Because letters are getting scarce, I have decided to include letters further a field and have included the upper valley reaches such as Cwmgorse.
“Somewhere in France,
“July 26th, 1916.
“Just a line to give you a few of my impressions of my experiences of the ‘Big Push’ of these last few weeks, which started July 1st. Well, I have been in the thick of it ever from the start. I saw our Tommies making their charge for one of the first villages they captured, and, my word, you ought to see them going after they had the order, ‘Over you go, Boys,’ and they soon had the position well in hand.
The signal of it was too ghastly to mention, as they were bombing and bayoneting the Germans out of their trenches. It is difficult to find out what is the universal feeling amongst the men from conversations I have had with many, that it strikes them in many different ways; but they all seem to say that the half hour previous to going over is the worst, as our Tommies are so eager to ‘go over the top.’
After that all seems a blur on their memory. There are many incidents in a man’s life that stand out in his memory, and which are unforgettable when he ponders over the past by the side of a bright fire on a dull winter’s night, and I can assure you I shall never forget the sight of those tattered and torn heroes as they came fresh from the hell of the 300 yards of ‘No Man’s Land.’
As soon as this came off we had orders to go up and attend the poor wounded Tommies that had fallen, and all this time we were under heavy shell fire. It was nothing but an inferno of shrapnel flying about everywhere, but our pluck and determination brought our poor Tommies out from danger.
After they had been attended by us, we were kept busy night and day in bringing the wounded down for seven days, during which we were relieved by another Field Ambulance, and were only too glad to get a little rest.
While I was bringing one wounded Tommy down, I met them bringing down over five hundred prisoners that day, and I took particular notice of one old man, he was sixty years of age. He had seen some hard times, and he said to one of our boys who happened to know a little of the German language that he had only been in the Army three months.
They were shelling everywhere around us; the cars had to fly as soon as they could out of the place of danger. One experience I had I shall never forget as long as I live. I had orders to go down to fetch the rations up to the dressing station from the transport section further down the line.
We sent it up in a horse ambulance wagon, and while unloading the ambulance wagon at the dressing station, one of the sergeants shouted to the driver to turn back as quick as he could. No sooner he had whipped the horses round than a huge shell came over on the very spot where the wagon stood, and I was only ten yards away.
I put myself flat down on the floor, leaving myself to the mercy of the shell that exploded, but as luck happened, it was not of a heavy calibre, or else I would not have been alive now. I felt a little dazed for a while with the vibration of the shock. But, thank God, I have come out safe and sound once again from that inferno of shell fire.
Only today I had just heard that we have lost one of our sergeants up in the trenches. We have had a great loss after him, as he was a dispenser, and a keen sportsman amongst us lot; and also we had another sergeant wounded severely in the thigh. He also was very popular amongst us. I can tell you we mourn the loss of these two men, as they were so popular with everyone.
It is difficult to write in cold words of the many cases of heroism and pluck we have seen these last few days. The price of victory must ever be costly, and these last few days we have worked hard, from our C. O. down to private. No fewer than two thousand wounded went through the first few days to our hospital, which is further down the line, and then they were sent to the Base Hospital to England.
I can tell you, to prove how perfect was our system of dealing with the wounded, that each of these cases received full attention as if he were a private patient, in addition to which he had, if desired, a cup of cocoa, and bread and butter and jam (to you people at home that may seem a Spartan menu, but I can assure you it was highly appreciated by the hungry men).
Our work is men’s work, calling for pluck and patience, and, of course, we are given no weapon to defend ourselves in case of attack from the gently Hun, who respects the Geneva Cross as much as a cannibal does a fat missionary.
Our crowd can perform deeds of ‘derring do’ by the very work of succour and help for the wounded. First, there are the stretcher bearers, and then the medical staff, who work without kudos or glory.
There is one peculiar phase amongst the wounded we attend, and that is the manner in which they endure pain, even when two men are injured in precisely the same spot and the extent of the damage is identical. The consensus of opinion goes to show that the smaller and more delicate the patient, the better he appears to bear the torture.
Perhaps you would like to know who I am in person. I’m a Cwmgorse citizen. I have lived over nine years there, as I used to work at the East Pit, Gwaun-cae-gurwen Collieries, and was a member of the Tabernacle Church, of which the Rev. T. M. Roderick is the minister.
I generally get a copy sent me of the Amman Valley Chronicle every
Week by my brother-in-law and sister, who live at Leavesland, Llwyn Road, Cwmgorse, and I thought you would like to have word from me as a reader of your paper.
So I will end my letter by wishing you great success with your paper in future – I remain, &c.,
“Private RICHARD DAVIES 48754.
“Field Ambulance.
“R. A. M. C.
