The 5th Seaforth Highlanders in the trenches

From The Great War Diaries of John Bruce Cairnie of the 5th Seaforth Highlanders, 1915, transcribed by James Bruce.

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06-Jul-15

A fine morning. Had to wait on after stand-to (3 a.m.) in case the Briggie comes along. Shaved, breakfasted and to bed. The redoubts were shelled while I slept and one high explosive landed just behind the parados beside the bomb supply. Fortunately they didn’t explode. The can get a perfect enfilade on the redoubts so we are going to strengthen the traverses. I went up in the forenoon and underwent the next part of the bombardment which was not so trying as I expected. However the shells weren’t coming within 50 yards but the splints sang and hummed overhead. I got one wee bit on the leg but only a scratch. It is shrapnel that plays the mischief as regards splinters.

At night again the fun started but Y got it worst. I don’t know how they hadn’t some casualties. Fortunately a lot of the shells didn’t explode – duds. Later the Bosches started rapid fire, having spotted a work party of Argyles so we had a hot time, the bullets going cracking overhead. I wasn’t excited, but it took some nerve to put my head above the parapet. The Argyles who were with us were a great asset. Donnie Morrison is a very useful and willing man. I’m glad to have him.

07-Jul-15

Stayed in Z Redoubt until after seven a.m. when I came down to HQ and got shaved. It was a pretty quiet day as far as the redoubts were concerned although they have been searching again for the sap head. In the afternoon there was fairly heavy bombardment of the rest of the line but no damage was done. Finlayson took over the redoubts at 8:30 p.m. and I moved my platoon down to the parapet opposite HQ. Am now fine and near the dug-out and more in the centre of things. Turned in at 11:30 p.m. so as to be able to relieve Finlayson at 3 a.m. I hear there was pretty heavy firing after I went to bed but never a thing did I hear.

08-Jul-15

Finlayson called me at 3 a.m. but as things were quiet I didn’t get up till after 4. Went round the redoubts, shaved and had breakfast. Pte W Reid of my platoon was shot through the side while working behind the parapet. He died shortly afterwards. We thought at first it might have been an accident by a couple of Argyle snipers behind, but as another two bullets have come into same spot, I am pretty sure it is a German sniper. We hunted round behind for him unsuccessfully, but they are devilishly cunning.

Slept in the afternoon, censored some letters and went along the line to see Addie. I never feel as sad as when I see poor old Addie’s face. I believe ‘C’ would put up a desperate fight but their spirit is clean gone at present.

Went out on reconnoitring patrol about 11 a.m. with Sgt J. Fraser and a man. Were out for at least an hour and a half but didn’t see or hear anything. I was quite nervous and ‘chattery’ before going out but soon settled down once I was there. We got out a good bit. Went to bed at 1:20 a.m. The Germans have been sending over some big shells today and trench mortars. They are getting onto our new communication trench.

09-Jul-15

Wakened by Finlayson at 3 a.m. All quiet. Some trench mortars came over about breakfast time but did no damage. Lay in a ruined cottage for a couple of hours with my corporal to see if that sniper would come out, but no luck. Shells began to come over so we had to shift. Went out with Finnie and C. Serg. Major Miller and got some shell fuses belonging behind the lines.

Were relieved at 9:30 by incoming Brigade. Nasty jamb getting men in as they had far more than us. If the Germans had sent over some well aimed trench mortars they would have done tremendous execution but they were unaccountably quiet and probably being relieved themselves. Got down to the far end of Laventie without mishap although one bullet made the skin of my back creep. The men got tea and were led to their billets. Then we got to ours and had a grand supper with fried eggs, etc. in the Café Aux Voyageurs. Turned in at 1 p.m.

10-Jul-15

Breakfast about 8 a.m. – ham and eggs, sausages, tea, etc quite a good affair, with Steven D in attendance. Company parade at 11 a.m. for inspection by C.O. – rifles, bayonets, shaving, etc. The Colonel was unconsciously particular, as if men carried burnishers in their kit. Slept in the afternoon and wandered down town in the evening with little Willie. Rather colder today. A few shells falling not far away, watched apathetically by the remaining inhabitants from their door-steps.

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City of Independence

Today’s a big day here in Philadelphia – it’s Independence Day!

There are many other reasons I love living in Philadelphia. Here are a couple of them. This mural, representing local independent radio station WXPN, is one. The mural is located in West Philadelphia.


And here’s another reason – this church was built in 1886. It’s also in West Philadelphia. Eventually it was struck by lightning. It’s no longer in use. I think it’s for sale, though. I think it’s really striking. Pardon the expression!

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Robert Graves, "A Dead Boche"

A Dead Boche

To you who’d read my songs of War
And only hear of blood and fame,
I’ll say (you’ve heard it said before)
“War’s Hell!” and if you doubt the same,
Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood:

Where, propped against a shattered trunk,
In a great mess of things unclean,
Sat a dead Boche; he scowled and stunk
With clothes and face a sodden green,
Big-bellied, spectacled, crop-haired,
Dribbling black blood from nose and beard.

