Translations for WWI Soldiers Memoires and Letters

Overview:

Visit to the Great Headquarters

My Engagement

A flight in an observation balloon

A day at Staffel 11 (by Lothar von Richthofen)

At Jagdgeschwader Richthofen (by a Dutch reporter)

Richthofen as leader and comrade (by Leutnant Friedrich Wilhelm Lübbert, Jasta 11)

In memory of Richthofen (by v. B.)

An encounter (by Emil August Glogau)

The mother about the boy Manfred

Letter by Leutnant Hans Joachim Wolff to Leutnant Lothar Freiherr von Richthofen

How Richthofen shot down his seventy fifth victory (by Leutnant Lampel)

Richthofen (by Erich von Salzmann): Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

At court for the second time

Letters of Erwin Böhme: Before the war, Erwin Böhme worked as an engineer in East Africa. When the war started he was already 37 years old. This did not stop him and he became a successful fighter pilot, being personally selected by Boelcke to join his fighter squadron. In 1916 he met the daughter of a former business colleague and they fell in love. The following letters are those Böhme wrote to his later fiancée Annamarie during the war days. [Translated are the parts of the letters where Böhme describes his life as a fighter pilot.]

Landres, 24 June 1916

Kowel, 7 July 1916

Kowel, 3 August 1916

Kowel, 15 August 1916

Bertincourt, 11 September 1916

Bertincourt, 21 September 1916

Somme, 4 October 1916

Somme, 18 October 1916

Lagnicourt, 31 October 1916

Lagnicourt, 12 November 1916

Jagdstaffel Boelcke, 12 December 1916

Partenkirchen, 28 January 1917

Jagdstaffel Boelcke, 8 April 1917

Valenciennes, 25 April 1917

Valenciennes, 9 May 1917

Valenciennes, 3 July 1917

Jagdstaffel 29, 16 July 1917

Jagdstaffel 29, 7 August 1917

Jagdstaffel 29, 17 August 1917

18 August 1917

Jagdstaffel Boelcke, 21 September 1917

“With the aces”, 20 October 1917

Rumbeke, 31 October 1917

Back with the aces again, 31 October 1917

4 November 1917, Sunday morning

Jagdstaffel Boelcke, 14 November 1917

Bavikhove, 16 November 1917

Bavikhove, 19 November 1917

27 November 1917

The End

Rudolf Berthold – a man who never let himself be dissuaded from his convictions. A man who, despite the worst injuries always returned to the front as quickly as possible. A man for whom the war was not over, even if it was over for his country. A summary of Bertholds life can be found in the pinned post over @subtile-jagden The following are translated diary entries as well as some of his letters.

Before mobilization It is getting serious! First challenges Emergency landing Important reconnaissance flights during the advance The most beautiful day of my life! Finally a pilot! Buddecke, the dear comrade! Feldfliegerabteilung 23 End of 1915 Single seater fighter unit Vaux and the first victories An unfortunate day for Berthold Back to the unit Jasta 4, the Pour le mérite and a new challenge Beginning of 1917 Finally off to Flanders End of 1918: Ceasefire and revolution 1919 / 1920: Uncertainties, Soldier´s Councils and the Last Fight

Ernst Jünger was a passionate diarist. During his time in the First World War, he filled 14 diaries. Based on these entries, he wrote his popular book Storms of Steel. The diary entries provide additional information, funny stories and reveal his true feelings during this turbulent time.

January

I want to continue my diary, I want to have someone in these days to whom I can entrust my whole inner being, who will listen to me patiently and make sure that this time of crime, lies and brutality is not forgotten. The Revolutionary Days will forever be a stain on Germany in history! This disgrace should remain in the memory of the German people over and over again; it should forever be a deterrent example for future generations! Isn't it a sad sign of the spiritual state of the un-German social democracy that it had to resort to aping institutions that had the blood of many thousands of Russian patriots on them? What level of disintegration the very name of the Soldiers' Council has brought to the people! The soldiers' councils were supposed to play an intermediary role between superiors and subordinates; Instead, they claimed the right to depose superiors and seize all authority. Like the name, so does the composition! They were supposed to be trusted men and in reality they were, on average, the most dishonest and evil elements of the force, but they were all the bigger screamers. They, who had never learned to obey in life, demanded voluntary respect and obedience. It's worst at the stage and at home. Thinking, feeling, acting of the soldiers' councils: a single act of meanness! Greed for money, hunger for power, incompetence everywhere! Effect: decomposition, cowardice, crime. Millions of dollars were squandered, weapons and ammunition were sold en masse to the enemy, to which many good Germans then became victims. Looting, robbery and murder, these were the side effects, the signs of the general respect for the soldiers' councils! The oath to the Ebert-Scheidemann red government, the questionable attitude of the Berlin garrison, the cries for help from the Ukraine, the defection of German troops to the Bolsheviks in Kurland... this is all a achievement from the soldiers' councils. Their only work is insulting the officers, inciting the people, and training the crew to loiter. The disgusting and criminal actions of these incompetent fatherland traitors are etched into my inner being in iron letters. The faithful's contempt and curse will accompany this "achievement of the revolution" and its bearers into the pit! Street socialism can never lead humanity; it only brings the downfall of all intellectual and moral values, the destruction of every higher culture. What we must strive for is the perfection of human existence: true socialism, the community of German national feeling! The seeds: never-tiring inner self-education, striving for the beautiful, good, noble, faith in God and fatherland, educating children until maturity on the straight path to true Germanness! Its harvest: Man's belief in himself, in his inner power and strength, man's inner feeling at the same time with a balance on the path of calm, organic development where hardships of fate exist in external life! The greatest enemy of the true national community, which has its beginnings in life at the front, is the socialism of our day, which awakens only the basest instincts in people... Why only the farmer now in the elections to the National Assembly, which are international rather than national will think, follows alley socialism in such large numbers? It is the unhealthy hunger for more possessions and money and the belief that one is free from the inconvenient taxes of one's products to the cities at fixed prices! How I always loved my home village, how I gave my best to those who grew up with me, among whom I grew up, how I tried to shake them up, how I fought against the hunger for possession! But the greed for money was stronger, under the guise of "socialism"... How I now despise these fellows whom I loved before; how they hate me, who cheered me before, all because I told them the truth!

Yesterday I took another look back because I haven't calmed down since the November days. I've thought everything through in my head and always come to the same conclusion: the old things may be outdated in some ways, some serious mistakes may have been made, but the leaders of the empire were not "bloodhounds" like the red "Vorwärts" call them. They wanted the best for Germany and did their duty. Perhaps they were the first to make mistakes in foreign policy because they clung to peace too fearfully, missed many favorable opportunities and were far too lenient towards foreign influences at home. A few days ago, the main leaders of the Berlin Spartacist gangs, who called for murder and crime everywhere, became victims of their own actions. A weak human arm was probably the executive organ of avenging fate; the strong will of that God whom Liebknecht and Rosa Luxemburg always mocked guided the arm. Contempt and disgust will be the only monument that history will set for them and their criminal actions!

Quiet domesticity! How much we miss it in the present! The German, for whom the hearth at home was the place of happiness in earlier times, never knows this feeling now; it is only rarely encountered anymore. The sunshine, the call of spring that the woman is supposed to bring into the house, the proverbial cozy German family life, which is praised in the legend and history of our people, is overgrown by superficial pleasure-seeking and the urge to live well on the one hand, and by excessive worries and lack of bare essentials on the other side. How pleasantly I felt it as a young lieutenant, and I still feel it now, when I found a model of German marriage and family life with my friend Hofmann in Wittenberg! It is the woman who puts her stamp on the house! But what decides today when it comes to marriage: blind momentary passion or money-grubbing in a union in which only the soul should be asked!

“You shall know them by their fruits!” How appropriately this word applies in our time to the men who have presumed to lead a people of 60 million in their most difficult hour! Are these people aware in the slightest of their enormous responsibility when they allow themselves to be thrown around partly by things and partly by the party landscape? According to their works? No! The treasonous behavior and the vile speeches of Kurt Eisner in Berlin and Zurich are probably one of the highlights of new statesmanship, the price of which in this case our betrayed comrades, prisoners of war, in the enemy country and all of Bavaria will have to pay bitterly! Aren't our martyrs rising up to put an end to all this shameful activity? Where is the front-line soldier who defended his homeland and people for almost five years? Now it is important to furnish the house of our state in a comfortable manner after thorough cleaning, while retaining all the objects that were recognized as good and valuable by the old furnishings. We have returned undefeated, stage and home have, as the English General Maurice rightly writes, stabbed us in the back, they have only been defeated with disgrace and disgrace. We, who were doing our hard duty unwaveringly and with ruthless commitment of our whole selves, have been forgotten and have lost our contract with us in the constant complaining and arguing over meaningless slogans. With its own honor, the cowardly, mutinous homeland also trampled our honor into the mud. People cheer on men who would otherwise have been hanged.

