Oh What A lovely War(Steven Cooke) Introduction
The events which take place in this story are historically true. The main characters are fiction. The name of the main character is irrelevant as it could be the story of any soldier. The write is about the process which led our young men into war. The First World War was unique as we had the formation of Pals brigades. The main character is cast as part of the Sheffield Pals. For easy reading I have refrained from using broad Yorkshire on the voice of Jack.
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My name is Jack and I am eighteen years old. The year is 1915 and the war they said would be over by Christmas is still raging on. Most of my mates have already volunteered, but not me I am content to work in the factory doing my bit.
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The hour is 5am and breakfast is served by my mother. Bread and dripping and a pot of tea enjoyed by three generations of men sat around the table. The talk is as always of the war and my defiant granddad never failing to remind us of his opinions
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“Ah if we were young again we would have kicked the Bosches’ arse by now”. In his words there was an old man’s bravado, a distortion of reality for his opinions were locked in another era and another war, but in respect who am I to disagree.
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Granddads eyes were glinted with memories of yesterday when he was abroad fighting the Boars. To hear him speak you would think he had won the war by himself. His descriptions of men in uniform on gallant horses charging with sword in hand before the guns caused his voice to quiver with pride. “Ah lad. There was no fear amongst our lot, only glory in the face of death for that is what an Englishmen is born to do”. One could see his withered veins in his neck pumping bringing a flush back to his cheeks, in his mind he was young again, his life defined by the experience of war. His eyes moved on to my father for this old warrior was not done yet.
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His voice had a different tone. Sadness mixed with shame for father had smashed his left leg some years before when he had failed to catch a hot bar from the rolling mill. It had twisted and pierced his leg. in hindsight he was a lucky bleeder for conscription had just been passed and he would be excused duty.
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As like every other morning the conversation then turned on me. “Ah there’s been talk about ya on the street, still home with his mother they say”.”Rumours are saying words I can’t repeat, though if I hear who it is I’ll clog em”. Jack replied “Who is, who are they”. “Neh lad don’t fret thee sen. I am just saying. all thee mates have gone and you’re left here with us old men. Na that’s no life for a young lad like thee sen is it?”. “Think of the adventure tha missing, the chance for glory, I tell thee lad when I was in army it showed me a thing or too”.” I got to travel, see a bit o world and we pals had a reight time in the sun, eh I could tell thee some stories”.
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His poking at me with his words continued. “What you got young un? Twelve hours shift at mill covered in muck for seven shillings and a tanner, its dark in the morning and dark when tha comes home.Thas never been further than that street corner, ah I wish I were thee I’d be off like a shot”. I left the table grateful to be going to work for his nagging was starting to get to me and I didn’t want to fall out with Granddad.
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That night I slept uneasy. My mind caught between the rumours on the street and the sense of disappointment in my granddad. I had done nothing wrong I was a hard worker doing my bit for the war effort yet I felt small, insignificant, was I really wasting my life at home?
Perhaps Granddad was right there could be adventure to be had, I hear the French girls are pretty and I bet they can’t resist a soldier in uniform, besides there can’t be long left of this war and you never know I might get an easy billet. .

The logic of my thoughts were shallow and fraught with delusion, deep down I knew this to be true, still it was more important that I could hold my head up high. Uneasy sleep led to uneasy decisions and next morning I missed my shift and went to the recruiting office.
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The morning was grey, wet and cold, perfect conditions for the shroud which would cover all my tomorrows. I didn’t want to do this, but what was the alternative, be a pariah in society.

