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One young man : $b The simple and true story of a clerk who enlisted in 1914, who fought on the western front for nearly two years, was severely wounded at the battle of the Somme, and is now on his way back to his desk. — John Shaqi

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One young man : $b The simple and true story of a clerk who enlisted in 1914, who fought on the western front for nearly two years, was severely wounded at the battle of the Somme, and is now on his way back to his desk.

World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, British

One Young Man Gets a "Blighty"




CHAPTER XIII

ONE YOUNG MAN GETS A "BLIGHTY"


Sydney Baxter's Division was on the left flank of the British attack
at Gommecourt, which met with great stubbornness on the part of the
enemy, and resulted in heavy losses. He writes:

     "I was in charge of the 'Battle Police' that day, and we had
     to accompany the bombers. We started over the top under
     heavy fire and many were bowled over within a few minutes.

     "Lanky of limb, I was soon through the barbed wire and came
     to the first trench and jumped in. Some seven of us were
     there, and as senior N.C.O. I led the way along the trench.
     One Hun came round the corner, and he would have been dead
     but for his cry 'Kamerad blesse.' I lowered my rifle, and,
     making sure he had no weapon, passed him to the rear and led
     on. We had just connected up with our party on the left when
     I felt a pressure of tons upon my head. My right eye was
     sightless, with the other I saw my hand with one finger
     severed, covered in blood. A great desire came over me to
     sink to the ground, into peaceful oblivion, but the peril of
     such weakness came to my mind, and with an effort I pulled
     myself together. I tore my helmet from my head, for the
     concussion had rammed it tight down. The man in front
     bandaged my head and eye. Blood was pouring into my mouth,
     down my tunic.

     "They made way for me, uttering cheery words, 'Stick it,
     Corporal, you'll soon be in Blighty,' one said. Another,
     'Best of luck, old man.' I made my way slowly--not in pain,
     I was too numbed for that. My officer gave me a pull at his
     whisky bottle, and further on our stretcher-bearers bandaged
     my head and wiped as much blood as they could from my face.
     I felt I could go no further, but a 'runner' who was going
     to H.Q. led me back. I held on to his equipment, halting for
     cover when a shell came near, and hurrying when able. I
     eventually got to our First Aid Post. There I fainted away.

     "I awoke next day just as I was being lifted on to the
     operating table, and whilst under an anaesthetic my eye was
     removed. Although I was not aware of this for some time
     afterwards I did not properly come to until I was on the
     hospital train the following day bound for the coast. I
     opened my eye as much as possible and recognised two of my
     old chums, but conversation was impossible; I was too weak.
     The next five days I spent at a hospital near Le Treport. My
     mother was wired for, and the offending piece of shell was
     abstracted by a magnet. It couldn't be done by knife, as it
     was too near the brain."

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

One young man : $b The simple and true story of a clerk who enlisted in 1914, who fought on the western front for nearly two years, was severely wounded at the battle of the Somme, and is now on his way back to his desk.

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