This is the last of Bertholds diary entries. In February 1919 Berthold was appointed commander of the airfield in Döberitz. But this military airport was soon closed. The unrest in the country was not yet over and something was brewing on the eastern borders and in the Baltics. Berthold decided not to give up the fight for Germany and made himself available no matter what.

I summarized the rest of the story of Berthold and his Freikorps in part 3 of my Berthold article: https://www.tumblr.com/subtile-jagden/710081455587508224/rudolf-berthold-part-3 Below are a few of Berthold's letters translated along with context.

Berthold created his fighting group "Eiserne Schar Berthold", which initially belonged to the Reichswehr. At the same time, the Iron Division, which was supposed to take up the fight against the Bolsheviks in the East, was preparing to move into the Baltics. Berthold and his men too wanted to contribute on this front.

At the moment I'm trying to free my detachment, i.e. to break away from the Reichswehr, because of course I'm taking my people with me to the East. I'm supposed to be integrated into the "Iron Division" up there, but I remain completely independent. Fate has once again determined a new position for me. Because on Saturday, when I was negotiating the integration of my people into the Reichswehr, I was handed a letter from the Iron Division, I opened it and the first thing I read was: "Come and help us!" Of course, I broke off the negotiations and agreed to the East... I wanted to have surgery, but they need me, so I won't be able to do it. So I go back into battle, run against the machine guns again, breathe the strong, fresh air of the front again.

The conditions are urgent, the situation of my detachment has become so dire and so aggravated that I have to speed up the evacuation. Maybe I'll have to really fight my way through because they're trying to prevent me from leaving. The commander stands and falls with his troops. It was a beautiful moment when the detachment unanimously declared that they would go wherever I went. 800 people follow blindly without even asking where. Well, you should know that I am a monarchist and that the day will come when we will give the people the men who alone are capable of saving the German future. It will be strong men who will eradicate the weakness of the past and the crime of the present. I'm going to Kurland... They shall not have appealed to my love for my homeland and people in vain!

Berthold and his men managed to arrive in the Baltics. There they joined the fight against the Bolshevik red army, but also the Latvian one. The circumstances of these battles are very complicated and cannot be reproduced here. Berthold's group and other parts of the Iron Division fought the toughest battles in and around Riga. Crime and violence were committed by all sides. The rules of war didn´t apply.

Here we are are faced with nothing but cold assassination everywhere. It's terrible: just hatred and hostility everywhere. And then these endless areas, which are undeveloped here, call out to people: Take care of me! And the cultivated areas: unkempt, neglected, bearing just as much fruit as the small farmer needs. The apartments... our cattle stables in Germany are magnificent buildings in comparison! This is also the opinion of the Latvians! Of course, this is only against the German-Baltic land ownership, i.e. the mob doesn't want to work, but wants to live off the proceeds of the large estates, which are of course better maintained! And because we protect the goods and their owners from the anger and envy of the mob, hence the hatred towards us!

In November 1919, Berthold was on the left bank of the Daugava, which formed the front. The battle for Riga was not yet decided.

I'm lying here on the Daugava, I haven't taken off my clothes for eight days and haven't slept a night because I have to appear myself at critical moments. For days was my only food: a piece of dry bread and possibly water-coffee. Straw is our bed. And then in Germany they talk about us as people who are only up here so that wecan continue our cavalier life without work! The villains! And how attached these Baltic Germans are to their Germany! As a German, you are ashamed of this high level of love for your homeland, which you usually do not have. We don't want to leave this country, we want to consolidate our presence here, even if we were cast out as lepers from the homeland! How my group fared up here is all that matters. The Bavarians have restored their old reputation. And I will also ensure that it is preserved. How small and ugly is all this externality, this rushing and hunting for money in Germany! I have to operate my little unit up here like a division in war! I also have the same large section. Artillery I have 4 batteries... During the night there is only guard duty.

The troops had little food, little equipment and even fewer weapons and ammunition because the government forbade supporting the Baltic fighters, even though it was the government who had sent the brave men there in the first place.

When will I come back again? Maybe Christmas? But don't think that we are fighting for this government, because they are scoundrels! We stand here until the end and secure the future help of a national Russia for the German people, no matter how long it takes for that to happen... One day a man will come to the top here too, the German spirit and German strength united! One day, even if it may be a long way off, the German imperial throne will emerge again. Germany - Empire, the age-old ideal, will be realized and if we have to give our blood for it. Believe me, in just a year things will look a little different for us!

Rudolf Berthold is in the Berlin University Hospital until late autumn 1918, where his sister looks after him. Due to the slow healing of his wounds, further use of Berthold in the troops was no longer an option, nor was he initially granted use at home. He spent the last weeks of the war in his Franconian home.

October 1918

Overthrow! Constitutional change! In a few days, what strong men have built up over centuries will be destroyed. "Peace at any price!" So the seduced people whine. People everywhere have lost their heads. One doubts the army. We are still far in enemy territory and we are supposed to surrender? Madness! Oh Germany, where is your national feeling? How great France is in this respect! Despite all the devastation at home, despite the many defeats, it remains strong. We have been victorious for 4 years, we have smashed armies and states almost in all parts of the compass rose, and yet the homeland has not been behind the front for a long time! Not only because of the privations to which we too were subjected; the internal incitement, the worthless party discord has crushed the spirit of unification of 1914, has crushed all that was good! You dishonourable wretches who have carried the spirit of treason to the people under the guise of the alleged idea of peace, do you believe that the enemy will know justice and mercy? Ceasefire offer ... our honour is over! I still push for the front. The consequences of my last crash are outwardly overcome. Unfortunately, my right arm remains lame. But I shot with it in spring and summer after all. The will and the ability just have to be there! I want my Geschwader 2 back. Precisely because I had the greatest difficulties with it for months until it was flying at its best, until it grew close to my heart. I am attached to each and every one of them.

The belief in the imminent peace of nations is a fantasy of our pacifists: the world will never completely eliminate ill-will and enmity, love even among nations can never be forced, especially when hatred lies in the blood, and a bridge can never be built in the long run between people that differ from each other like fire and water. Only power and the will to defend oneself secure life for the individual as well as the nation.

Wilson replied. We continue on the sloping track and I still have to sit here. I want to go out to the front! I'm supposed to put together a new fighter wing after all. If only I had at least my healthy bones ..., but I'll make it anyway! The will does everything. As long as the battle rages outside, everyone who has experience belongs out there! One can help so much, especially from an educational point of view! How pathetic is this begging in front of Wilson! The front is fixed again and yet we want to surrender, we the actual bearers of the victories! How ridiculous, mean and miserable is fate sometimes! These days I am in my closer home near Bamberg. It is a beautiful piece of German soil. This magnificent German forest, the serious spruce, they seem to me even more gloomy than usual, even sad! They mourn with me over our nation's growing disgrace!... This people without self-confidence should be ripe to govern itself! Disgusting is the poison and spite that is spread against the person of our Emperor! Thus the foreign countries must only despise us all the more.... Join together, all of you who have kept your decent minds in these days of meanness! Cast off all petty party interests, let honour, loyalty and love for the homeland not be empty phrases!

