Trench Life before 60cm railways

Trench Life and matters of some delicacy Georges Michel, French volunteer and artist, had first hand experience of life at the Front in the early months. This was before they were supplied by military narrow gauge. In 'Illustration' Magazine, he recalled the winter of 1914/15. He accomapanied this account with sketches.Two, from the author's collection, are shown ‘I started with my head full of stories of bygone wars. I expected to charge the enemy courageously; my uniform would gleam in gold and red, sabres glinting as we followed our battle standards. Instead, I found myself in a long-drawn-out nothingness of accompanied by the constant whistle of bullets and shells.

The character of modern warfare has changed. Most activity was at night. Patience had become more important than élan, a deadly stillness more common than action; hiding from rather than showing ourselves to the enemy; shrinking back rather than advancing. We had to exchange our proud colourful uniforms for dull camouflage. We cowered in muddy darkness. The mud … Their arrival 1914 had been inauspicious. On arriving at the Front, they were assigned a guide who led them out of the relative safety of the existing trenches. ‘At first we went into the pitch-black at a run. Then a stray bullet caught a comrade in the leg and he screamed. Even while we waited for the stretcher bearers, the place was lit by what we thought was artificial moonlight. In fact, it was a flare that the enemy had just fired. We stood transfixed as the rocket curved upwards and then gently downwards. After that, the bullets began. There was nothing for it but to find a ditch and crawl through freezing water. Finally, our guide indicated ‘Here!’ It was plain ground, no trench had been dug and our task was to dig it so that we could each could shelter in his own little fox-hole. It’s amazing how fast you ca dig when there are bullets in the air, so fast that we hardly noticed our soaking clothes. In the fitful light of enemy flares we could see their trenches, a bare 200 metres away, separated by a no-man’s-land populated by corpses. In the first light, we saw a wood also populated with bodies. WThere was even a dismembered leg on our new spoil-tip, still clad in its boot.

Gradually, we were to extend our own little holes into an extension of the trench system, to the shrill demented music of shell-fire. But now that day was breaking, all we could do was to hunker down and wait for dusk. During the day, another unwary comrade raised himself slightly. It was enough. He was shot through the head, stone-dead. Another was hit in his hand. He had to wait hours before nightfall brought a stretcher party. The more fortunate of us occupied the long hours by chewing our iron rations very, very slowly. On the fourth day of interminable cold and wet, they were relieved. By then, mud and rain had so soaked our clothing that they weighed more than our equipment. Believe me, mud and freezing rain were our main enemies! In this, Georges Michel was quite correct. These squalid conditions transformed healthy soldiers into invalids and infection the invalids into the dying. These matters were little touched on by Officialdom – it was alright to talk of Trench Foot but not of bacterial and fungal infection of other parts. The filth, mud and lack of drinking water created an epidemic of urinary tract infections. The recommened treatment for these is: Drink copious fluid, seek a warm, dry and equable environment and if possible take a tonic which alters the pH of urine.’ Modern antibiotics were not available but there were such preparations as lemon barley water and Mist. Pot. Cit. taken well diluted. Fat chance of any of this when stuck in a trench! The conditions were bad enough for very young men, but many were in early middle age. In their forties, their ‘Down-Belows’ should have been treated with more consideration.

The British were quiet about such things, but the French Press showed concern for its soldiers, if the advertising sections were to be believed. As well as a bandaged officer pictured with a beautiful nurse hovering over him, ‘cures’ and ‘tonics’ were introduced with illustrations of huge kidneys being scrubbed down by medical orderlies. The British public would faint if confronted by a Malphigian structure even if only in a black-and-white drawing. The advertisement shown appeared constantly in the French Press and so it must have gained sales for Urodonal products. In Britain the very mention of Uri** would have been considered rude.

This popular advertisement explained that Urodonal ‘was an energetic antiseptic. The medicine acts as an energetic antiseptic against microbes encumbering urinary paths. Even Gonococcus can be overcome. Its active ingredient is a recently discovered salt, balifostan, which is a bicamphorate of santalol and dioxybenzol. Its therapeutic properties have been shown to foster rapid recovery with no embarrassing side effects.’ (Like you, I have no idea what balifostan is, though some other terms might be meaningful to a chemist.) Best of all, this wonder drug would be delivered in discreet packaging to members of the armed forces.

As the War ground on, there was some relief. Gradual adoption of trench railways, most notably the Péchot system and later on the War Department Light Railways brought regular water supplies to the Front, though never enough. The railways also brought fuel and construction timber to the Front so that there was some chance of safe walk-ways and shelter. Illustrations - from the author's collection, show interiors of a trench First Aid Post. As can be seen, it has been carved into the lee of a trench system. The window proves that it is earth sheltered but benefits from natural daylight. A stove provides warmth. It is not quite Elysée Palace but better than conditions in December 1914. And the German trenches? That is another story.

The picture of the water tank is courtesy of the family Raymond Pechot All copyrights reserved Colonel Péchot: Tracks To The Trenches Birse Press 2014 Illustration Magazine especially 3rd July 1915