Outside the office there were two soldiers guarding the entrance. Their moustaches and knowing grins were judging me. I was just another fresh face on the army’s wheel careering into the sinister darkness of the hallway where the shackles of country waited to enslave me.
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I entered with a nervous reservation to be greeted by a face I knew, a face not of happiness but of terror. It was my teacher Mr. Postlethwaite whose name I could never get quite right. He was the most vindictive sod on this god forsaken earth. The man that beat the likes of me into a place where street urchins belonged, under his foot and into the factories. He was a pompous ass believing himself to be better than us working class, that smug git would go home every night with his pipe in hand, knowing that he was one of the chosen few and god was on his side.
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He recognised me and came across the room; in that moment all the terrors that he had inflicted on me sent a cold shiver through my veins. “Jack my boy glad to see you” civility from postlethwaite, I was stunned into an eerie silence for a moment, though it seemed like an eternity. Memory had taught me to beware of his hand for not replying... I stuttered before composure came to save the day “hello Sir”. “Well done Jack come to join the show, we need stout young men like you to show Jerry a thing or two, sit down lad”, and there it was, the first time that this man had ever shown kindness to me and I was grateful.
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A signature, a handshake and an awkward salute by me and I had accepted the Kings shilling, the doors of my freedom were now firmly locked and the military now held the key. I was to report to the local football ground the following week at 7am. Now to tell my family?
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The walk home was not a happy one for I knew this act of patriotism was about to launch my soul into a frightening future of which I had no control.
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That evening a meal of hash containing chopped potatoes, turnips and meat, I think it was horse meat? covered in lashings of Henderson’s relish was mopped up with mother’s baked bread. It ate like a feast of kings and though they did not know it yet, it would be a long time before we would break bread together again as a family.
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Our house was luckier than most with Dad and me working, meat of any kind was a luxury which only a few households could afford. As an act of kindness Mother would often send a bowl of hash down to old Mar Heck. Poor sod was made a widower after her old fella fell off a crane at work some years ago.

Mother served the tea and I banged my spoon on the table. Standing up I gave them the news
“I have joined up and I will be reporting to Bramall Lane football ground for training this Monday coming”.
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A reverend silence was broke with hearty congratulations from Dad and Granddad and a barrel of home brew was brought to the table to celebrate. Mother just looked on silent; her eyes were watering, not in happiness but in fear for her child and she left the room. Dad chimed in “No mind women son, she’ll be reight, they don’t understand, from now on you’re a man and my son, I’m’ proud o thee lad.”
And with that we spent the night drinking and listening to Granddads stories while my mother’s tears went unheeded in the back room parlour.
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The week raced ahead to Monday Morning and after some long goodbyes I shut the door and wandered off to my destiny. Luckily training camp was only a three penny tram ride away so I was not far from home and this made life a little better for me.
After a few days training the reality of army discipline sunk in. It seems vindictive buggers are everywhere. In particular my Sergeant who shouted his never ending orders which made our Mr. Postlethwaite look like a mild mannered Parson, this was not going to be an easy billet.

My days were filled with marching up and down the football pitch which churned the ground up very badly. Our boots were always covered in mud and I spent most of the time cleaning them. God help the man who turned out at dawn to march with filthy boots. The fear of the sergeant was enough for any sane person.