November 1918

There has been such an eerie silence before the storm over Berlin since the end of October, all that is missing is the spark and the discharge is there! Berlin, the center of all intellectual life, the nurturing center of art and science, the center of the greatest industrial activity, on the one hand, the giver of everything good and beautiful. On the other side, again, the breeding ground for the worst impulses and impulses, the abode of all the worst criminals, the rejects of humanity, the revolutionary rabble who can only destroy, not build up, who cannot lose anything, but only in bloody upheaval with murder, robbery and looting has to win! There is also the branch of Russian Bolshevism and these wicked elements, supported by the Soviet embassy, are already beginning to stir. As unbelievable as it sounds, they are hugely popular and the weak Democratic government is letting them do what they want instead of interfering with fire and sword. Instead of coming together and forming a solid fighting bloc, the good citizen is left at a loss. Speeches are made and incendiary articles are written in the newspapers, but there is a lack of initiative. If the storm breaks out, everything will definitely go into chaos, everyone will try to save themselves and go under one by one. Our previous regime can be blamed for not educating the people sufficiently in national consciousness; the press system in particular should have been better supervised and controlled by the state! Because what educates the common man more than his newspaper? With the most ruthless severity, timely intervention had to be made where one was at work undermining the love for the people and homeland, the only source of our strength! They tried to win over these elements through false indulgence and clemency, the result was a strengthening of the un-German direction and the true friend of the fatherland saw his ideals, for which thousands gladly gave their blood, for which they sacrificed their everything, sullied by a brutal hand. As long as a good core, even if it is currently so small, lives in our people and does not die out, we have the indestructible hope that one day loyal German reception and feeling will awaken in the fatherland and will relentlessly demand accountability from those who, for criminal reasons incite the people with mean egoism, tear them apart with incendiary speeches and ignite the revolutionary fire!

The Commission left to accept the ceasefire conditions - unconditional! -. Is there anything else we can do now that Bolshevism, once promoted by the Social Democrats, is becoming increasingly widespread? Kiel, Lübeck, Braunschweig... Workers-Soldiers' Council dominate the field and, to add insult to injury, the cowardly and oath-breaking home troops are defecting to the revolutionaries in droves. The king's coat, which I have worn with honor and pride for so long, is desecrated! How difficult it is, how terribly difficult, to continue living!

Berlin and Munich are ablaze, judging by the broken connections! This precisely at the moment when we need to be strong in order to gain as much as possible from the enemy in the negotiations! It has happened: the revolution has broken out! Fate, go your way now! The wildest rumors are circulating in the countryside, which is cut off from all connections. Emperors and princes have been driven out, the Bavarian king has been driven out of Munich! Unbelievable! But now you can trust the mob to do anything! And I have to sit here doing nothing, especially these days! Oh, if only I had a company of my peacekeepers and we would soon have peace restored! I would hunt down the ringleaders; day and night they would have no peace until they had reaped their well-deserved reward: the hanging!

In the last few days I couldn't write: everything was too terrible! One piece of terrible news follows another, leaving no room for calm reflection. What people were afraid to suspect is now reality: the mob has become master overnight! Workers' and Soldiers' Councils everywhere, these canails have chosen the moment well for their work! These new ministers are agitators and shouters, party bigwigs and professional politicians of the worst kind! And nothing is harder to learn than to command well and govern well! What I saw weeks ago: in this chaos, the majority of our people were simply taken by surprise and then lost their heads. Poor Germany, where are you going?

I didn't have my diary in hand for over 4 weeks. I wanted to forget, not think, and yet it was impossible to calm down. Today, on Christmas Day, I'm looking through the pages again and asking you, dear diary, about memories. Like every year, like outside in front of the enemy, like as a child and as a man in peace, this time I decorated a tree just for myself: the Christ child above, with a small airplane underneath, looks at us and smiles. They know that you are my best advisor, my friend in good days and bad. There is snow outside, which I rarely saw in the field, and which I always wished for at Christmas because it brings the real Christmas atmosphere. Snow on German fir trees... and yet no Christmas spirit! This time the snow is like a big shroud that covers so much beauty, so much longing, so much ideal. Why do I always feel this cold shiver when I look out of the window over the fields, meadows and forest in their white dress, even though the cozy warmth surrounds me in my little room?

It's Christmas and yet completely different than usual! Did the time of revolution also bury our old German Christmas, the joyful hope, our childhood faith? Then, German people, if you have forgotten how to be a child, you are no more worth than being thrown into a pit and covered with earth! If earning money and rawness of heart and emotions mean strength for you, then you don't deserve to have thousands of people believe in you like they believe in themselves and bleed, gladly bleed and bleed to death! Free, free, finally free! This is how the masses roar, this is how they rage. One infects the other, everything forms a huge army of drunks, exiles, madmen! The happiness of the new freedom is shouted to each other. You call each other comrade and brother, fall into each other's arms, kiss... and suddenly the stupid citizen, the beer table hero, notices that his wallet is missing! Freedom, equality! How greedily the eyes sparkle! I ask the one who shouts the loudest, he looks at me with stupid eyes, thinks and stutters: "Me, I don't need to work anymore!" He is a worker who I asked about the nature of the new freedom... I ask a farmer who I previously saw walking arm in arm with the worker. First the same stupid face, then a blissful smile: "I don't have to deliver anymore, I can now sell my grain and my potatoes secretly and use the money..." I ask an elementary school teacher. A proud look from above. "Now we are the masters. We will finally get the salary that we have always fought for. Now we demand: now we must be given the social position that we deserve based on our intellectual superiority, our salary!" So this is what the happiness of the new freedom looks like! The worker no longer wants to work, but wages, high wages, money, money. The farmer believes, with the cleverness that is innate in him, that he can drain his fellow human beings, the city dwellers, the workers; He sees human duty as an annoying constraint, he only wants money, money... The elementary school teacher sees demands as his ideal.

9.11.16

Our regiment has the task of storming a wedge that the French have driven into our position at St. Pierre Vaast Forest. So I drove with my squad to Liéramont to report to Rittmeister Bökelmann. I received the not very pleasant information that I was transferred from the regiment for the duration of the battle and would be at the disposal of Regiment 164. Tonight I was supposed to look at my section. So at 3 a.m. I trudged off with my predecessor and inspected the terrain of Section C. Two fallen horses were lying in front of the bridge over the canal. I looked at the positions. Between the Nameless Forest and the St. Pierre Vaast Forest we came into a dense phosgene cloud, which apparently came from gas grenades, which we had previously thought to be duds. So mask on and back. I staggered over wires and shell holes with night before my eyes until the ventilation of the mask revealed that the air was reasonably clear again. So back to the position where we reported the gassing. That's when two thick shells hit close to us. We went to the regimental command post in the Vaux forest. Then through the village of Nurlu, where there was a 42 cm gun, then back to Liéramont. I was heartily glad when the tour was over, because it was very tiring to run through the dirt across the field through night and fog. There was not nearly as much shooting as at Guillemont, only on the right in the Pierre Vaast forest was a continuous barrage requested. By the way, the last big attack was here five days ago. The French are in position opposite of us.

10.11.16

In the evening I went to the Rittmeister when some shells hit the village. As we learned immediately afterwards, they hit the group columns of the detachments marching out of the village and killed about 20 men.

12.11.16 At 3 o'clock in the morning I set off with a non-commissioned officer and Private Schrader for the front line. My mission was to reconnoitre the nameless forest and, if possible, the funnel position of Section C. It was a damp, misty night. We walked through Nurlu, past the brigade headquarters. Then I got lost, so instead of going left, I passed the forest above the waters on the right. But we still found our way happily over the canal bridge and came along the relay posts to the nameless forest. There I left the sergeant to explore the trench system and continued with Schrader to the crater position. Then I sent Schrader to the left to establish the connection with the other regiment, while I myself went to the right to possibly reach the St-Pierre Vaast forest. This crater position rightly deserved its name. It was a plateau on which numerous shell craters were scattered, with people lying here and there. On the other slope lay the French. The area made an eerie, gigantic impression in its silence, which was only interrupted by the whistling and crashing of the shells. After a while I lost contact and therefore went back so as not to meet up with the French. On the way back, I talked for a while with a company commander I met about the position. He warned me not to stay any longer, as it would soon be lighter. On the way to the nameless forest, I paused once more in a shell hole. Several people came up and spoke to me. I recognised Lieutenant Löwen, whom I already knew from Hamelin, the R.C. and Croisilles. We chatted a bit and I asked him to show me the way back.

30.10.16

At 10 a.m., Hauptmann Bökelmann summoned us to Bohain for a meeting. He explained our task to us. It consists largely of establishing connections and obtaining news quickly. First we should orient ourselves on the battlefield. We have to check the connection, ask the combat troops for news and requests, see which areas are particularly under fire, check strengths and weaknesses, and request reinforcements on our own in the event of an attack. We have carrier pigeons, telephones, signallers and light signals at our disposal. If there are urgent calls, our messages go first. In any case, I am becoming more and more comfortable with my task; it is interesting, independent, dangerous and perhaps also grateful. As personal support I have two non-commissioned officers and four men, all of whom have bicycles. As news, he told us that barrage requests would be communicated by yellow floating bullets, "advance fire" by red bullets. In the evening the gentlemen of the 1st battalion met at the place of the assistant doctor Köppen. There were so few that everything fit around a round table. As always before battles, the mood was extremely cheerful.

