November 166h 1916.
As I lie here in my dug aside writing to you, by torchlight, under my lice infested, rat chewed mantelpiece, I on the spur of the moment realise only how c darkened it is in these trenches. I presuppose I dont usu solelyy feel it because I am so used to it by in a flash. But after the telling pelting of today the usually cold and damp trench seems frequently, much worse, in fact Im non sure if it really qualifies as a trench any more than; it has become more uniform a collapsing pit of flowing mud, with a a couple of(prenominal) decomposing bodies, whom I once knew as friends and colleagues, thrown in. I some whiles interrogate if this is all worth it, there is so much finale surrounding me that it has shaken my faith in what I am doing, when I first entered the trenches I was a young feller full of enthusiasm to serve his king and country, besides now I often lie here wondering who is more to blame for this war, our government or Germanys. I would however do anything I could to get this war over with as betting as possible, just to get dressing to good old Blighty, t see my wife and kids again, I would do anything for that. And the food, angelical lord how I miss the food, you know you do when u start drooling over the r argon rasher of bacon that makes it here, the smell of it is a god send comp ared to the usual stenches which fill our lives here, the stench of ending is the most unavoidable, it is everywhere you go, identical a thick blanket of smell which just descended upon you nose wholeness day and has never left wing. Your nose is not the only sense under b ratiocination here though, oh no, your tongue comes in for a time of it too, not only can you smell the bodies, tho its almost like you can taste it too, the food here is bad enough, all of which already tastes like sand, but every time you square reach your teeth into bread or sip your cup of teatime you cant help but feel you are some how ingesting you utterly comrades that lie sometimes just feet away. I sometimes like I was actually born German, not because I obligate with what they are doing or anything like that, but for the sheer fact that their trenches sound like palaces compared to ours, twice as deep and make of concrete, not mud which slides onto you with the first sign of rain, they seem to establish put effort into theirs, unlike ours which have been thrown together like some childs toy. But all of this is just a dream for me, and talking of dreams I best be off for tonight.
November 21st 1916
Im sorry I havent written for a while, but I have been busy stressful to salvage what is left of this god forsaken trench, after a downpour a few nights ago the entire walls just caved in, fortunately not painful sensation anyone but making it extremely difficult to fight. These trenches have begun to aroma like holding cells to me, a place which I am destined to spend the stand firm few months of my bread and butter in until I am one day just kill like some sort of mouse in a lab experiment, maybe thats all this war is just one big experiment to see how humans cope, I just dont know anymore, this place leaves you with so many mixed emotions that you barleycorn feel anything anymore. Just the need to survive and get class to see loved ones, but even the command for life can be tested in this war.
Ive started to loose my hearing, if youve been bombarded with shells for the last eleven months thats no real surprise though, it comes and goes, one twinkling I can hear fine, the next everything is muffled and indistinct. My feet are also beginning to suffer more and more, this is the first time I have truly begun to get trench backside, the heavy rains of the last few days have made them sheik more than usual. The cold and damp has had one advantage though, the lice tend not to like it, as long as you are cold they leave you alone, its when you heat up they start to collation you like the blasted devil! I think they are possibly the worst thing I have to populate out here, though the lack of sleep is just as bad, I havent slept properly for at least three months, not since those blasted planes started flying, its not that they do much damage but they dont half make a racket. We dont seem the only concourse being annoyed with them though, last night in my dug-out, where I had pushed my backpack to the precedent of me to try and block the noise, I awoke to regain a rat the size of a small suction stop burled up inside of my blanket. I was too trite to do anything though; he didnt bite and was just trying to get some shut eye like me. I just hope he hasnt passed anything to me. This may be the last time I write in this diary from the front line at least, apparently my hearing and trench foot means I am being moved back to the reserve trenches, finally some peace from this place which has own my life for nearly a year now, and I am one step closer to the white cliffs of Dover. Good night.
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