Finally Orders came we were to move out to catch a boat to Egypt. There was great excitement in the camp at the prospect of leaving the English cold for a warmer climate and sand, it’ll just be like Skegness I thought.
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At Victoria Station by the Wicker in Sheffield I caught the train to join the Sheffield pals in the Hallam shire Regiment whose official title was the York and Lancaster Regiment, though the main battalions were made up of men from South Yorkshire hence the name Hallam. I was to be in the 94th Battalion.
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The platform was crowded with cheering people and the train gradually filled up with lads who were smiling. Happiness was everywhere it was like we were going to the sea side for the day on a works outing .I had only been on a train once before, but that was to Aunt Maisies funeral, this was different.. The band was playing songs “pack up your old kit bag and smile”. The weather was cold but we didn’t mind, women were bringing hot tea and sandwiches of dripping the atmosphere was bloody marvellous.
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Never before had I seen such a sight. girls openly kissing their boyfriends, well I never. Then the whistle and I leaned out of the window. I saw my mum waving her handkerchief and father with his chest out like an English bull dog. Above the shouting I heard Granddad “look after thee sen lad” These words were the first reminder to bring me back to reality, I was going to war? More importantly I was going to Egypt. Who would have thought that a lad who had never seen nowt but grime was going to Egypt, well I never?
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In December 1915 I boarded the ship HMT Nestor at Devonport and set sail for Alexandria in Egypt to defend the Suez Canal. On board it was very cramped, but we made the best of things. I soon made friends playing cards. There were lads from Ackerman Street, darnall, and Attercliffe, along with some toffee nosed bleeders from Totley. One was an officer who I bet had never done a days work in his life, but in general our Sheffield crew were a happy bunch.
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Christmas and New Years Eve were spent at sea and the Captain gave us rations of rum and whiskey to celebrate the festivities, later I found out that there was always whiskey to be had if you knew where to look... On deck we got the chance to sunbathe. The air was so clean I had never smelled the ocean, on one occasion a group of fish swam alongside us, somebody said they were dolphins. I thought to myself oh what a lovely war, the warmth of the sun and good companionship; this was really the good life.
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The ship arrived in Alexandria on 1st January 1916. We were told that the Turkish army would invade the Suez Canal and that we were to defend it. It seemed the holiday was over and there was work to be done. Holding my gun I realised that there was someone out there who wanted me dead. I drew strength from the lads around me who seemed to show no fear; they took each day as it came.
The expected Turkish invasion did not appear and we were left with time on our hands. Every day a small market would form nearby selling local goods. I think they call it a souk, but the smells were oh so strange, not like our markets at all. The smell of spices and rotten fish and the smelly locals I did not care for.
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One night we were allowed into the town and some of us went to a local brothel. Now I don’t condone such behaviour but the local drink can lead you astray. I found myself with a lady of the night whose hands were everywhere, though being a Yorkshire lad I kept hold of me money. Desire soon left me as the stink from her breath and arm pits put me off. Don’t get me wrong it was very hot and I guess I probably smelled just as bad. Being a gentleman I paid her five bob though we did not do anything. She was quite mad at this and I found myself fleeing the premises. My mates thought I had asked for something a bit saucier than than the regular thing and they thought I was a hero. Who was I to contradict them?
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Now my real pleasure was the grapes and oranges, I absolutely loved them. I had never had such fruits as this. At home apples and plums were all we got, but here there were such exotic things. My favourite was dried dates, they can give our halfpenny toffee a run for your money I can tell thee, and I loved em.
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In March 1916 The Sheffield Pals and the rest of 31st Division left Port Said aboard HMT Briton bound for Marseilles in France, a journey which took 5 days The mood on ship changed from happy go lucky to quiet and in some cases irritable. The cold of March felt like December all over again we were no longer acclimatised to such conditions. We travelled by train to Pont Remy, a few miles south east of Abbeville. We could hear the guns in the distance and thought ourselves lucky that they were not aimed at us.
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We marched through mud and rain to Bertrancourt arriving on 29 March 1916. Our feet were wet and stinking; at the side of the road there were four dead horses their putrefying corpses sending a sweet stench of death into our nostrils, poor buggers I thought. We were billeted here for two weeks.
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After a couple of day’s life returned to the mundane. There was very little to do until our captain organised a football match. Before long a local field had been turned into Bramall Lane, it was Sheffield versus Barnsley. The winners got whiskey and chocolate, the losers got nowt. This was probably the nearest I had been to war with the tackles and the kicking, mind you we gave as good as what we got. The time we spent together gave us a soldiers bond and we shook hands after the match. It was good to forget the war for a while.
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Mid April our unit was called up to relieve the lads in the trenches overlooking the village of Serre at the northern most end of the Somme. Our unit was the 12th York’s and Lancaster regiment. It was brigaded in the 94th Brigade of the 31st Division alongside the 1st and 2nd Barnsley Pals and the Accrington Pals from the East Lancashire Regiment .
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The next two months were tedious. We could see the Germans through our viewers and they could see us. Each day was spent smoking and eating. The only work we had was the stock piling of ammunition and cleaning the shit out of the trenches. Mind you we were all too aware of the snipers. Given half a chance they would blow your bloody head off. Another problem we had were lice. I don’t know where the buggers came from but couldn’t they bite. Our only relief was a cigarette which got a few of them. That sound of cracking as the cig end burned them was a moment of intense pleasure for me. That’s what happens when you have time on your hands, you also get the chance to think? The fun of Egypt seems a lifetime away now; still at least it’s getting warmer here.