31.10.16

Today I had a beautiful example of the unity of the French civil society. My host came to me and showed me some wounds that his neighbor had inflicted on him. He also grabbed him by the throat and shouted “Demande pardon”. I wrote the good monsieur Lemaire a letter of complaint in French to Captain Sesselberg. For lunch today we had pancakes and then played Doppelkopf.

1.11.16

In the evening we played a Doppelkopf and celebrated Heilmann's birthday with champagne, cognac and an excellent dinner. We became very cheerful as the evening progressed and went to the ensign's quarters, where we said a lot of stupid things to the landlady.

2.11.16

In the evening we drank a lot of wine with Lieutenant Dreckmann, the leader of our big baggage. On the way home, Lieutenant Wiese wanted to visit a madam and was led to a house in front of which there was a huge racket. Suddenly Wiese realized that he was standing in front of his own quarters. Amid the angry shout: "I won't live in the regimental brothel" and the roaring laughter of those around him, he left to look for new quarters that same night. Boje knocked on the door of a certain Madame "la poule" and of course made such a noise that the door was not opened for him. With an angry "je vous laisserai punir (I will punish you)" he left the inhospitable place and conspired to put at least 20 men in the Madame's quarters the next morning. These are wartime conditions.

3.11.16

Today there was another scout troop meeting with Hauptmann Bökelmann. I got 3 very good maps, including one from Combles with every bit of the trench noted. The cannons were booming particularly loudly on the Somme front today, it sounds as if a huge number of heavy trucks were rolling along in the distance. In the evening we witnessed a wild scene. In the 2nd company, a wild corps seems to have come together, from the company commander to the ensign. I am writing from house number 26. Boje en Chemise. A nice pit of sin this Brancourt. Heilmann knocked continuously on house 6 until a human voice came from a bed: "Well, go away soon, this will soon become too annoying for me!"

4.11.16

The next morning general community activities. "There is order here." Here the comb is with the butter. Appetizing thing! In the evening we drank a huge punch with a whole bottle of rum. I only had the strength to throw myself into the ensign's bed, where I woke up at 7:30 with a pounding head. I went to my quarters. When I woke up I had a very unpleasant sensation. This time it would be even less pleasant "Malborough is not in the war. Malheur! Malheur!" [Jünger feared that he had gotten syphilis]

7.11.16

29.8.16

Last night we drank red wine and champagne and slept very well as a result. In the morning there was a service in which a priest called us poor, beaten people and tried to discourage our fellows as much as possible. This type of chaplain would need to be spat on considerably. In the afternoon, Vogel and I went for a walk along the canal, found a rowboat and used it for a bit. On the way back we heard a bloody scream in the bushes. Two 73s fought each other according to every rule of the art. One had found the other's wallet and didn't want to give it back. We snapped at both of them and ordered whoever was in the right to report the other. In the evening a thunderstorm broke out and at the same time a wild fire started in the direction of Maurepas. The strongest fire lasted about 1 hour, then continued all night.

30.8.16

Today it is constantly raining heavily. I was with Vogel and Sievers in Manancourt and Bertricourt, where I bought a large bottle of liqueur. The stomach 3 inches under alcohol seems to me to be the best thing here. The two places are overcrowded with field hospitals and there is terrible traffic there. We saw Captain Bökelmann with a captured Frenchman. It was a French reporter who got lost and was captured by us. By the way, Knigge from my platoon died. He was already paralyzed in both legs due to the shot through the spinal cord. By the way, we have a huge percentage of sick people, with the constant rain the straw in the tents is like manure, everything is constantly sitting on the latrines. I also had a pain in my stomach last night. At 9 a.m. we moved back to Combles. This time the brewery is occupied by the 3rd platoon, so my people are lying scattered in 4 different cellars. I'm now with the first group in a cellar that's not big, but a little more bombproof, which doesn't help much with these large calibers.

1.9.16

In the morning I browsed around a house that must have belonged to an antiques enthusiast. It was battered by several shells and looked pitiful for a friend of such facilities. On the walls hung a collection of old plates, the kind that northern French farmers like, old holy water fonts, many copper engravings, etc. Entire cabinets full of porcelain stood on the walls, and small, delicate leather volumes from the 18th century were scattered wildly on the floor. I found a copy of Don Quixote, which was certainly very valuable. There was also a box from an old goldsmith for weighing and checking the gold pieces. It is a pity that all this must be so depraved and corrupt, but given our difficult approach, every piece of luggage can be more of a problem. After dinner I brought from the house a volume of the illustrated supplements of the Petit Journal, which were full of wild tastelessness and can be found in every French home. Since these numbers were written at the time of the Faschoda affair, we Germans got off pretty lightly. While reading this I drank coffee, sat in the armchair and comfortably puffed on my short pipe. At about 7 a.m. I had turned the last page and went into the small anteroom in front of the basement entrance, where the food was always cooked. Corporal Meier was standing there with a number of people. A short time later there was a sharp bang close to us, at the same moment I felt a blow to my left lower leg. With the yell: "Now I've got one!" I jumped into the cellar. There I called for light and looked at the mess. There was a large hole in the back of the wrap gaiter, from which a pool of blood poured onto the floor. I must note that I kept my pipe in my mouth and continued to smoke throughout the entire scene. The people put me on a blanket, cleaned the wound and gave me water. I had a larger wound at the back above my ankle, and at the front there was a shrapnel ball that stood out clearly under the thick skin. They bandaged me up and called the paramedics. I groaned a little, but the pain wasn't too bad. I was placed on a stretcher and carried into the catacombs. Just like at Les Esparges, a long splinter flew over my stretcher. When we arrived at the first aid station, Chief Medical Officer Koch took me into his hands; Wetje was also there. Wetje held my head while the doctor immediately went to my poor leg with a knife and scissors and cut out the bullet. Then I was carried into the deepest abyss of the catacombs, where Paulicke soon arrived. I still had diarrhea from the forest camp, which is why I often had to sit on a jagged, sharp-edged can that Paulicke had provided. With me for company was Ensign Wohlgemut. Vogel and Sievers were also with me and finally the lieutenant colonel came and said that if I needed Paulicke, I should take him with me, whereupon he decided to go on a pilgrimage to Germany with me. Finally at 11 o'clock I was picked up, carried to the Combles-Frégicourt exit and there loaded with three other seriously wounded people into an ambulance, which set off at a trot over shell holes and other obstacles to Sailly, ignoring the screams and groans of the wounded. Shells often fell near us. Just like last April in Les Esparges, transport along a road that was bombarded. The experiences of war are often repeated.

2.9.16

In the afternoon I came to the officers' station at the casualty collection point in Fins. In the room with me  were an officer with a torn-off hand, one with a shot in the arm and one with shrapnel in his knee. During the night a Bavarian first lieutenant came with a nervous breakdown. The very eager and kind nurse said that since the offensive began, 30,000 wounded had come through Fins alone! What are these numbers? A miserable shot in the leg makes you feel really small. I had a bit of a fever at the beginning of the night, but then it went away.

3.9.16

In the afternoon I was loaded onto a hospital train that went to St. Quentin. It was just a temporary quarter and also very crowded. To my left lay Lieutenant Vinke, the cousin of the Hanover castle priest. He had lost his left hand. To my right was a zoology student, Lieutenant Böhme, who had stepped on a hand grenade. His right foot was horribly burned and partially charred, but he was still a very happy fellow and recited poems by Borries v. Munchausen.

4.9.16

22.8.16

We are to be deployed to the Somme. Lying with 8 other officers in an empty house where mattresses have been laid out. The people on the second platoon were worried that I wouldn't come with them. Paulicke said they kept asking if I wasn't coming back yet. Tomorrow morning we will drive to Les Mesnil by automobile. We had a discussion with Wetje about experiences of the Battle of the Somme. It must be nice there. Shelling with mostly heavy calibers up to 38 cm, no trenches, only large shell craters. No more lines, but groups of fighters scattered widely across the terrain, losses enormous. In the event of the strongest fire, the position may be left towards the front (!). The order to counterattack does not necessarily have to be followed by the subordinate commanders, but rather at their discretion. The mood seems to be good everywhere, although a man from the 4th shot himself yesterday. In the evening we had a meeting with Major Möllenhof. We're coming to Guillemont! Poor regiment. It will probably be a battle in the village. There's a grumbling noise on the left again. Still held lessons with my platoon, something like this: three quarters will probably die, but always with joyful courage! In the evening everything was still up and running. An uncertain feeling awakens with the sunset, anxiously dreamy, quite right: the eve before the battle. Bieling and Schmidt are my range estimators, Paulicke is my combat orderly. So tomorrow morning off to Guillemont, it can't cost more than your head.