–Robert Graves

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Brenda Shaughnessy, "Miracles"

Miracles

I spent the whole day
crying and writing, until
they became the same,

as when the planet covers the sun
with all its might and still
I can see it; or when one dead

body gives its heart
to a name on a list. A match.
A light. Sailing a signal

flare behind me for another to find.
A scratch on the page
is a supernatural act, one twisting

fire out of water, blood out of stone.
We can read us. We are not alone.

— Brenda Shaughnessy

The Nation 290:24, June 21, 2010

Thanks to T., who brought this poem to my attention.

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Down the Rabbit Hole to Alison’s Wonderland

I’m over at the Savvy Authors blog today, talking about inspiration.

Happy launch day to Alison’s Wonderland from Harlequin Spice!


“From a perverse prince to a vampire-esque Sleeping Beauty, the stars of these reimagined tales are—like the original protagonists—chafing at desire unfulfilled.”

Alison’s Wonderland blog, which features interviews with the anthology authors (including me, in my Elspeth Potter persona) and other fun stuff.

Buy the book at Amazon.com.

Read more about editor Alison Tyler, the Trollop With a Laptop.

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Non-White WWI Soldier Picspam

Today’s post is picspam – these are all photos of soldiers from World War One. They weren’t all white. Not by a longshot.




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Dating for Writing

If I’m having a really hard time motivating myself to write–and by write, I mean planting myself in a chair to just do it–I make a date. There are several advantages to making a date.

1. The time is scheduled. I feel obligated just because it’s in my datebook. I feel even more obligated if I announce that I have a writing date on Twitter or similar.

2. If I don’t show up, my fellow writer will be annoyed.

3. If I show up and don’t write, the date will be a failure.

4. If I don’t show up, or show up and don’t write, then I have to tell people I wimped out.

5. I always feel better after I’ve added wordcount.

So, essentially, a writing date shames me into writing. There are other reasons for writing dates, for instance seeing a writer friend, but right now, making myself write is the main reason for me.

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Which Book? Oh, Which?

So many books, so little time! How do I choose what to read next?

The illustration for this post is some of my giant To Be Read pile, extracted from its boxes and strewn all over my bed for its photo opportunity. (And let me tell you, that was a terrifying experience. I suspect the TBR weighs more than I do.)

Mostly, I keep books in boxes to cut down on dust, but it also helps me to prioritize. Books out of sight are out of mind. If I get a long-awaited book by a particularly beloved author who does not publish a lot, I will often stow that book away for a while, saving it for a special occasion. It helps if I can’t see the book lying there begging me to read it. Laura Kinsale’s newest, Lessons in French, is hidden away for that reason, as is the newest Caroline Stevermer, a middle-grade fantasy titled Magic Below Stairs, and Molly Gloss’ most recent novel, The Hearts of Horses, which I’ve been saving for quite a while. Can you tell I’m not a “dessert first” reader most of the time?

I’ve been known to save books for years after buying them in hardcover as soon as they were available, not reading them until long after they’ve come out in mass market paperback. Yeah, I know, it’s weird.

There are times when I will read a book immediately after I’ve received it. I do this if, for example, the book is a galley or ARC given to me by a friend for review (I often chat about books in my LiveJournal / Dreamwidth Journal). Or I’ll sometimes be enticed to read the book quickly because there’s a lot of online discussion of it, and I want to be able to follow along with the various reviews and discussions.

Mostly, though, I choose by impulse, from the one open box in my TBR. The books I feel I’m probably going to read in the near future are in that box. Sometimes I rotate books in and out of that box, or rearrange several of the TBR boxes, and perhaps even cull out a book or two I’ve decided I no longer want to read. I can’t describe the sense of luxury I get from looking at all I have stocked up to read. It’s a pleasure every time I look through and choose which book to read next.

What about you? How do you choose what to read next?

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Siegfried Sassoon, "Lamentations"

Lamentations

I found him in the guard-room at the Base.
From the blind darkness I had heard his crying
And blundered in. With puzzled, patient face
A sergeant watched him; it was no good trying
To stop it; for he howled and beat his chest.
And, all because his brother had gone west,
Raved at the bleeding war; his rampant grief
Moaned, shouted, sobbed, and choked, while he was kneeling
Half-naked on the floor. In my belief
Such men have lost all patriotic feeling.

–Siegfried Sassoon, Counter-Attack and Other Poems, 1918

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"The End," Wilfred Owen

The End

After the blast of lightning from the east,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot Throne;
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased,
And by the bronze west long retreat is blown,

Shall Life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will he annul, all tears assuage?–
Or fill these void veins full again with youth,
And wash, with an immortal water, Age?

When I do ask white Age he saith not so:
‘My head hangs weighed with snow.’
And when I hearken to the Earth, she saith:
‘My fiery heart shrinks, aching. It is death.
Mine ancient scars shall not be glorified,
Nor my titanic tears, the seas, be dried.’

–Wilfred Owen (1893 – 1918)

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