sandbags to hold up our walls and shells can collapse the dirt on sleeping men and bury them alive. Sometimes, when it rains the water can reach chest height. I do not want to fully describe the scenes in our trenches after an attack to you mother since it might frighten you. We were walking on our own men, all lifeless, usually with a gruesome injury. I am a surgeon, so blood and missing body parts does not affect me as much as other men, especially the young ones. What frightened me the most though was the fact that we have become so accustomed to seeing maimed men littered everywhere, that it doesn’t affect us anymore. War can change even the most innocent men into murderous monsters, intent on killing the enemy.
I am told by Major-General Currie that back home, our battles are very significant. We are currently fighting near Ypres, Belgium or it is also traditionally called Flanders. One of the main battles started when the 1st Canadian Division and British troops were sent in to take over for the tired French troops. Germans were very powerful and hoped to break through the Canadian and English lines. I have to admit, those Alleymen were highly skilled in their war tactics but as time went by, I think they started to get a little desperate for a win. They were so desperate that they resorted to using illegal poisonous gas to try and kill us all. The General has told us that this was the first time that anyone used chlorine gas in this war. It was unexpected and devastating to our troops. Gas masks were not readily available so many men suffered in the wrath of the deadly gas. As a hasty defense, we had to put urine-soaked cloths to cover our mouths and noses and it actually helped us Canadians hold off the Germans. This gas was a sickly greenish-yellow haze, slowly creeping its way towards us. That’s when it hit us, soldiers were suffocating and writhing on the ground. First the hard hit French line, then the British lines broke and fled for their lives. As night fell upon us, General Currie calmly issued orders for the Canadians to hold their own even though we were running around blindly in the gas-cloud. I even heard rumors that our very brave General went to the rear himself and brought up some British reinforcements that were unwilling to move forward. I had very few patients because most of their deaths happened in an instant and there was no way we could save them. It was very tragic indeed. It made me realize how lucky I was to have escaped with my life.
As we develop more sophisticated weapons, the number of men that have gone west is rising. The war has just started, so I am not familiar with the strategies we are using and I am often not involved in the attacks so far. Although I am quite a good soldier, my medical experience is more useful at a time where there are so many casualties. The number of patients I have to treat is astonishing, and can be quite overwhelming after a German attack. The newest weapon I have seen are these giant, slow “tanks” as the British call them. They have a small crew of a few people and there are machine guns sticking out from every side. However, they have proven to be ineffective in the mud and cannot be used around the trenches. It seems as if every few weeks new and more advanced versions of the original tank were being developed in a rush to outdo one another. Machine guns are becoming more and more common on both the Allies side and the Triple Entente. I have seen the hail of bullets rain over our soldiers, wiping most of them out in seconds. Gone are the days of hand-to-hand combat, it is now the age of technology and taking our men as efficiently as possible.
Oh yes, the tragic event that I was going to tell you about. I am devastated by my close friend’s death. His name was Alexis Helmer, was popular among all his fellow officers and the poor boy was only 22 years old. Yesterday, he died instantly and did not suffer. May he rest in peace. He was hit directly by a German shell and after we collected all his body parts that we could find and wrapped him in an army blanket. His closest friends and I tried to give him the burial he deserved that evening. I recited some passages from the Church of England’s ‘Order of Burial of the Dead’. A simple wooden cross marked his grave and wild poppies sprouted on the ravaged land, so full of life amongst the dead. I was very inspired by his passing though, to express my sorrow in a poem. Seeing those bright red poppies in the fields gave me the title to this poem I call, “In Flanders Fields”. I know how much you love my poetry mother, and I hope you enjoy this one as much as you did my other poems. You will find a copy with this letter. One of the most memorable moments in this war so far was when the French and the Germans called for a truce on Christmas Day just this past year and all the fighting just stopped. I’ve heard that they exchanged gifts, made conversation and even engaged in a game or two of football. It occurred to me that soldiers don’t despise each other, the governments do. When I go on artillery, I empathize with the Triple Entente. We both are very similar. We have loved ones, family, friends, and a life away from all this fighting. Men are going insane after a while and the number of self-inflicted blighty wounds increases. It is very depressing to watch. We all have no idea what the Alleymen are going to do next, however I think we have the right leader to deal with them when the time comes. Major-General Arthur Currie is one of the best and most composed leaders I’ve worked with. On a lighter note, I have acquired quite the array of furry friends. I love going on long rides with my horse Bonfire in the beautiful French countryside. Bonneau my dog keeps me company when I do my rounds in the medical wards. I also have a rabbit, a hen, a kitten, and Follette who is Bonneau’s mother. My animal companions help distract me from the raging war and reminds me of home.
Please give my best wishes to Thomas and Geills and let father know that I am thinking about him. Mother, I miss you very much and I hope to see you soon.
With much love,
John