23.8.16

Went to Les Menils in trucks early in the morning. Camped in a large meadow during the day. We have a good anti-aircraft barrier here, there was a constant barrage of fire at the front. I have the most honorable task for the day after tomorrow, namely I have to keep my platoon at the exit from Guillemont. There is a spot to our right that cannot be occupied due to the heavy fire that comes with it during shelling. This is the break-in site. So, in my calculations, getting away safely is out of the question, but keep coming, gentlemen, come what may. In the evening we moved to Sailly. All around was a kind of fire of a strength I had never heard before. We sat with not exactly happy thoughts on the meadow, where the knapsacks were left behind and the storm pack was slung around our shoulders. A man from the front picked us up to show us the way to our overnight accommodation. He said unpleasant things. This Battle of the Somme seems to be a product of madness. He told of staying in holes without communication or approach trenches, of terrible artillery fire, of incessant attacks, of the mutual slaughter of prisoners, of thirst, of the stench of corpses, of the decay of the wounded, and much more. At 11am we went to Combles. Grenades and shrapnel were already hitting right and left, everyone understood that the dangers now began. In Combles, which was of course completely destroyed, we were housed in cellars. I lay down in a large cellar with the first three groups. The house had apparently just been cleared out, overturned cupboards, books, clothes, etc. were in a havoc. The best find was a box full of coffee. At first we couldn't make sense of this recent destruction, then we remembered that we had been pushed back 7 km here, so this was a peaceful stage until recently.

24.8.16

As early as 4 a.m. I was startled out of my bed. We received steel helmets. The steel helmet gives the soldier a fierce appearance. Then we had a meeting with Wetje in the catacombs. The entire time we've been here I've heard at least 1-5 cannon shots every second. The experienced Somme warriors say that there is a relative “peace” at the moment. At the moment I'm sitting on an upholstered chair in the room of the brewery owner Lesage and writing in my diary. In the room there are 4 open cupboards, two chests of drawers, a washstand, a sewing table, a sewing machine and a stroller. Three smashed mirrors and a picture hang on the walls. There is incessant artillery fire. Every now and then a lot of splinters whistle through the leaves of the trees. We didn't let all the hustle and bustle bother us, but made ourselves comfortable in the Lesange house, cooked coffee and lunch on the stove and snuggled up comfortably on chairs and blankets. 9-10 a.m.: The barrage became incredibly strong. The earth shook and the sky seemed to be a cauldron. Hundreds of heavy batteries fired, countless projectiles crisscrossed in the air. I got severe ear pain. Red flares rose from the front. Combles was enveloped in a cloud of smoke, and Corporal Diekhoff of the third platoon lost his mind. At 11:15 we set off in front of the catacombs. The fourth platoon came up, everyone was offered food so that they couldn't carry any more. Sievers handed me a cooking utensil containing at least 4 pounds of butter. Then it started, the 2nd platoon in front, one after the other. We had a bad start. Just outside the village a few pieces of shrapnel hit close in front of us. We walked across the open field in constant fire, often at a run, often standing in the fire in the open field when the guide didn't know the way. It was forbidden to lie down, even when the fire was strong; each man had to walk upright behind the man in front of him so that communication was maintained. Nevertheless, the 3rd and 1st platoons suddenly disappeared. Moving on! Right and left past dead people. Things came to a halt in a ravine in front of Guillemont. Lie down! A disgustingly sweet, intrusive stench, there were dead people everywhere. Soon we came to a ravine again, had lost our way and turned around. At most 5 meters from Vogel and me, a medium-sized grenade hit the ground, showering us with dirt. Moving on! People collapsed on the path, all I could do was shout angry words at them, then I had to go after the person in front of me. Forward through a knee-deep ditch punctuated by huge funnels. There were dead people in there. Disgusting feeling stepping on such soft dead people. And always that sweet smell. At 1:30 my platoon occupied the right wing of our position on the left near Guillemont. There was a wounded man lying in the ditch and people were stepping on him. A Bavarian sergeant handed me the section. The right is unoccupied because there is always heavy fire. The trench was nothing more than a chain of huge shell holes filled with pieces of uniform, weapons and dead people. The terrain was plowed through by the heaviest shells. There wasn't an inch that hadn't been plowed many times. I reserved a hole in the ground 1.50 wide, 1.50 deep, 1.50 long for me, Bieling, Schmidt and Paulicke. A simple hole dug into the ground. In this we are to endure in every fire. What a difference compared to Monchy! At 3 o'clock I sent Hippe and Schmidt to the right to seek contact. They naturally got lost in the countless funnels, encountered short beginnings of tunnels and saw that they faced the wrong way, and realized that they were in the English position. Guided by several flares from me, they came back and reported that the ditches were filled with English dead. We also have dead Englishmen lying on the edge of the shell holes. We covered several dead bodies with dirt; you couldn't walk past one of them without hearing the commotion of the worms. His thigh was split open and a whitish, slimy mass was burrowing inside.

25.8.16

At 6 o'clock it became light. Everyone disappeared into the holes and slept. At 11 we cooked lunch on hard spirits and ate despite the smell of corpses and blowflies. At 11:45 the first heavy shot was fired near us. From then on, shells came down at intervals 50-20 m away from us. Wohlgemut saw a group of Englishmen playing cards in a shell crater and fired at them. Schmidt was grazed on his coat sleeve by a splinter. Otherwise everyone is safe and sound. Sitting in my hole and writing as English planes are close above us sending siren signals to the artillery. 3:00: Things get shitty. Constantly putting heavy calibers in close proximity. Simons, who was a little to the right of us, was buried and immediately dug up again. He's completely exhausted. The dirt keeps flying around our ears. At 3:30 the guards came from the left, they couldn't hold on any longer, their holes were closed. I had to force them back to their places. If someone gets wounded now, there's no question of bringing them back. There are five of us sitting here in and in front of our little hole. People sit here in groups, brooding. 4:15: The first shot went off in front of us. A dud. If it had exploded, the earth would have collapsed on us. Bad sign. 7:00: Enormous caliber near Guillemont. Guillemont only differs from the rest of the terrain in that the shell holes are whitish, otherwise everything has been plowed up and the stones have been ground into dust. 9:40: Huge barrage of fire to our left. Our left wing is also affected. Some artillery fires too short, so green double stars appear. Now barrage at our position too. The shots are usually a little behind the trench. A noise that you can't shout a word through. Splinters whistle, but everyone stands like pillars. It makes you want to be a soldier when you see steel helmet after steel helmet and one planted side gun flashes next to the other. Strange, a fire like never before and almost all impacts behind the line. That's why I had no losses in my platoon. Due to the fire in the forecourt, the dead were turned over again and a huge stench wafted through the area. At 11:15 the fire finally died down. It must have cost nerves after all. In the evening the 4th train brought coffee and water, I was very worried. Sievers sent me a bottle of wine.

27.8.16

14.7.16

At 2:30 in the morning I slept rather fitfully, I heard quite a racket outside. In a moment, the inevitable Paulicke rushed into the room and shouted: "Gas attack!” I grabbed my standby can and put on my boots. Vogel, who shares my dugout, couldn't find his gas mask because he had left it somewhere. He danced (Me, bad guy that I am, secretly gloated) from one corner of the dugout to the other shouting, "Oh my God, my gas mask, my gas mask." The first smells of hydrogen sulphide, which suggested phosgene gases, were already wafting through the door. I claimed to already have great trepidation. Vogel built a smouldering fire, sat behind it with a whining expression and sucked on a three-layer cartridge at the top of his lungs. In addition, the 23.5s from last night were banging around in the area, as well as bullets of all kinds. This got on his nerves again, he disappeared into a tunnel entrance and lit a fire there, but soon reappeared half-smoked. I increased his fear by saying: "What if we have to go to the front and you without a gas mask!” -- Finally he ran to the staff quarters to look for a gas mask. When the fire died down, I lay down again.

