Its 4:30am. You haven’t slept for 2 days, and haven’t eaten in twice that. Battle fatigue dispels your thoughts and feelings. Swarms of lice are more common than bullets, and your rough wool uniform rubs against your raw skin. In war you are powerless. Liam Wilson presents excerpts from the war diary of Howard Thompson.  24/1/16 Today I woke suddenly. Father came booming up the stairs shouting, “Howard, the soldiers are here! Through the delirium of my sleep I could not focus on what he was saying nor comprehend the hour in which he had woke me. I glanced over to my clock; 2:20am.  I looked out of my window and saw around 50 green-clad soldiers marching down the main road of Baslow.  They looked so prim and proper with their gleaming rifles and polished shoes. I wanted to be one of these men. I dressed with great speed and purpose, and before long I was collecting my ‘King’s shilling’* from the Lieutenant.

26/1/16
Soon after I departed from our small dwelling much was a blur. Within a day I am near my training site off the coast of Norwich. I am seeing things that I have not seen before, and even held my first army issue rifle. The mountains of men that march into the barracks look my age, even the Lieutenant seems rather young and naïve, and there is nobody over 25.  I hope to make friends soon. Training starts tomorrow.

5/2/16
After several weeks of training my hands and legs ache like never before. Even after tough days in winter on the farm, my body has never been this exhausted. The corporal makes us run through the cold dirt of the fields, and climb the steep rocks of the coast; I fear I may collapse soon if we do the same route. After receiving a letter from father my heart lifts, he says that with my shilling they are repairing the house. Whilst I am fighting for my king, he and kitty are living in happiness. My heart is warm.

24/2/16
Now I am overlooking the barracks, the men are down but not out. The training remains intense, but my body pulses with new muscles and vigour. After my shy arrival I have made new friends in my division, one in particular stands out.  A Scouse lad, James. I only learnt what scouse was the other day, to the great amusement of my comrades. Back home he has left his sweetheart and child, my heart goes out to him and them. There is another man that stands out, his name is Geoffrey and he is from Gravesend.  Some of the things he says escape me.  They claim I have too much Yorkshire in me to understand his southern tongue. He is such a clever, educated man, he will be an officer soon.

18/3/16
As I expected, Geoffrey was made an officer. He now has double rations and drinks in the officer’s mess with padded seats, and was given the standard issue revolver. Over these past months our training has stretched beyond the realms of physical endurance. Now we fight and work as soldiers, reminiscent of those I had seen only a few months before, but not nearly as well-kept. Tomorrow I will wake once again to duel against the straw bags with my bayonet*. From what the officers tell us the bags are stronger than the tramps and old dogs we will fight.

15/4/16
I am apprehensive now. Our training is finished and we are going to fight, the trucks and munitions are being slowly loaded up and made ready. Each man has his full kit washed and prepared.  In my pocket, I have a picture of my family. It keeps me positive, thinking about being with them again in celebration.  We are sitting and waiting in our trucks, although it is April the cold seems to bite down hard on each man. I will write later, they are starting the trucks up and preparing to leave.

18/4/16
I have not been able to write for several days. We are sitting tight in a reserve camp near Calais. Word has it that we will be venturing into the front line soon. I am scared, so very scared. I can’t express my feelings to my father in a letter. Hopefully god will tell him how I am feeling so he can help me through this. As we travel slowly towards the line, the explosions get louder and louder and the rations become smaller and smaller.

By Liam Wilson

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