the German trenches both times, leaving the men worn out and demoralised. Unable to bear it any longer, one or two Australians left their trenches and surrendered to the Germans. Another soldier, learning he was to be sent to the front-line again, told his mates, âIâm not going inâIâm finished,â then shot himself. Even out of the front-line, the soldiers slept in leaking barns on damp straw, without enough firewood to warm themselves or dry their clothes.
With the ground churned to slop by the endless rain, the six-hour walk from the rest camp to the front took 12 hours with men and pack mules constantly falling into mud-filled shell holes. Bogged animals had to be shot, and men dragged from the thick mud. One Australian officer had to be pulled out by a mule, and his back was broken. Exhausted or wounded men fell into the holes at night and died. Those lucky enough to have gumboots lost them as they struggled to get out; and some used corpses as footholds. Soldiers prayed for a âblightyââa wound that would get them out of the front-line. One man walked along the parapet in full view of the Germans, hoping to be hit.
In the trenches, the men stomped their feet to warm up, churning the ground even more. Unable to sit, they were on their feet all day and night. No fires were allowed, food arrived cold, and the tea, carried up in petrol tins, âreeked so strongly of gasolineâ that the soldiers joked it wasnât safe to light a match. Trench foot, caused by bad circulation, spread. If untreated, it turned to gangrene and often led to amputation. The soldiers were ordered to remove their boots regularly, rub whale oil into their feet and wear dry socks, but this was easier said than done. Soon, hundreds were being admitted to hospitals each week with trench foot.
SHEETS OF ICE
On 19 November, the battlefield conditions forced Haig to end the Somme offensive. The weather was a blessing for the Germans; it gave them time to recover and develop new defensive systems.
Since the battle had started, four and a half months earlier, over 500,000 British troops had been killed or woundedâ the precise number their commanders had planned for. All that had been gained for those lives was an advance of eight kilometres. Although the French at Verdun had been relieved, the German Army hadnât collapsed and even the attempt to kill more Germans seemed to have failedâAustralians patrolling in no-manâs-land counted three British corpses for every dead German.
Gloomy drizzle settled over the land. The Australians stayed in the Somme trenches, peering through the winter grey towards the quiet German lines. The thinly held Allied trenches were almost invisible in the mud, and some carrying parties missed them, continuing on into German trenches. The back roads were slowly repaired, and materials arrived to fix the trenches. Eventually the men walked on wooden duckboards rather than mud, and sheltered under heavy sheets of iron. The New Zealanders took over the swampy land in front of Fromelles, manning strong points with nicknames like âWindy Postâ and âCharred Postâ.
In December, snow covered the land. Water in bottles froze solid, and hot tea iced over within a minute. Icicles hung from trench walls and helmets. It was the worst winter in 40 years. The menâs hands and feet froze, and their thoughts turned to home and loved ones. They welcomed the sheepskin jackets and hot food delivered to the trenches and the cocoa and soup served in old jam tins at stalls on the way up to the front-line. Wrapped in layers of clothes, their greatcoats covered in frost, they burned anything they could get their hands on. In billeted barns they crowded around braziers, reading, writing or playing cards. They visited the warmer YMCA tents to chat, drink hot cocoa, write letters home or watch concerts.
The men loved getting letters from home, but Lieutenant George
With the ground churned to slop by the endless rain, the six-hour walk from the rest camp to the front took 12 hours with men and pack mules constantly falling into mud-filled shell holes. Bogged animals had to be shot, and men dragged from the thick mud. One Australian officer had to be pulled out by a mule, and his back was broken. Exhausted or wounded men fell into the holes at night and died. Those lucky enough to have gumboots lost them as they struggled to get out; and some used corpses as footholds. Soldiers prayed for a âblightyââa wound that would get them out of the front-line. One man walked along the parapet in full view of the Germans, hoping to be hit.
In the trenches, the men stomped their feet to warm up, churning the ground even more. Unable to sit, they were on their feet all day and night. No fires were allowed, food arrived cold, and the tea, carried up in petrol tins, âreeked so strongly of gasolineâ that the soldiers joked it wasnât safe to light a match. Trench foot, caused by bad circulation, spread. If untreated, it turned to gangrene and often led to amputation. The soldiers were ordered to remove their boots regularly, rub whale oil into their feet and wear dry socks, but this was easier said than done. Soon, hundreds were being admitted to hospitals each week with trench foot.
SHEETS OF ICE
On 19 November, the battlefield conditions forced Haig to end the Somme offensive. The weather was a blessing for the Germans; it gave them time to recover and develop new defensive systems.
Since the battle had started, four and a half months earlier, over 500,000 British troops had been killed or woundedâ the precise number their commanders had planned for. All that had been gained for those lives was an advance of eight kilometres. Although the French at Verdun had been relieved, the German Army hadnât collapsed and even the attempt to kill more Germans seemed to have failedâAustralians patrolling in no-manâs-land counted three British corpses for every dead German.
Gloomy drizzle settled over the land. The Australians stayed in the Somme trenches, peering through the winter grey towards the quiet German lines. The thinly held Allied trenches were almost invisible in the mud, and some carrying parties missed them, continuing on into German trenches. The back roads were slowly repaired, and materials arrived to fix the trenches. Eventually the men walked on wooden duckboards rather than mud, and sheltered under heavy sheets of iron. The New Zealanders took over the swampy land in front of Fromelles, manning strong points with nicknames like âWindy Postâ and âCharred Postâ.
In December, snow covered the land. Water in bottles froze solid, and hot tea iced over within a minute. Icicles hung from trench walls and helmets. It was the worst winter in 40 years. The menâs hands and feet froze, and their thoughts turned to home and loved ones. They welcomed the sheepskin jackets and hot food delivered to the trenches and the cocoa and soup served in old jam tins at stalls on the way up to the front-line. Wrapped in layers of clothes, their greatcoats covered in frost, they burned anything they could get their hands on. In billeted barns they crowded around braziers, reading, writing or playing cards. They visited the warmer YMCA tents to chat, drink hot cocoa, write letters home or watch concerts.
The men loved getting letters from home, but Lieutenant George
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