27.7.16

In the south, especially from the Douchy-Bienvillers road, the English fired bottle mines. Our artillery responded with shell bursts that it was a real pleasure to see the black, yellow and white clouds. By the way, I'm getting in holiday spirit now. But you don't know whether you might not think back later on this rough life among men with a feeling: Yes, life was rough then, but consecrated to a firm purpose and carefree. War also has its peaceful moods. Tonight, for example, the sounds of an ocarina flow softly into the mild air from a dugout and hardly a rifle shot disturbs the mood. Leaning against the trench wall, a pipe in his mouth, someone is dreaming of something here, a group is sitting there chatting about this and that. Everything is simple and natural. In any case, this time is better for those who survive it than if they had spent night after night bumming around in smelly pubs and strolling through the big city streets with their hats crooked on their heads and easy women on their arms. In the evening the company commander came to my dugout for a little chat. Yes, there are very pleasant moments in war.

28.7.16

I gathered people together for a patrol today. In the evening, the platoon leader from the 6th who relieved me, Lieutenant Brauns, came to my shelter for dinner with various good things. He wished me “a shot in the neck and stomach.” The English machine guns were firing until 11 a.m. At 11:30, Lieutenant Jünger, Ensign Wohlgemut, Private Bartels and Private Birkner climbed over the wire with a loud groan and stalked towards the English trench.

29.6.16

Outside there was a terrible fire all along the Monchy section. I thought: Aha! Immediately afterwards an orderly darted through the ditch and called to me that the platoon should move to the headquarters. I had storm packs prepared and led the people there. As I was leaving, Paulicke, who is a good assistant but otherwise not the bravest, came to me and asked if he could guard the knapsacks. I left him there because people like that do more harm than good. At headquarters I received orders to accommodate the people in the surrounding shelters. Wetje hastily told me that the English had made an attack on C, but were stopped. Then Lieutenant Brecht came across the street from trench 6, a bloody bandage on his hand. An English prisoner was walking next to him, and behind him was a soldier with his sidearm mounted. It was a picturesque sight in the destroyed village that I will never forget. Brecht was received in triumph and we learned what happened: The English had blown off clouds of gas and smoke and then pounded the trench. As usual, our brave people had jumped out of cover while still under fire. About 30 casualties had occurred in the process. Then the English had come in two strong patrols to get into our trench. In the process they had been shot down, the rest had escaped, one had been taken prisoner. This single one now stood in front of the group of inmates of the staff quarters, was interrogated and photographed together with Brecht. He stared with astonished eyes at the hitherto deserted village street, which suddenly began to teem with orderlies, people fetching food, people reporting for duty, and so on. It was a tall blond, very young person, beautiful long hair and a child's face. The friendly welcome (he was given a glass of wine first) certainly made him feel safer. He said they did not want to attack, but they had to. Besides, he gave me the impression of someone who would attack with courage. I thought: It's a shame to have to shoot such guys. In any case, no matter how noble the guys may be, there was something weak about this whole way of attacking, and the successes were after that. This is not warfare, this eternal, not even planned, shooting and then the weak patrols. "If only it doesn't cost too much." It's different with us. What falls, falls, that's Prussian.

1.7.16

23.6.16

I was on duty again at 5 a.m. As I passed through the first platoon section, I saw Sergeant Heuer standing in front of his dugout. I was surprised to see him up at such an early hour. He said he was looking for a big rat that was keeping him awake. At the same moment we heard a hissing sound. Heuer, who was almost killed by a large ball mine yesterday and was therefore very nervous, drove like lightning to the next tunnel entrance, and I followed him. In his great haste, Heuer slipped into the tunnel entrance and fell down the stairs, rolling over three times. I forgot hisses and studs. Heuer, first on a rat hunt and then somersaulting down the stairs. I have rarely laughed like this during the war. The unfortunate man also told me that he had just been having supper yesterday when the mine came. Firstly, his food got full of sand and dirt and secondly, he had fallen down the stairs quite badly too. I recommended massaging to prevent bruises and left him alone and very sad in the trench. I shouldn't be able to get my sleep properly today. At 11 a.m. I went to sleep. I was woken up by Paulicke at 2 a.m. A heavy ball mine had fallen, I hadn't heard anything. Now I quickly dressed, ate and hurried into the ditch. Poof! -- Look out, mine. A sound that could raise the dead. Then a huge air pressure, an explosion pressure, which gives you a strange dull feeling in your nose and which I have been particularly nervous about since the battle of Les Esparges. The mine had struck not far from us. Everything that could be drilled through, tin cans, etc., was pierced by splinters. At 5 a.m. I lay down again and was awakened again at 7:30 by the sound of thunder. In the meantime a thunderstorm had broken down, I answered with a priest and a lance mine. Then our field and heavy artillery spoke seriously. Finally, our mines came from the Monchy Gardens. They flew lengthwise through the air, but without lowering the tip. They died precisely at the point from which the enemy mines had come. There was a noise like the end of the world, dirt and scraps flew towering high.

24.6.16

Today was another difficult day. At 2 o'clock, I was sitting at the table reading Herzog's "The Castle Children" when I heard the well-known noise. At the same time, the guard outside shouted "Attention! Mine." I got caught in the chair, finally got free and jumped into the tunnel without a hat. I ran straight through and went from behind to the lance mine thrower's stand. Now 30-40 heavy mines came in an arc on my group and some on the first one. Nötel, another man and I opened fire in such a way that we shot a lance mine for each incoming mine. I gave orders to a new man named Wasmann to observe from the trench. Despite me repeating it forcefully three times, he did not carry out this order out of cowardice. Meanwhile, the enemy mortars seemed to be closing in on our position. A mine struck to our left and another close to our right. We did not allow ourselves to be disturbed and continued to fire calmly and evenly. Another mine came straight towards us. We fired one more shot and ran away. I was walking in a shallow, muddy ditch. The thing burst close to me and the enormous air pressure threw me over a bundle of barbed wire into a muddy hole. At the same time, a few violent splinters flew overhead. I looked disgraceful when I got up again. There was a huge hole in my pants and the barbed wire had left a deep cut in my knee. My right boot was also cut by the wire, while my uniform was soaked with sticky clay and water.

27.6.16

As early as 10 a.m. I was jolted out of my sleep with the order to lead the entire unit to the front. So I had breakfast, washed up and off I went. My groups were split up at the front, I took four men with me to the Adinfer forest to have them chop wood there. On the way back I stopped at my shelter to get half an hour's sleep. I had just taken off my boots and lay down when a loud gunfire arose. I didn't want to be disturbed at all, so I cursed the damn artillery and rolled over to the other side. Suddenly there was shouting from above, Paulicke appeared at the tunnel entrance and called down: "Herr Leutnant, gas attack!" My first question: "Can you see a gas cloud?" "Yessir! Absolutely!" Up! Gas mask out. Put on the boots in seconds. Strapped on, ran out. A strange sight met my eyes. A white, mist-like cloud rolled over the hill near Monchy and rolled down into the valley. But white but thinner plumes were also visible to the right and left of it. Nothing helped at all! I thought quickly. My platoon is in Monchy and in position, the enemy is probably coming behind the gas cloud, so there's only one thing to do: advance, march! In no time I was over the wire obstacle and was racing towards Monchy-au-bois. My run took me over the ridge, where almost no one had walked for two years, through the overgrown weeds. Now I got my first mouth full of gas. Aha! Chlorine! One breath was enough to bring back memories of physics lessons of yesteryear. So mask up! I had barely had the mask in front of my face for a moment when I tore it off again. I had run so hard that the air supply through the gas mask wasn't enough, and I was sweating so much that my eye glasses fogged up in no time. So I tore the mask off, although I immediately felt a sharp stabbing in my chest. I raced at a constant pace, now and then jumping over a ditch. Behind me, the batteries of Adinfer Forest thundered their enormous barrage. So it happened that at first I didn't even notice that grenades were falling near me. Looking around, I saw that the hill I was passing was under barrage. This was a picture like one you see in battle paintings, only I was the only person in this wasteland. We modern warriors are hardly familiar with such artillery fire in open terrain; death only comes to us in dark caves. To the right and left here, there, there and further behind the grenades threw their black cones out of the rotten ground, here there and everywhere stood the white clouds of shrapnel. I ran straight through the middle at high speed. When one can run forward like this, all fear of artillery action disappears, the mind is occupied and a feeling of superiority makes one completely safe.

