Letters From the Front

Dated: March 8, 1916

LOCAL MAN TELLS OF OPERATIONS OF THE 31ST

A most interesting account of some of the operations carried on by the 31st of Calgary, in which there are a company of southern men, is given by Corp. Stallard, of Lethbridge, in a letter to his mother here written from "somewhere in France" on the 8th of March.  He writes as follows:

I'm tickled to learn you've received my badge together with the other souvenirs.  I thought you'd be wandering over that piece of German shell.  It's a piece of high explosive shrapnel.  You will notice the figures on same.  Well, that is the time fuse.  Say they wish to split same over the front line, distance of course they know, and time it takes the shell to travel.  They move figures around to necessary time and away she goes, and so on with longer distances.

One of the boys on leave posted a few beautiful high explosive nose caps, solid brass.  Now I've given Dais to understand these belong to you until further notice.   Gee! but they are dandies, quite the best I dug up -- German, of course.

We were under the impression winter had lost its sting, but this past month has proved beyond doubt, that we've another guess coming and then some.  The elements have been real mean, snowing and freezing for the past month (very heavy on the latter) in fact typical western weather without the glorious sunshine.  Our trenches and surrounding country looks very picturesque under its heavy mantle of snow.  Life in "Sandbag City" or "the Villa-de-la-Shivers" is absolutely a dandy, and my glow-worm-like nose outpoints in brilliancy the great northern lights, so dear to the heart of Robert Service.  Talk about a danger light -- I'm scared to put my head over the parapet in case I get "sniped".

We are marching all over this land of Hope and Glory, doing six days here and six days there, acting as a mobile columns, but between you and me I will be tickled when we've again settled down, for moving about, our rations are much too small, especially these cold hard days.

Last trip proved to be by far the most spectacular, if not exciting, up to date.  British troops on our left were attacking a line of trenches just to the side of the wood, in front of which the old "31st" were ready.  Throughout the day our batteries had pounded this selected frontage with everything from light field guns to fifteen inch howitzers.  It was a wonderful display, our shrapnel bursting about two feet off the ground, cutting their wire entanglements to pieces and knocking portions of the parapet into a useles mass.  The artillery continued this good work for about two days.  Suddenly they quit, about three in the afternoon and "Fritz" thinking our bombardment had finished, no doubt crowded his front line and supports with all kinds of men.  He had sure another guess coming.  Our plans were well fixed, believe me.  We received information to this effect, and at four a.m. the next morning the batteries would open up, "Fritz" meanwhile was sure guessing both ways at once.

Fortunately my chum and I were on duty at this nocturnal hour, four a.m., and it was a dirty night, snowing and freezing "to beat the band," ideal for the undertaking on hand.  I had hardly placed foot on the firing step, when hell broke away on all sides, guns for at least four miles along the front smashing their shells into this spot.  What Fritz suffered, Lord alone knows, but he'd have no pity, for our airmen reported the lines, thickly manned.  It was a wonderful and never-to-be-forgotten sight, the flashes of flame from the batteries, who were sending them in at terrific speed, illuminated everything for miles around.  Hundreds of star shells were shooting into the sky, fascinating -- never was anything more beautiful and weird.

Yet another mighty effort by our gunners, green, red and yellow flares (signals from "Fritz") mixed with the steady stream going skywards, shrapnel bursting, showering its mean tongue of flame among the oft battered and lifeless trees in the wood facing us, made a sight for the "Gods of War."  French mortars throwing bombs weighing sixty pounds, were splitting with sickening smashes on his line, direct front, smoke bombs were thrown over the parapet to cover the advance of our boys.  Dawn was just breaking through over Fritz's line.   I've watched a few hundred of cheerless dawns hit across this trail of desolation but never shall I forget this.  The smoke, lighted up by the many lights, to a novice, would have caused a gas alarm, but we had been through this many times before (I'm not swanking).  Suddenly our guns finished, bayonet and pluck settled the issue.  Next day we learned through our officers everything turned out very successful.  The lost trenches at Y---- were retaken, also the lines next to the wood, (the real objective), also many white-livered Huns were among the bag.  Speaking to one of our artillery officers he said "after two hours of their gentle treatment, not a single stick or piece of barbed wire remained uncut at the spot selected."   I was not surprised for modern artillery knows no master -- really, had they sent over much more "stuff" (our pet expression) there would most certainly have had a "jamb."  Too bad, eh?

Well, I'm feeling fine and dandy.  No man can stand this game without feeling some effect, but I can truthfully say I'm very little the worse for wear and tear, but, cheer, oh for the simple life, yet another thing I'm going to do my best at all times, even if it comes to handing in my all for the cause.  It's worth it.

Last week a few "Princess Pats" were tucking away some of their comrades who had "gone west" (using our grave yard just in rear of our line).  "Fritz" spotted this from his observation post, churches or churchyards never enter into his calculations.  They were unable to finish their task until nightfall, for inside of five minutes high explosives dropped in among the graves of the fallen.  Gad, this does make a man sick!  Dirty hounds!