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June 23rd 1916. We received orders that there was to be a gun barrage and that all men should be on standby for further orders. That night the sky lit up with shells bursting over the German trenches. One could hear the rush of the wind as they passed over. Hundreds of shells were sucking the air from the ground forming waves of heat that created clouds of foul smelling cordite. The sounds made were like angry gods beating the ground on the poor souls below. Surely no one could survive such a hell. They were the enemy, but to see what we were doing was murder, there was nowhere to run, and I thank god it was them and not us...
I felt like a witness to what the end of the world would look like, this was a surreal moment as none of us could look away and all who were in my trench never spoke a word, for silence had found sanctuary in our thoughts, and death had found a willing audience. The light from the shells had set the stage, the shrapnel could see its victims, and the reaper raged on with his bloody work. Deep inside of me I thought die yer bastards, though in truth no German had ever done me harm, I guess that’s the nature of war.
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For several days the guns pounded the German lines, while we sat waiting, wondering when our orders would come. A sense of confidence started to enter my thoughts as surely there could be very few Germans left alive. Looking along the trench some lads were trying to sleep while others played cards. The Barnsley lads were sat drinking tea and rolling fags. Another lad was dictating a letter to his mate, I assume he couldn’t write. Mind you being able to write makes no difference here, we’re all in the same boat.
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June 30th 6pm We were having our grub when the sergeant came. A quiet calm came over us and a sense of fear entered my heart. His face was sullen and his eyes looked straight at us.” Well lads this is it. We go into no man’s land at 7.20 am tomorrow morning. Don’t worry the German lines will be mortared at the same time, so they won’t have the time to fire at you, that’s if there’s still anyone left alive over there”. As he said this a smile came across his face, which was very reassuring, he continued “with a bit of luck this will be a cushy number for us. The other companies will attack over the top at 7.30am. 10 minutes behind us. We are the first wave. Our objective is to pass through our wire and lay down in No man’s land and wait for the end of the bombardment. We will then proceed at pace to finish off whatever we find. The second wave will be right behind us so we are not alone. Be warned a large mine to our right will explode at approx 7.20 am”
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“So mind your ears as 40000lb mine will make a big bang which should send more of these buggers to kingdom come”. A spontaneous hooray came from the lads, for a moment it felt like being back in Sheffield watching an FA Cup tie.
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“Any questions”. A Barnsley lad spoke “what’s tha doo wi a prisoner”?” Don’t worry we are not expecting any, but to put your mind at ease some of the officers will be looking for them, that’s how they get their medals”. “Oh and if anyone is thinking about not going on the whistle, one of these officers will definitely shoot you, so for any cowards amongst you, always remember, better to be shot by a German than by one of your own and remember this, the letter home wouldn’t look good either. I know you’ll all do your best, good luck Lads”
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A sense of camaraderie infused us all; everything that the searg had said made us quietly confident that tomorrow, god willing we will be alright.
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That night each soldier found his own quiet space. The only thing to do was to write what would be for some of us, our last will and testament. I found it hard to think as the guns were unrelenting on the German positions. Every now and then a shell would fall short and we would be sprayed with mud. My mind was struggling for the words, what could a lad like me write? I had no money to leave anyone, nor did I have a sweet heart.
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My conscience was caught in two places, should I mention the up and coming battle or should I ignore it? To tell my family that I am going over the top would make Granddad happy, but I fear for my mother. Ah bugger it I’ll write after it’s all over, no news is good news in this war. If I don’t make it I’m sure an officer will write to say I died bravely, even if I didn’t, they are all bull shitters anyway. This paper will come in handy though, should I need to crap; now that seems more sensible.
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It was a long night and sleep evaded me, mind you no one slept, there was one lad who played his harmonica.” Keep the home fires burning”, I remember singing this with Mother, tonight of all nights the words captured the soldiers loneliness, and “oh how I wish I was home, away from this madness”.
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“Keep the Home Fires burning,
While your hearts are yearning,
Though your lads are far away they dream of home.
Theres a silver lining, through the dark clouds shining,
Turn the dark cloud inside out, 'till the boys come home.
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The dawn approaches and there is a chill in the air. Thank god for the tea boy I need a cup, for my body isn’t half cold. Not long now, I can feel my heart pumping. Along the trench I can see the steam rising off soldier’s breath and disappearing into a new day, let’s hope it’s a lucky day for all of us.
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The itch of these fleas won’t leave me alone; still it reminds me I’m still alive. My thoughts are interrupted by a distant voice which is coming nearer by the second repeating the dreaded words along the line”10 minutes lads, check your gear”.
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I felt the baccy tin in my top pocket, good, then my gun, safety off, it felt warm in my hands, this was my guardian angel, I clasped it tight. Sweat started to appear on my brow and my lungs started to blow. Adrenaline made my face go red and a trembling sensation took over my body, god I was scared.
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The wooden ladders were lent against the trench walls ready to launch us out of the safety of the trench and into no man’s land. An officer looked at his watch, this was it, the whistle and the scramble out of the trenches began.
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I was second on the ladder, when the lad in front slipped; he fell back into the trench, at first this took my mind off the situation as I thought what a time to slip. Reality struck when with my next pull up the ladder my grip slipped slightly, my hands were covered in blood, the poor bleeder had been shot. Instinct took over for I could not dwell on such things.
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Quickly I found myself in no man’s land; the thick smoke from the mortars covered the land. Moving forward was difficult as there were shell holes everywhere. The smoke gave me a sense of security as I could only see a couple of guys either side of me. In front was an impenetrable fog, hiding whatever was in it. Then there was a mighty bang which made me temporarily deaf, a heated storm wind raced across the battle field like the draft from the wings of some demonic dragon. For a second I got a glimpse of the barbed wire ahead.

