The Trenches in Front of YWood
THE YPRES TIMES
THE way is by the Menin Gate, so-called because it is not a gate but a sand
bagged gap in the ramparts where a sentry stands who knows when the
heavy stuff may be expected. We have left our boots in a cellar in Ypres
and put on the gum boots which have to be passed from one battalion to another
because there are not enough to go round. Do you remember, by the way, how
we were told that henceforth our gum boots were to be our very own, how we
paraded in front of the smoky cellar where we were living and, after a prolonged
struggle with the Q.M. in order to secure as many rights as lefts,"
succeeded in fitting every man with a pair approximately his size, marked in
indelible pencil with, his name and number—only to have the lot taken away from
us again? Down the Menin Road we go, where a few shattered houses still
stand and a cellar serves as a dressing station.
Somewhere to the left we plunge into a ditch appropriately known as Muddy
Lane. It has long ago lost all resemblance to a trench. The sides are liquid mud,
the bottom is watery slush. No revetting is possible in such sodden ground. Duck-
board after duckboard has been put down but all have sunk into mud which is
apparently bottomless. It is said that there are layers of five or six duckboards
under our feet, one on top of the other; in spite of this the muddy water reaches to
our knees and to advance at more than a crawl is to invite trouble, for the water
which washes in over the top of our thigh boots will not be got rid of till we
leave our ditches in two days' time. An hour or so from the Menin Road and
we have arrived. The pitch black night did not give us much chance of recognizing
surroundings which should be familiar to uswe were here only a week ago
but now that there is daylight it is hard to recognize the place. These mud heaps
disintegrate so rapidly that we fail to recognize them and must make exploring
expeditions to discover the whereabouts of platoons on right and left. Company
Headquarters is finally discovered but the contour of the ground seems to have
altered and the dugout is apparently a foot or so deeper in the water than before.
One can still crawl inside and a little sleep may be possible by sitting on an inverted
rum jar with one's elbows on the table. It is necessary to bale out every hour
or so. The trouble is there is nowhere to put the water; it is impossible to drain
it away and the Hun who is, as usual, up the hill, has been draining Bellewaerde
Lake into our line for a long time past.
In this blessed place we are to live, if we can, for forty-eight hours; our turn
is a short one because it is almost impossible for most of us to get any sleep.
We prop ourselves against the muddy sides of our ditch and try to keep our
rifles clean. We make some attempt to clear the water out of the actual sector
which we occupy but it will all have to be done again to-morrow. Jerry is a long
way off here, about 150 yards, away across a sea of mud. His offensive efforts
consist of a machine gun trained to fire upon the sandbags slush bags would
be more appropriate) at the top of our dugouthe shoots a bag or so away
every night which we replace in the morningand intermittent shelling.
It is curious to reflect what would happen if the Boche made a strong attack
just here. Our thin line would no doubt be scuppered if enough men came over;
we have no machine guns here and the absence of fire steps would not make for
effective rifle fire. Between us and Ypres, on this side of the Menin Road, there is
no defence but some machine gunners in Y* Wood—it is not a wood but a ditch
much like ours—and a company in reserve. But the fact is that no onslaught by
the Hun is expected because on such ground men cannot move. No Man's Land is
an expanse of slime. We know something of its qualities for one of our subalterns.
