Tommy (37 page)

This was evidently too flimsy a structure to sustain serious shellfire, and would not have passed muster much later in the war, but the assorted personal litter is entirely characteristic of a dugout's contents.

Edward Underhill found himself in a more typical dugout, of the cut-and-cover variety, at Mont St-Eloi in April 1916. ‘I and F— and two platoons are in support,' he wrote,

Company Sergeant Major Shephard thought his company headquarters dugout on the Somme:

Dugouts this big led off support or reserve lines. Less sophisticated versions were often dug below the parados of a front-line trench, and these:

British advances on the Somme in 1916 and at Ypres the following year brought German dugouts, so deep as to be impervious to even the heaviest shells, within their grasp. In November 1916 Edward Underhill reported that:

As the Germans discovered that trenches, however well constructed, were no match for the growing power of British artillery, they paid increasing attention to the construction of concrete blockhouses which still squat on the landscape of the old front line like huge mottled grey toads. Some were designed to house machine guns, while others were designed primarily as headquarters and troop shelters. These too were incorporated into British defensive systems after their capture, although the process was rarely a pleasant one, as Huntley Gordon, an artillery observation officer, discovered on Westhoek Ridge, outside Ypres, in 1917.

A well-developed trench system had other features. Latrines were essential, and it was a matter of unit pride to keep them in good order and to prevent men from relieving themselves in the trench. Trench latrines, generally situated down a short sap running through the parados, might consist of a bucket or a ‘deep-drop' latrine topped by a pole. Some of the latter were very deep indeed. When Sidney Rogerson's company of 2/West Yorkshire was establishing itself in the front line on the Somme in November 1917 Lance Corporal Rumbold set up two or three latrines ‘as effective as they appeared hygienic'. One was certainly deep enough for them to experiment by firing captured German artillery alarm rockets into it to see what colours they were. Rumbold was the sanitary corporal, and there was one in each company, responsible for trench latrines, and for more sophisticated arrangements out of the line. Frank Dunham became sanitary corporal in 1918, and found it: ‘Not a pleasant job, perhaps, but one that had advantages, for I had no parades to attend, and my time was my own. The holder of this job was invariably termed “NCO i/c shit wallers” by his fellows, which was perhaps the worst that could be said of it.' In Frederick Hodges's company of 10/Lancashire Fusiliers the sanitary man was Corporal Dean, inevitably known as Gunga Dean. Some sanitary men took pride in their duties. David Jones encountered a well-educated comrade carrying two brimming latrine buckets.

Trench latrine buckets would be emptied in nearby shell holes and their contents covered with earth, and chloride of lime with a light sprinkling of fine soil was thrown into deep-drop latrines. When conditions permitted latrines were inspected not simply by commanding officers and adjutants on their rounds, but by medical staff officers from higher formations. In 1917 Major G. O. Chambers, on the medical staff of the Cavalry Corps, having inspected the trenches held by 1st Life Guards, reported: ‘Latrines. Fly proof pails – sufficient in quantity. Urine tubs being in front of latrines in recess of trench – ground soiled with urine.' He recommended moving them and installing ‘a splash board to prevent dripping'.
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When men were billeted in barns or houses behind the lines sanitary men were responsible for digging trench latrines in some convenient spot, maintaining them, and then either handing them over in good order to an incoming unit or filling them in. Men closer to the front line, but not actually in a forward trench system, enjoyed the comparative comfort of:

Front-line latrines were no respecters of rank, but the hierarchy reasserted itself out of the line. Julian Tyndale-Biscoe recalled how, on his gun position:

With the proliferation of trench mortars in the British army from 1915 onwards special bays were required to house these short-range weapons. A purpose-built trench-mortar dugout was laid out like a letter E rotated forwards through a right angle. The mortar itself was in the right-hand arm, and the remainder was roofed in, with an ammunition bay in the central arm and a shelter for the detachment in the left-hand arm. Second Lieutenant Bryan Latham, who volunteered for the trench mortars to escape an excess of ‘bull' in an infantry battalion, admitted that: ‘The infantry were not always pleased with us, as they claimed that with our playthings we excited the German mortars in retaliation, which the infantry had to bear, whereas we having done our firing were entitled to take refuge in the aforementioned dugout.'
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Trench-mortar detachments generally arrived shortly before battle commenced. For a small-scale operation on 16 June 1916, in which his fire plan was to commence with a bombardment of the German wire at 10.30 pm, Latham recalled: ‘I think we were all of us glad when a quarter to ten arrived, and we had to be up and doing.' If there were no proper trench-mortar dugouts the weapons would be fired from short saps, and infantrymen, who were inclined not to welcome a weapon which generally attracted retaliation, sometimes sought to make mortar saps uninhabitable (or at least very unpleasant for the mortarmen) by using them as latrines.

A battalion's aid post would be sited somewhere in its sector, probably opening off the reserve trench. Manned by the regimental medical officer, this was the first port of call for a wounded man, who would make his own way there or be carried in by stretcher-bearers. In mobile operations at the beginning and end of the war aid posts were set up in whatever cover was available. Arthur Osburn worked out of limestone caves at Paissy on the Aisne in September, and Lieutenant Cyril Helm, RMO of a/King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, found himself, appropriately enough, in the cellar of a doctor's house at much the same time. Once trench warfare settled in, however, purpose-built aid posts were constructed. A favourite method was to use elephant iron – half-round sections of heavy corrugated metal – to roof short saps running off either side of a reserve or communication trench. The elephant iron, which was stout enough to take the weight of earth and sandbags, offered a measure of protection to the doctor and his orderlies, and to a small number of wounded on stretchers; the proximity to a communication trench made it easier for bearers to take stretcher cases on the next stage of their journey back. But an aid post had all too small a capacity, and in a major battle would speedily be clogged up with wounded as the doctor proceeded with the grim business of triage, working out which cases could wait, which required urgent evacuation, and which were beyond human help.

No overview of trenches would be complete without mention of the trench stores which formed the permanent fixtures of the place and were handed over (and signed for) when one unit relieved another. Each company would have a reserve of small-arms ammunition (SAA in the jargon of the day) and a grenade store, sited in small covered bunkers with prominent signs. Their contents were easily accessible in the event of a surprise attack, and could be made ready on the firestep or elbow-rest if there was time available. Captain H. Blair, commanding B Company 2/Royal Welch Fusiliers, arrived in the front line on 21 June 1916 and was ‘filled with a haunting unrest. I sent my Sergeant-Major to have boxes of bombs placed on the firesteps and the pins pinched ready for use, boxes of reserve SAA too were to be ready to hand.' He had just spoken to a sentry and an NCO when a mine blew up under the company's position, leaving him unconscious and partially buried. However, his precautions enabled his surviving platoon to give a good account of itself.