World War One
A letter home.
The good news is, they haven’t killed me, yet.
My mate Charlie died today, the way I feel these last few weeks I wished I had gone with him. Writing this makes my heart ache, but no doubt the poor chap is better off and it’s us that’s left behind will suffer. I pray to God we will meet again in the next world.
Everything visible here is ugly, the mud is a real, living monster, it sucks at us constantly.
We have been here under fire for almost three weeks. The trenches are only twenty yards in some places from the enemy.
There was a nine hour armistice last Monday to bury the dead lying between the trenches and stinking us all out.
I’m sure the news back home is that we’re winning this war, and the boys will be home soon, victorious. Well, from where I am, up to my backside in mud, that’s not the case.
We are constantly under fire, Dad, sometimes I think everyone is going to die, fighting for inches.
Keeping dry is the hardest thing, the trenches are full of water and our boots are too.
I miss you all at home, thank Mum for the socks, I got a Red Cross parcel last week.
Pray for me. Remember me.
Your loving son, Dave.