It was then I realised I was alone; the men either side of me had disappeared. Suddenly everything went into slow motion. The soil in front of me seemed to be full of jumping jacks, little pieces of soil jumping into the air, you silly bugger they’re bleeding bullets hitting the ground. Instinct took over once again and I fell to the ground, my lungs were gasping for air and my body was shaking. I looked back to see who was there.

In the distance I could see more of our lads, they looked like toy soldiers, they were falling in there droves as if all the grim reapers from hell had gathered in one place. Their flag of death painted in blood on the tunics of each soldier as they fell.
As the survivors got closer they became even fewer, it was then I could see more clearly,, a sound like a weak thud was hammering on their uniforms, the remnants of this glorious wave of men had been reduced to a trickle, and they too fell, expectantly like the leaves in autumn, their life force had been scattered on the ground, the colour red a reminder of gallant men, now absorbed into the corruption of this battlefields soil. This was not war; this was the exterminator treating mankind like vermin. The lucky ones were dead before they hit the ground, others weren’t so lucky.
The shock of seeing such slaughter sent my wits into exhaustion. No man can prepare for this, my mind went into overdrive, a form of madness, where I was sat in the flicks watching it all unfurl, impervious to danger, for I was safe locked in my mind and protected by my thoughts.
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In my madness, on this day I learned the meaning of pain, it is not the wound, it is not even the blood, nor is it the sight of men dying.
It is the cry of human beings responding to the frailties of man.
A primeval feeling which is imprinted on all humans to survive. The war had taken their right to life. It had destroyed their future. Each dead and dying soldier left with facing the prospect of a lonely grave and a world without their existence.
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When we are born we cry to announce our life into this world, when we die we cry for our mother, who gave birth to us, for instinct is all that is left to the dying.
And I “jack” am witness for to look away and move forward would be a feeble gesture, there is no hope on this battle ground.
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The German field guns continued strafing anything that moved and the mortars were exploding all around. The smoke of war had now veiled the scene, I was huddled under its shadow in the foetal position, but my eyes still surveyed the surrounding area. I could only see bodies, some in bits, an arm lay just 10 yards away from me, I could see a ring on the hand, God where’s the rest of the poor bugger. My attention turned to the fog I could see troops once again going forward. What madness is this, how can any general take responsibility for repeating this slaughter, is he on the Germans side.
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Futility, futility all is futility, death is everywhere, this is not war, you murdering bastards, my god we are not fodder, man cannot be put in front of machine guns, do they think the Germans will run out of bullets? Dam their blood ridden souls.

