It was one thing to
see the name of a relative or friend appear as wounded in the casualty lists
printed in the newspapers, but the details and horror of how those wounds were
received followed in letters.
On May 10, 1915, the
Spectator published three letters from Hamilton soldiers who had participated
in the recent horrific battles on the front:
“ Lance-Sergt. A.
Kaye, writing to his mother at 80 Sherman avenue north, gives the details of
how he was wounded. He writes:
“ ‘A line to let you know
that I am getting along all right. I suppose by this time you will have heard
that our boys have been pretty well cut up, but don’t worry about me, I just
got a slight wound from a shell in the right shoulder, and I am in the hospital
now. Our boys were ordered out to take a position and we took it all right, but
we had to pay dearly for it. We had to advance on a stretch of open country
swept by shell and machine gun fire, but we went right after them and gave them
a good fight, the shells and bullets were coming like rain, but we stuck to it.
“ ‘Don’t worry about
me, I will be all right in a few days. I guess I will be sent down to the base
from here for a little while, but I am feeling pretty good now. We won’t forget
St. George’s day, 1915, for a while.
“ In a letter to his
mother the day before he was wounded, he says:
“ ‘We have moved up
nearer the trenches now, and we are expecting orders any minute to move up to
the trenches. We are not allowed to leave our billets, and everything is packed
ready for us to move at a moment’s notice. The weather here is just fine now,
everything is budding out, the trees are all beginning to break into leaf, and
the farmers have got their seed in.
“ ‘It is a pitiful
sight to see the refugees beating it back out of range of the big guns. I think
if a lot of the men that are staying at home were to see it, they would not
wait any longer, but would enlist right away and get out here and do something
and help us to finish the whole thing up.
“ ‘I must close now,
as it is getting dark and I have some more work to do tonight yet. I am getting
quite used to being called Sergeant again now, and the work seems easy to the
work I had to do when I was a corporal.”1
1 “Scenes That
Tongues Fail to Describe”
Hamilton
Spectator. May 11, 1915.
The second letter
published on May 11, 1915 was from Private Jimmy Campbell:
“Just a few lines in
answer to your ever welcome letter, which I received a few days ago, also the
Spec, containing the photos, which I recognized all right. I am sorry I wasn’t
able to answer your letter by return ost as we left for the trenches the night
I got it, so there is no chance of getting letters sent till we get out again.
I am writing this letter in the trenches, and the shells are busy flying
overhead all the time. I must say that we have moved again, and are in a
different line of trenches now and we have been shelled every day since we came
in here. However, none of our boys have suffered although they have been
dropping their shells into almost every trench. The German trench is only about
seventy yards from us here, and a little further down the line (about 300
yards) the trenches are only thirty yards apart. So that is getting close
enough to them. We made quite a big move this time, and the first day we had to
march to a big town, where we put up for the night in a barn as usual. It was a
pretty hot day, and our shirts were soaked with sweat when we finished our
march. It was about 3:30 p.m. when we finished, so we took the football out
into one of the fields and started to kick it around, and before long we had
our tunics off and our kilts and were playing in our shirt tails while the sun
dried out our kilts. Some football costume. We were up at about 4:30 next
morning and started our journey again. We rode for about two hours in motor
busses (the busses that used to run about London) . Then we halted and had
dinner and lay around till 3 p.m. Then we marched a few miles more and had
supper, then lay around till 9 o’clock before we started for the trenches,
where we finally arrived at 1 a.m. It started to rain when we started the last
part of our journey, and it was very miserable. It also got pitch dark, so you
couldn’t even see the man ahead of you. So we had to join up in a chain,
holding each other’s rifles, so that none of us would get lost. When coming
into the trenches, you have lots of ditches to cross, also barb wire, etc., and
in the dark you fall into a ditch, trip over the barb wire and flounder all
over the place, and you are thankful when at last you do reach the trench.
“You asked me to tell
you how John Turnbull met his death, etc., so you could write to his parents.
Well, in the first place, John was just the same as he used to be around
Hamilton, always cheery and laughing, and he got on well with the boys, and we
are all sorry that he has been called away. However, as you say, we can expect
those things now. I wasn’t beside John when he was killed, but from what the
boys tell me, he was sniped off. He lived for about two hours after being hit,
but was unconscious and felt no pain, as he was shot through the head. I don’t
think there is anything else I can tell you about John, but I suppose the boys
of old ‘Fighting c’ will mourn his loss.
“I have seen Corp.
Smithy a few times lately. He is just the same as ever. He told me he had
written to you. I am glad to hear about the old boy still going strong, and as
you say, it is the reputation of a company that gets recruits. I heard about
Captain Millen being promoted to major. Good luck to him. I guess he is the
right man in the right place.
“All the boys of ‘Fighting
C’ are all in good shape and wish to be remembered to you. Billy Trezine had a
banjo, and when we moved into France he gave it to one of those transport men
to keep for him, and he never saw it again. He wasn’t to be stuck for music
though, and he has made a banjo out of a biscuit box and a piece of a limb of a
tree and can knock out good music out of it.
“Hoping you are in
good health, as I am still in the ‘pink.’ With best wishes to yourself and the
boys.
“Yours
sincerely, JIMMY.”1
Mrs. Andrew Bennie,
of 65 First avenue, received the following letter from her husband who had been
wounded and had been taken to Wlstree hospital in Kent, England:
“I got shot in the
head last Friday morning, so I am back in England. We came over last night,
with the hospital ship. I am doing nicely only a little dazed as yet, but that
can be expected, I suppose. You would see about the disaster in the papers –
the killed and wounded lay in thousands. I lay for about two hours in blood and
then crawled to a farmhouse about 1,000 yards away and got my wound dressed.
“Our battalion
started the attack, all the 13th Hamilton boys in the front line,
but we fared badly, although we fought like heroes. It was pure murder. I shall
never forget the sight, tongue cannot tell. It is reckoned to be the worst in
the history of war. The French lost two lines, and we Canadians received the
order to take them at any cost, which we did, and also took some more ground
besides, but Canada paid dearly for it.
“This is a private
hospital. There are only ten patients and we are all well looked after. There
are twelve nurses looking after us. We are only ten miles from London, and the
gentlemen take us out in motor cars, sightseeing.
“I think I will close
now, as I am feeling tired again. Will write again this week. I remain your
loving husband,
A. Benner”1
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