Description

Immediate dispatch from Somerset. Nice older book in great condition. Pages in excellent condition. No notes or highlighting. See images. Fantastic book.

About the book >.>.> THE slit trench was surrounded by churned up earth in what remained of the garden of a small French cottage near Eter- ville not far from Hill 112. The trench was unoccupied but traces of its previous occupants lay all around. A gas cape wet with the morning dew. Clips of 303 cartridges were on the parapet and an entrenching tool lay embedded in the ridge of spoil that made the parados. In the bottom of the trench lay a cluster of 36 Grenades a large pool of blood and an unravelled shell dressing. None of these surprised me; my eyes rose my throat tightened and tears came. Sitting on a tiny ledge cut into the side of the trench was a small light brown teddy bear. He wore a red and white ribbon collar with a bell attached. I was just twenty years old and this was my introduction to battle. My reactions to teddy’s dilemma did not augur well for the future. My father a keen sportsman who lived for horse racing was con- vinced beyond doubt that all the masculine virtues were developed only on the sportsfield where my accomplishments had been nil. Was he correct? If so what hope was there on the field of battle for one who had failed so miserably on the field of sport? Surely my father must be wrong: success in battle could not be solely the prerogative of the victor ludorum. I recalled the poets Sassoon Owen and Blunden and the composer George Butterworth all of whom had been awarded the Military Cross while serving as infantry officers. I wondered if they would have agreed with my father. No other sight throughout the campaign devastated me as did that incongruously placed teddy bear. I realise now how illogical I was. If any tears were to be shed-and they were clearly not appropriate at that moment they should have been kept for the poor soldier whose life’s blood lay in the bottom of that trench. The teddy bear in all likelihood became a mascot on a jeep or Bren gun carrier and enjoyed a comfortable campaign. My 18 Platoon did not and my tears for them came years later.