How I Filmed the War: A Record of the Extraordinary Experiences of the Man Who Filmed the Great Somme Battles, etc.Malins, Geoffrey H.
History
How I Filmed the War: A Record of the Extraordinary Experiences of the Man Who Filmed the Great Somme Battles, etc.
Malins, Geoffrey H.
Malins, Geoffrey H.; Motion pictures; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, British
As we talked, batch after batch of men came gliding by in their full
kit, smoking and chatting. While I was standing there hundreds must have
passed me in that narrow trench, quietly going to their allotted
positions. Now and again sharp orders were given by their officers.
"How's your section, sergeant? Are you fitted up?"
"Yes, sir," came a voice from the blackness.
"Now, lads, come along: get through as quickly as possible. Post your
sentries at once, and be sharp."
It was not long before little red fires were gleaming out of the dug-out
entrances, and crowds of men were crouching round, heating their
canteens of water, some frying pieces of meat, others heating soup, and
all the time laughing and carrying on a most animated conversation. From
other groups came the subdued humming of favourite songs. Some were
cursing and swearing, but with such a bluntness that, if I may say so,
it seemed to take all the profanity from the words.
And these men knew they were going "over the top" in the morning. The
day which they had dreamed of was about to materialise. They knew that
many would not be alive to-morrow night, yet I never saw a sad face nor
heard a word of complaint. My feeling whilst watching these men in the
glow of the firelight was almost indescribable. I was filled with awe at
their behaviour. I reverenced them more than I had ever done before; and
I felt like going down on my knees and thanking God I was an Englishman.
No words of mine can fitly describe this wonderful scene. And all the
time more men, and still more men, were pouring into the trenches, and
munitions of all descriptions were being served out.
The bursting German shells, and the shrieks overhead of the missiles
from our own guns, were for the moment forgotten in the immensity of the
sights around me. I turned and groped the way back to my shelter and, as
I did so, our fire increased in intensity. This was the prelude to the
greatest attack ever made in the history of the world, and ere the sun
set on the morrow many of these heroes--the Lancashire Fusiliers, Royal
Fusiliers, Middlesex, etc.--would be lying dead on the field of battle,
their lives sacrificed that civilisation might live.
At last I found a friend, and sitting down to our box-table we had a
meal together. Afterwards I wandered out, and entered several other
dug-outs, where friends were resting. They all seemed anxious for the
morning to come. I met the mining officer.
"I say; let me check my watch by yours," I said. "As the mine is going
up at 7.20 I shall want to start my machine about half a minute
beforehand."
"Right-o!" he said. We then checked watches.
I bade him good night, and also the others, and the best of luck.
"Same to you," they cried in general chorus. "I hope to heavens you get
through with it, and show them all at home in England how the boys
fight. They will then realise what war really means. Good night, old
man."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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