19.6.16

Went into position early in the morning. Vogel is currently leading the company. Some things have changed. My shelter has become half the size because of the bombardment, but is still comfortable. In addition to Vogel, Sievers is also there, Wetje is also coming back tomorrow and taking over the company.

20.6.16

I was on patrol to scout enemy mining operations.

Leader: Lieutenant Jünger Companions: Ensign Wohlgemut, Private Schmidt I., Partenfelder war volunteer Armament: dagger, hand grenade, pistol 08; also a knocker and a listening membrane

We left our trench and, gripped by many a spike, climbed over our now quite strong tangle of wires. We hunched forward for several more meters, then the crawling began. Crawling through the tall grass was made difficult by the dew and thistle bushes, and there was also a quite audible rustling. Another unpleasant thing was an English machine gun in Monchy-Süd, which was almost in our backs. I had a hand grenade in my left hand and an army pistol in my right coat pocket. When we were fairly close to the English trench, we saw 3 figures emerge from it. Wire clinked, voices whispered, stalks rustled. Then everything was quiet again. At first I thought of a combat patrol, but when there was no movement for a quarter of an hour, I assumed there was a listening post in front of me and ordered further crawling forward. There's something again! About 30 meters behind us two hunched figures scurrying along in the space between the two trenches! Are they English, are they German? If they are English, the EK I will be earned through a bold attack; if they are German, we will be shot down by our own comrades if we jump up and approach. The figures have already disappeared and two hand grenades exploded from their direction in the English trench. So Germans. We continue to crawl forward. Is the English wire entanglement still not coming? Far ahead of us we hear knocking and sawing, the guards talking and laughing. Suddenly the ensign whispers: "Something is coming behind us"! and turns around. At the same moment I hear a clinking sound to the right, a whisper, as if many people were climbing over a wire obstacle. 8 figures, barely 10 meters to the right of us and now all I see is a long black line, the English wire. It becomes clear to me that we have veered off to the right and have crept along the English wire. This was a moment of great excitement. At such moments the breath comes in ragged bursts; all senses are at their peak, you feel the excitement of the huntsman and the fear of the game at the same time. We unlocked the pistols and assembled the hand grenades. The Bavarian Partenfelder audibly took the bare dagger between his teeth. I gave the order to the right: "Let them come close and then action!" Then I took the pistol in my left hand, the hand grenade in my right, and the hand grenade button in my mouth. The people in front of us took a few steps towards us, but then started working on the wire. Since it started to get lighter, I slowly let back down and we arrived safely back in our line.

21.6.16

Pretty mild weather. In the afternoon a number of shells came at my platoon. They were light calibers, poor material and poorly aimed. Apparently a new battery was installed. I am amazed at the beneficial change that has taken place in the people of our company. Everyone is fresh, alert, at attention. Everyone is well at their post, and when you go through the trench they start with an audible Prussian noise. Working with material like this is fun.

22.6.16

Lively mine warfare in the afternoon. A mine exploded near my shelter. We took our Lanz mine thrower, fired, and at the same time called in artillery. When Vogel and I were shooting, it went ffft - full cover - boom!!! A thing hit the shelter of the 2nd group and knocked everything to pieces. The Lanz mines were soon exhausted, I switched to the priest-type mine and rifle grenades. As I walked through the trench, guards shouted several times: Attention, Lieutenant, mine! – And, I disappeared. The things were so loud that my ears hurt, but they weren't the worst thing by a long shot. They produce small, angular pieces of coarse broken material.

Mine warfare has something eerie about it, you rarely hear anything being fired, often not even a whistle, the things fall steeply and make a terrible crash. Today Paulicke my old factotum came to me again. I had to fight hard over his ownership with Lieutenant Vogel, who had had him as an orderly while I was away and wanted him back.

2.6.16

Went on horseback to Boisleux-St-Marc, where we visited various pioneer training bridges by the small stream. Some blasting operations were also shown, which were quite interesting. Only hand grenade heads were used as blasting material, which is quite practical in the field. We were also shown the new hand grenade "Wilhelm", an impact hand grenade, which I find very useful. When you come back home, you have learned to use at least 12 different hand grenades. It will be difficult to get out of the habit of throwing explosives, against unpleasant people such a hand grenade must be very effective. On the way to Boisleux we passed through Boiry-Becquerelle. This village is quite devastated, but the white remains of the chalk stone walls are thickly overgrown with lilac bushes. There the French seemed to have been quite routed, for we rode past a large crowd of French graves.

7.6.16

Rode to Boyelles to see Field Gun 96 in the armoury. 2 large ship cannons are to come to Douchy for a few days to fire at the Laherlière station. They are to be set up in the churchyard and will have 160 horses just to operate them.

9.6.16

Rode to Boyelles to visit the division's provisions depot and slaughterhouse. The slaughtering and butchering of the cattle was going on with great speed. One blow with a heavy hammer, a stab in the neck, then a few cuts and the blood tumbled in huge waves into a box held underneath. Then busy fellows with athlete's arms come and cut the still steaming meat into many pieces. The whole thing took place in a covered courtyard, which is flooded with blood, scraps, intestinal contents. All in all, a colourful, horrible sight, intensified by the strong smell of blood. Before the war, I might not have looked at it with such calmness. Afterwards, the leader of the division slaughterhouse invited us altogether to a huge breakfast, where there were warm sausages, bread, butter and lots of cold cuts. Potato salad, beer, schnapps, cigars and cigarettes were also available in abundance. Half tipsy, we climbed onto the nags and blasted back to Croisilles. On the way, we put on a wild caracho, which was great fun for me because of the tremendous speed. Two gentlemen, on the other hand, Lieutenant Reinhard and Ensign Tellkampf, nephew of the great mathematician, separated from the horse and limped along behind for general amusement.

15.6.16

Made a long ride to Riencourt for a tactical briefing. In Riencourt is the recruiting depot of our regiment under the leadership of my old friend and patron, Brahms. There, the young recruits are trained in the tried and tested, peacetime training to become useful troops. Although I am not at all optimistic, I was struck by the fact that the recruits who made the best impression were all strong and sturdy.

16.6.16

2.4.16

Went through the trench with Sievers when a ball mine fell on the parapet next to us and exploded, throwing dirt at us. I had 5 new rifle grenades sent over, 3 of which failed to explode because we hadn't screwed in the propellant plate. In the gardens I found a pelvic bone with scraps of French red cloth still stuck to it. You gradually acquire anatomical knowledge here. From the 14th I´ll be sent to Croisilles for the officer training course. The course, in which we are to be taught the advanced knowledge of the craft, lasts two months. I don't like this interruption at all; You just console yourself with the fact that there are many good things to learn (horse riding, court system, etc.) and with the amenities of behind the front. It's a pity that this war with rifle grenades and small mines can no longer be fought, it is really interesting and exciting.

15.4.16

Yesterday we arrived in Croisilles, I moved into a very comfortable place with Lieutenant Reinhard. There are about 24 officers on the course here, including Stahlbock and a Lieutenant Löwen.

17.4.16

Went to visit my old friend Jeanne in Quéant yesterday. As I walked across the street, she came running over, beaming from ear to ear. Afterwards she told me some not-so-nice things. At 10 o'clock in the evening I went back to Croisilles. She had made coffee and it was only with difficulty that she restrained herself from giving me a few more eggs, "since I had become too emaciated in the trenches." She begged me to come back the next Sunday. Jeanne reminds me of the heroine in Sudermann's Katzensteg, but can't a pessimist like me be convinced of better impulses?

20.4.16

Today an orderly came: "Herr Lieutenant is to report to Herr Major at 6:45 in his dress uniform." When I arrived, not suspecting anything good, the major opened a small blue package and put something in my hand: "His Majesty has awarded you the Iron Cross, congratulations!" So finally, where the anniversary of Les Esparges will soon come. Although I haven't accomplished anything obvious that would prove my courage, even if I don't have all the bravado I had in the beginning, I have certainly gained in cold-bloodedness and daring and hopefully I'll soon have the opportunity to show that I'm worthy to wear the black and white ribbon. In the evening it was again, as is so often the case here, very lively that almost the entire furnishings of the casino fell victim to this liveliness.

30.4.16

In the evening I was at Jeanne's in Quéant and was warmly greeted. She told me about the first days of the war of movement.