My anger was interrupted by a bright light which blinded me of this awful sight, and then there was silence?
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I must have been unconscious for when I awoke it was night; the field was quiet, was I dead? I was cold my hands were covered in dry blood. Instinct told me to crawl back to the trenches. My hands grabbed into the soil to pull myself forward, but my legs would not obey. One look and I could see my left leg partly severed above the knee. Shredded skin was the only thing that kept it still part of my bloody body. A pool of blood had congealed under the leg and I was adding to its worth by the minute. Strangely I felt no pain; this was not a good sign.
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In my being I knew the grim reaper was looking to tap me on the shoulder. My time on this earth was almost over. One good thing about death is that he doesn’t lie; I too will soon be joining the dead that surrounded me.

Fear had now left me, for there was no point in its existence. A calm peaceful feeling came over my body, the burden of everyday living had gone and, the quarrels of men were no longer my concern.
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I looked up to the sky and for the first time in many days I could see the stars. My mind fought to rise above the cold which was engulfing my spirit by the second. The question of an afterlife flared through my brain, for I was soon to get my answer? Delirium threw my last thoughts into the sky above me
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When all is lost one can appreciate the beauty of the stars. Some divine hand must be involved in this. To create such beauty in a cloudless sky. This moon that shines reflecting a hidden sun to light the path of souls and sinners, even in their darkest hour. I wonder if God will have time for me. That’s if he exists
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We all have to die, I suppose, you don’t hear complaints from the bee when the frost comes, you don’t hear complaints from any of god’s creatures, with the exception of man, always trying to dominate his surroundings... Kill, kill, and kill again, that’s us crazy bastards for things that we can never possess. All property is theft, therefore all beauty is theft. Perhaps this is Gods judgement on mankind, for we destroy what we cannot own. It is fitting that in the end we destroy each other and leave nature alone.
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Ah well, Sorry mother, I did my best, be strong, don’t cry. Crying won’t bring me back, promise you’ll remember your jack, you’re good little boy. Goodbye mam….

And with those last words another soldier of the Great War fades into oblivion never to think of such things anymore.
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Author’s comments

The First World War defines the word Futility. For the soldiers who took part it was rarely a mobile war. This meant that each side could throw whatever it took to kill the opposing force. The Generals cared not for human life as territorial gain was their ambition.

The voice of the common soldier was only heard in the burial of the Unknown Soldier. He was every mother’s son, every soldier’s friend, and everybody’s hero. The fact that we sanitise war to be noble by calling the fallen, all heroes, is a damnation of the lies which perpetuate war. The dead are soon forgotten because as human beings the statistics of war become nothing but mere figures held within our brain. 10 million dead and 20 million wounded in four years was the cost of World War 1

The fact that each dead soldier represents a story that cannot be told is the greatest loss that the human race will ever suffer. We often talk about the loss of the rain forests and the secrets contained within which inevitably will be lost forever. Indeed there is no greater passion from the so called educated society. They emphasise that the diversity of the rain forest could cure disease and stem climate change.

Yet we are blind to what losses lay in the corpse strewn across every nation’s conscience. The forest of Man should not be cut down without a voice. , for in this silence lies the end of life and the murder of God.

Footnote to this write
Statistics In the battle of the Somme
The British had suffered 19,240 dead, 35,493 wounded, 2,152 missing and 585 prisoners for a total loss of 57,470.[44] This meant that in one day of fighting, 20% of the entire British fighting force had been killed, in addition to the complete loss of the Newfoundland Regiment as a fighting unit. Haig and Rawlinson did not know the enormity of the casualties and injuries from the battle and actually considered resuming the offensive as soon as possible.[45] In fact, Haig, in his diary the next day, wrote that "...the total casualties are estimated at over 40,000 to date. This cannot be considered severe in view of the numbers engaged, and the length of front attacked."[46]
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Insanity of Leaders comments taken after the battle
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Middlebrook claims that 1 July was a British success, for the Germans immediately started closing down their attack at Verdun. The British assault had been on such a scale that success, in this limited sense, had been inevitable. The terrible losses made it a success hardly worth having.

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