My name is Thomas Crowne of the 14th Battalion Birmingham Pals, general infantryman. I fought alongside many brave men and saw many of them fall in France. I still hear their screams, see their anguished faces, and feel their warm blood on my body when I sleep at night. I know not how I survived the horrors of that battle. When I enlisted with my mates we were promised glory, valor, adventure, and companionship. These empty promises and peer pressure from others drove them to signing their lives away to old men who saw not what they were sending their soldiers into. I enlisted with two childhood friends their names were Percy Lamb and Lawrence Vyne. We were celebrated by our neighbourhood when we were accepted as if we were all going off to university. Little did they know of the horrors we would endure in France.

After three months of a grueling basic training, we were taught how to handle our weapons. What to expect from our enemy and other rather generic lessons and advice. We were already physically fit before we began our basic so there were no real issues. The night before we were shipped off to France to fight a war in an unknown land. I still remember the conversation on the ride to the front.

“I wager I kill at least 100 of Fritz’s finest soldiers before we all head off home,” joked Percy on the silent ride to the Somme. He looked down in embarrassment when no one laughed or acknowledged his joke. We were all worried sick of the horrors to come. We had no idea what to expect from Fritz. We heard stories at home about what they did to the French and the all the artillery they had in their arsenal. At home it was easy to brush off these claims as they were far off threats that didn’t mean much to me or anyone at the time.

When we finally made it to our trenches that spanded for miles unending across the horizon. It was a both a beautiful yet disturbing sight seeing these fortifications at such a scale. Percy, Lawrence, and I hopped off the rear of the vehicle and trotted into formation with the rest of our platoon as we filed into the trench. The French looked rugged almost hollow as their empty eyes watched us march through the thick mud into the trenches and  truly take in our surroundings. I could hear the blood curdling cries of the wounded as we marched to our section of the trench.

“They’re bloody ghosts,” whispered Lawrence

“Why are they all staring at us  like that?” I asked.

“Its giving me chills,” said Percy. Their faces were sunken around their eyes they looked malnourished and like corpses. We finally made it to our section of the trench. It reeked of decay and wet earth. This was the place we’d make our homes for the coming months of the conflict. We sat down on the cold wet ground with our rifles standing at attention to our sides. Our NCO patrolled the platoon as if he were walking through the aisles of a market examining the meat section.

“Oi Lawrence,” called Percy

“What do you daft idiot no one else is speaking why must you?” scolded Lawrence. Even though this was harsh the odd maddening silence of the trenches that was absent of voices or laughter was all too ominous. Lawrence’s remark seemed to work almost as a queue for immediately after explosions. The pounding seemed unending sending mud and men alike flying through the trenches.

“Bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell, bloody hell!” I screamed over the thunderous cacophony that was the shelling. I looked around the shaking and saw men covered in muck and blood of those unluckily struck by the shrapnel.We cowered deeper into the trench like cornered rats as the shelling continued. There was a sudden break in the onslaught of noise, steel, and fire and the moans and cries of the wounded ensued. I saw multiple men sprinting with stretchers up and down the trench picking up the wounded.

I also saw a sight I never thought I would see so early into the war. I saw Percy’s motionless body lying next to my boots with crimson red staining his chest. His helmet lost in the trench similar to a grave. Lawrence rushed over to the corpse of poor Percy. His messy black hair strewn about his head. His open unseeing green eyes staring into nothingness.

“Wake you idiot! Don’t you leave this soon,” Lawrence cried over the body. Cradling it like a newborn child. As I took in my surroundings I caught my reflection in a puddle. I saw my pale muddied face and realized I had lost my helmet during the bombardment. My shaven head glistening with perspiration in the hot sun. I saw more commotion further down the line and noticed the French readying their rifles and aiming into No Man’s Land.

“Oi! You lot get your rifles ready and take aim! An attack is coming!” Our NCO yelled in a shrill voice throughout the trench. I reached for my rifle and rested it on the muddy bank in front of me preparing for anything that might come next. I looked to my right and saw Lawrence take a tight grip on his rifle whitening his knuckles and tears streaming down his face. Making small skin colored paths in the mud that covered him. I heard a roar of what seemed like a million men crash into my ears making me flinch. I saw the silhouettes of men rushing towards us.  The thunder of gunfire pierced into the misty void that was No Man’s Land. I fired and fired not truly aiming. I saw the number of silhouettes decrease in number as they charged us. They began retreating back to their trenches and the thick accented moans of the enemy filled the air with a guilt and ironic relief. I looked over for Lawrence and saw him sitting slumped against the wall of the trench.

“Lawrence you alright mate?” I crawled over to him and nudged his head. It rolled back effortlessly with a red stream running down the center of his round face. I recoiled away from the corpse of my friend. I saw his baby face looking almost docile in this trench of chaos and sat down in the murky mud. I had lost two of my closest friends on the first day of this hellish landscape. I feared not for what would come in the future but what would be allowed to leave this nightmare.