14.5.16

Lieutenant Schulz, who arrived wounded yesterday, had his leg amputated today. In the evening I'm in Quéant with Jeanne. As I stepped out of the house at 0:30, a flashlight flashed in front of me and shone straight into my face. I immediately asked who was doing it and received the laconic answer: "Gendarme." I went to the field gendarme, who held out a metal sign with the number 41 in front of me and demanded my pay book. When I said I didn't have it, he said: "Then I have to keep Herr Lieutenant here." Holy shit, sacrament, that's ridiculous. Nothing to do. Finally the redeeming thought came to me. I knew the leader of the bakery column, Lieutenant Schoppard, old Filou. So we broke into the castle and met Schoppard in his nightgown on the swelling pillows. Thank God he recognized me and so I escaped the threat of arrest and its consequences, which would have been as fatal as they were ridiculous. The gendarme also told me that a sergeant at the train station had reported me as a suspect and since I wasn't wearing any armpit pieces with a number on my coat, the suspicion increased. A gendarme was guarding the train station, another was roaming the city, and so I, an unsuspecting man, was caught. However, the good thing was that the gendarme ruefully gave me his bike, which I then rode back, half angry, half laughing, via Lagnicourt, Noreuil, Ecoust. The thing didn't even have a brake, so you had to take the sharpest corners at terrible speed in the dark.

21.5.16

25.1.16

Nothing new in Douchy apart from the usual deaths.  In the evening there was a big celebration as we are ahead of Kaiser's birthday. I was with my unit, made a few speeches and had a good drink. Around 1 o'clock I was dragged home on the backs of some loyal men. My orderly was sensible enough to get rid of my litevka right away, so that everything went off without a hitch.

26.1.16

Was sick as a dog today. In the afternoon, the English shelled the edge of the forest facing Douchy. First you saw the huge explosion, then you heard a hiss, then the huge bang. In the evening we went into the trench. My dog Luxie felt most unhappy in the narrow, muddy trenches. In the evening Wetje sent a flag to be put up in front of the wire enclosure. I brought it up myself, even though it was a bit uncomfortable. The English seemed to be ready for action, for there was a lot of shooting and flares went off constantly.

27.1.16

The moat was festively decorated with flags. When I go to the trench, the dog accompanies me faithfully. Today the regimental order came that leave would currently not be allowed. I realised that I had been lucky again. Besides, the suspension of leave is suspicious. In the evening, the English were firing rifles madly. A few artillery shots brought them to their senses.

1.2.16

Today we relieved, or rather we were relieved. Thank God. When the relief arrived, a piece of shrapnel went straight into the trench, but it didn't explode, it burnt out. Junge from the 6th, standing right in front, was badly burned and wounded, so the medics had to take him away. Junge was my cleaner in the 6th, when I was still an ensign, a big smoker. Strange that two of my orderlies are already wounded. I now nourish myself in a new way by toasting my bread. This bread roasted over the flame tastes twice as good as usual, so I eat twice as much.

3.2.16

This morning I went to collect beetles in Monchy, despite lively shelling, and caught quite a few nice specimens. In the afternoon I searched again under the moss of the overgrown gardens. You couldn't turn around a foot wide without coming across a plethora of bullet splinters and fragments smashed into the ground. In the evening, Lieutenant Pook, Deputy Officer Sievers and I went on an excursion to the lonely wayside cottage in the field. When we came back, we stopped at the crossroads. A stray bullet struck the embankment right between us. Such stray bullets endanger you at least a dozen times a day in Monchy. In the evening we were relieved and came once again to Douchy, which had been heavily shelled an hour before. From what I could see there was quite a bit of devastation. The milk room was badly damaged, as was the quarters next to mine. A grenade exploded in the garden behind my quarters, killing a 5-year-old child and smashing all the windows in my orderly's room. A shell hit the top of a pear tree in the front yard, broke a window in my room, damaged the well and wounded several horses in the horse stable next door. At the northern exit of the village a direct hit hit a column of men, there were 13. It killed 5, wounded 7, one orderly escaped with horror. In total, around 75 heavy shells hit the village, and we still don't know what all happened. I'll inspect the damage tomorrow. Unfortunately, my quarters are just behind a pioneer park that is always heavily bombarded. The house hasn't been hit directly yet, but I don't predict anything good for my suitcase and laundry bag. The shelling will most likely continue tomorrow; our artillery is said to have started shelling villages behind the front again. Let's go.

4.2.16

Today I got a lot of shells flying my way. I got up at 8:30 to prepare the beetles I collected yesterday. I was just looking at a beautiful bark beetle when the first noise rang out. The beautiful beetle fell from my hand and in a few steps I was in the basement, where the residents of the house had already run to at astonishing speed. Now it started, ssst-boom! ssst-boom! It was nerve-wracking. Some shots came sharply at the house, or passed just over it. Will they break through the thin wall next and smash us to a pulp? ssst-boom! Oh! A fat musician screams after every shot. Ssst-boom! Air pressure rushes through the room, bricks rattle, splinters hit, windows are smashed. A whimper. The dog used the blown out door and ran to us into the basement. The seven of us squeezed into a narrow hole that is supposed to be converted into a tunnel, but now only has room for two at most. The dog forces its way between these bodies pressed together in order to gain the safest corner with the instinct of an animal. In between, always ssst-boom! ssst ---- a dud. We've already run out a few times, but the shelling always starts again. It's finally over, the village street is devastated and now alive like a disturbed anthill. There is devastation around our house. A beast hit right in front of our cellar, four meters further and we would have been lost. There is a long unexploded bomb in front of our yard. All the roofs are smashed. Gradually the nerves, which had been put to the test, calm down. I'm going to the civilian area and looking for a good cellar for the next bombardment. I'm fed up with shelling now. When I returned, I looked for my Litewka, which I kept in the company room. I was lucky. The uniforms in front of them were pierced by large splinters, and a splinter had gone into the wall close to the Litewka. But there it was, like the coat, still hanging, new and intact.

8.2.16

29.11.15

Yesterday we left Douchy to go to Quéant for 10 days relaxation. However, the question arises as to whether this recovery represents the calm before the storm, as was the case in Belgium. We walked 21 km to arrive in Quéant at 7:30 in the evening. Ensign Schulz and I got a room in the house of a French old woman. Unfortunately there is no oven in it, but there is a huge bed made of fine, polished, heavy wood and very wide. Prepared with the French refinery that I got to know during my stay in France a few years ago. At the bottom there is a huge mattress, then a cozy underbed, then another covered with linen, on top of that another linen, half pulled back over the blanket, both so that you can crawl in as if in a sack. Finally, add a silk down padding on top. You can imagine that we slept splendidly after a long march that took us straight from the trenches to this quarter. However, Schulz always threw himself back and forth like a pike. Thank God the bed is wide enough. This morning, by the way, Schulz opened the day by breaking a mirror.

1.12.15

Now the first day of the Christmas month has begun. Since yesterday noon I have been sitting as chairman of the Quéant local guard. My only regret is that I had to swap sleep in the big bed for sleep in my blanket on a bed of lice-infested straw. On a watch like this, sitting by the fire, you come up with a lot of thoughts. You look out the window and feel sad when you see what northern France has become. How completely different it was here 5 years ago. Where has it gone, the comfortable culture of enjoying life, this broadly flowing life. That red wine and the round, flaky white bread and the delicious ragouts of northern French cuisine, where have they gone? Over! Gone, perhaps never to return. At the front, the villages were destroyed, the trees were shot, the wells fell into disrepair, the fields were disturbed and overgrown. Here in the occupied country a people is forced to live a way of life that it has never known, forced to swallow the gray bread of war and forced to give birth to children who perhaps later will not fit into this happy land. And I will not be able to make the journey to Paris and Versailles, will not be able to rejoice in the land of wine and joy, because between me and you there is a wall, a river of blood flows, blood perhaps uselessly spilled, millions of mothers in grief and misery. Before the war, I thought like some people: destroy the old building, the new one will definitely be better. But now - it seems to me that culture and everything great is slowly being suffocated by war. The war made me long for the blessings of peace. But enough of this guardhouse philosophy! We're supposed to get new rifles in a few days, that's a suspicious sign. One day in our old position it will be: Alarm! We're going into battle, which will be good again.

4.12.15

In the morning, a delicious oyster breakfast with wine. Casino in the evening, then we went to the 8th Company's beer party, drank beer and ate sausages and mett. At night we went to the "King" of Quéant, where we paid homage to the king. Under His Majesty's cheerful presidium, a colossal drinking session ensued that lasted until about 5 o'clock.

8.12.15