The Night Was As Black As Ink; It Was Impossible to See More Than a Yard Or So, Except

Source 1

“ The night was as black as ink; it was impossible to see more than a yard or so, except when a flare went up. Imagine a long line of hot and angry men stumbling along in utter blackness, everyone doing his best to keep up with the fellow in front yet not quite able to ignore the anxious cries from behind, "Where are you? We're losing touch!" None of us was familiar with the country, and every man knew that on him rested responsibility for all those behind him. The man in front of me was a little fellow about fifteen years older than most of us and several degrees above us in social standing. He was said to be a First Division Civil Servant. Being short, he found even greater difficulty than the rest of us. I well remember seeing him climb the step and almost fall down the other side into the darkness. It may be said that that was my last sight of him, for he was killed that night. The valley between us and the front line was being bombarded pretty heavily. We could hear shell after shell hurtling down into it, the scream of its passage and the roar of its explosion magnified by the echoes. On the height a couple of machine guns kept up a rat-tat-tat-tat.”

Source 2:

It is a delightful journey. Wonderful weather.

We mostly sit on the machine guns, which

are placed on open carriages. Somebody

said: “this way we get to see, what we will

defend”. Infinite amounts of good things at

the rest stops...

Huge enthousiasm everywhere. If you were here

as well, it would be the most beautiful trip I've ever

made.

Source 3:

Our men have had a terrible experience of 72 hours in trenches, drenched through and in some places knee-deep in mud and water. To see them come out, and line up, and march off is almost terrible . They don't look like strong young men. They are muddied to the eyes. Their coats are plastered with mud and weigh an awful weight with the water which has soaked in. Their backs are bent, and they stagger and totter along with the weight of their packs. Their faces are white and haggard and their eyes glare out from mud which with short, bristly beards give them an almost beastlike look. They look like wounded or sick wild things. I have seen nothing like it. The collapse after rowing or running is nothing like it. Many, too many, who are quite beat, have to be told they must walk it. Then comes a nightmare of a march for about 2 to 4 miles, when the men walk in a trance… and in about 3 days, they are as fit as ever again.

Source 4:

Dear Madam!

Painfully I fulfill the sad duty to inform you, that your dear son, our

brave comrade, on the 23rd of July, shortly after 7 pm, by artillery fire,

found a light hero's death. In spite of his youth he kept going until

the last moment with dedication, sense of duty and inspirational

bravery. The regiment comrades and the troops of the 3rd

company are deeply saddened by the loss of this sweet and humble

officer. Personally, as his battailion commander, I can ensure you, that

he most utterly fulfilled his duty and died as a hero facing the

enemy! The comrades had to lay him to a last rest at that very spot,

south west of Martinpuich, as recovery is not possible in the

horrendous battle. Rest ensured of our deepest sympathy.

Respectfully, Klutmann