Seriously laconic: Captain Alexander Stewart's diary
From British officer Alexander Stewart's diary of his experience on the Western Front. Drawn from "Grandfather's Great War" and additional excerpts in Harper's.
30 June 1916: The finest thing that ever happened in the trenches was the rum ration, and never was it more needed than on the Somme. Yet some blasted, ignorant fool of a general--damned in this world and the next--wanted to stop it and, for a time, did. The man must be worse than the lowest type of criminal, have no knowledge of the conditions in which the troops exist, and be entirely out of touch with the men who are unfortunate enough to have him as their commander. He should have been taken up to the line and frozen in the mud. I would have then very willingly sat on his head, as he was a danger to the whole army. Curse him. Those who have not spent a night standing or sitting or lying in mud with an east wind blowing and the temperature below freezing may think that I am extravagant in my abuse of the man who denied the soldiers their rum rations. Those who have will know that I am too temperate.
9 November 1916: I am very much annoyed by the memos sent from Headquarters. They come in at all hours of the day and night and stop me from getting a full night's rest. Some of them are very silly and unnecessary. When I am just getting off to sleep with cold feet, in comes an orderly asking how many pairs of socks my company had a week ago. I reply, 141 1/2. Back comes a memo: Please explain at once how you came to be deficient one sock. I reply, Man lost his leg.
27 May 1917: I then saw the tin helmet of one of the machine gunners; at this helmet I fired with my revolver and do not think I can have missed. I then had a shot at a man who appeared the other side of the gun, I think I got him also. Then a head and neck appeared where the first man had been and I had my third shot. Then some blighter in the trench just opposite me threw a stick bomb at us or me; it exploded just by my feet; he was a sitter and I got him also with my revolver. By this time things were happening a bit too rapidly to remain clear in my memory but there was one young chap I remember very clearly shooting in the back as he was running away but I forget whether I got him with a revolver or a rifle. My next recollection is that I had no more shots left in my revolver and was still not yet in the trench. As I had no intention of getting into the trench unarmed I proceeded to unsling the rifle with fixed bayonet I had over my shoulder. I should have mentioned that after my third or fourth shot I found that the bowl of my pipe and the smoke from it was obscuring my line of vision as I was firing slightly downwards all the time. Much to my annoyance, I had to put my pipe in my pocket alight as it was; it was lucky that it did not burn my jacket. Just as I got my rifle working I saw a man in the trench calmly kneeling down and taking careful aim at me. At the moment I saw him he fired. But in some miraculous way he missed.
28 September 1917: Was wounded while coming out of the line. When we were about one hundred yards from a road, I, who was leading, stopped rather ostentatiously to show my contempt for the shells and lit a cigarette. A shell landed about ten yards behind us, and a small bit of its casing cut through the left side of my collar and then through my throat, where it came up flop against my wind pipe. I started to cough and brought up some blood and the bit of shell. McLennan very kindly retrieved the bit of iron out of the mud and, handing it to me, remarked that I might like to keep it. This I did.
30 June 1916: The finest thing that ever happened in the trenches was the rum ration, and never was it more needed than on the Somme. Yet some blasted, ignorant fool of a general--damned in this world and the next--wanted to stop it and, for a time, did. The man must be worse than the lowest type of criminal, have no knowledge of the conditions in which the troops exist, and be entirely out of touch with the men who are unfortunate enough to have him as their commander. He should have been taken up to the line and frozen in the mud. I would have then very willingly sat on his head, as he was a danger to the whole army. Curse him. Those who have not spent a night standing or sitting or lying in mud with an east wind blowing and the temperature below freezing may think that I am extravagant in my abuse of the man who denied the soldiers their rum rations. Those who have will know that I am too temperate.
9 November 1916: I am very much annoyed by the memos sent from Headquarters. They come in at all hours of the day and night and stop me from getting a full night's rest. Some of them are very silly and unnecessary. When I am just getting off to sleep with cold feet, in comes an orderly asking how many pairs of socks my company had a week ago. I reply, 141 1/2. Back comes a memo: Please explain at once how you came to be deficient one sock. I reply, Man lost his leg.
27 May 1917: I then saw the tin helmet of one of the machine gunners; at this helmet I fired with my revolver and do not think I can have missed. I then had a shot at a man who appeared the other side of the gun, I think I got him also. Then a head and neck appeared where the first man had been and I had my third shot. Then some blighter in the trench just opposite me threw a stick bomb at us or me; it exploded just by my feet; he was a sitter and I got him also with my revolver. By this time things were happening a bit too rapidly to remain clear in my memory but there was one young chap I remember very clearly shooting in the back as he was running away but I forget whether I got him with a revolver or a rifle. My next recollection is that I had no more shots left in my revolver and was still not yet in the trench. As I had no intention of getting into the trench unarmed I proceeded to unsling the rifle with fixed bayonet I had over my shoulder. I should have mentioned that after my third or fourth shot I found that the bowl of my pipe and the smoke from it was obscuring my line of vision as I was firing slightly downwards all the time. Much to my annoyance, I had to put my pipe in my pocket alight as it was; it was lucky that it did not burn my jacket. Just as I got my rifle working I saw a man in the trench calmly kneeling down and taking careful aim at me. At the moment I saw him he fired. But in some miraculous way he missed.
28 September 1917: Was wounded while coming out of the line. When we were about one hundred yards from a road, I, who was leading, stopped rather ostentatiously to show my contempt for the shells and lit a cigarette. A shell landed about ten yards behind us, and a small bit of its casing cut through the left side of my collar and then through my throat, where it came up flop against my wind pipe. I started to cough and brought up some blood and the bit of shell. McLennan very kindly retrieved the bit of iron out of the mud and, handing it to me, remarked that I might like to keep it. This I did.