The Trenches Read Online Free

seasick as well he stopped pretending.
    During this long journey there was a sense of excitement among all of us. Not only were we going abroad, we were going to fight the Hun!
    The train from Boulogne took us to a town called St Omer. All the way along on the train I kept expecting to see signs of the War, but the only real signs were the large amount of soldiers everywhere all dressed in khaki. That, and big guns on wheels being hauled along.
    I saw a few tanks as well. I’d never seen tanks before. They were huge metal monsters with caterpillar tracks, and big guns poking out. It was said they could crawl over any sort of mud and just keep firing, the shots from the enemy would just bounce off the metal casing.
    â€œNot much sign of any fighting,” said Wally, looking disappointed.
    â€œDon’t worry, you’ll find it soon enough all right,” said another soldier who was pushing his way through the crowded train. “And if you don’t, it’ll find you.”
    When we reached St Omer we were transferred to buses taking us to a smaller town called Poperinghe.
    â€œHow d’you spell that?” Danny asked an older soldier.
    â€œWhy d’you want to know how to spell it?” asked the soldier. “This war’s about fighting, not about reading.”
    â€œI need to know so when I write home to my mum I can tell her where I am,” said Danny.
    The older soldier laughed out loud.
    â€œ What’s so funny?” asked Danny, puzzled.
    â€œIt’s a waste of time putting place names in any letters back home,” said the soldier. “They cross ’em out.”
    â€œWho do?” asked Alf.
    â€œThe army censors,” replied the soldier. “It’s in case our letters fall into enemy hands. They don’t want the Hun knowing where our units are, or what we’re doing, do they?”
    I was a bit annoyed at the thought of someone else reading my letters home. Letters are supposed to be private. Mind, I could see that what the soldier said made sense.
    The village we were headed for, this Poperinghe, was in an area called Passchendaele. It was near a town they said was called Wipers (which I found out later was spelled Ypres and was actually pronounced Eepre).
    I kept my eyes on the landscape as our bus rolled along. It was flat country, really flat, made up of green fields with a small wood every now and then. I could see a few houses scattered about here and there in between the fields. It reminded me a bit of the flat part of Cumberland back home, up by the Solway Plain, but even that had more hills than this place.
    It was nightfall when we finally got to Poperinghe. There was no time to take a look at the town and get an idea of what it was like: as soon as we got off our bus we were lined up and marched off towards some fields just outside the town where the army had set up camp. Rows and rows of tents stretched for what looked like miles. The Union Jack flew on a flag-pole. In other fields further away I could see other flags flying.
    â€œAustralians,” nodded Wally, pointing at one of the other flags, which seemed to be stars and a small Union Jack on a blue flag. “I recognize the flag ’cos I’ve got an uncle who lives out there.”
    â€œMaybe he’ll be over here with the Australian troops?” suggested Danny.
    â€œUnlikely,” said Wally. “He’s 70 years old.”
    We were assigned six men to a tent, and our group snaffled a tent quick so that we could all be together. We’d each grabbed a bunk and were starting to sort our gear out, when a soldier from another unit poked his head into our tent.
    â€œNew arrivals?” he asked.
    â€œAye,” said Charlie. “Just got here.”
    â€œWell, in a minute the bugle’s going to blow for food, so if you want to make sure you get there among the first, take my tip and head over to the mess tent right now.”
    With that he gave