One of the brick splinters struck my hand and poisoned it, and another unwelcome attention that was paid to me was a piece of shrapnel in the back of the neck; but these were really very minor details compared with the injuries that were received by other members of the London Scottish, and I am not for a moment complaining, nor can I, for when I came home my company had only twenty left out of 119. There had been the casualties in the charge and in other affairs, and a number of men had been killed and wounded in the trenches.
At Givenchy we had to endure as best we could that most unpleasant engine of war which is called the trench mortar. This affects high-angle fire and plumps a shell into the trenches when the aim is good. One shell dropped into a trench of ours and exploded, killing one man and wounding five others--a round half-dozen fine fellows as toll to a single German shot.
There were the snipers, too, pests who are intensely disliked by the British soldier. These fellows find a lodging in what seems to be an impossible sort of place, often enough high up a tree, and being well supplied with food and ammunition they can go on potting for a long time without going down from their perch. It was always matter for rejoicing when one of these queer birds was winged.
I spent Christmas in the trenches, with the boys. It is odd to be talking about Christmas at this time of the year, but that season was an outstanding feature of the experiences of the London Scottish, just as the New Year was. Christmas Day was comparatively comfortable because there was a lull in the fighting. New Year’s Day was unforgettable to those who saw it in and did their best to keep up the national custom.
I think that of all the strange incidents that have been recorded in connection with this war, and they have been many--and some of them have proved how soon soldiers become impervious to the most terrible happenings of campaigning--one of the strangest must have been the sight we saw on New Year’s Eve.
When the New Year actually came in we fired three rounds rapid, and the pipes of the Black Watch rose on the night, while our own voices broke into “Auld lang syne.” Wonderful and affecting it was to hear the pipes and the dear old tune and many of us were deeply moved.