The Mental Side of Fighting
“I mention, merely as an interesting fact in psychology, how in a crisis of this sort one’s mental faculties are sharpened. Instinct told us when the shells were coming gradually closer to crouch down in the holes until they had passed. Acquired knowledge, on the other hand—the knowledge instilled into one by lectures and books (of which I have only read one, namely, Haking’s ‘Company Training’)—told us that it was safer in the long run to push ahead before the enemy got the range, and it was acquired knowledge that won. And here’s another observation I should like to make by the way: I remember reading somewhere, I think it was in a book by Winston Churchill, that of the battle of Omdurman the writer could recollect nothing in the way of noise; he had an acute visual recollection of all that went on about him, but his aural recollection was nil; he could only recall the scene as if it were a cinematograph picture. Curiously, this was my own experience at Ginchy. The din must have been deafening (I learned afterward that it could be heard miles away), yet I have only a confused remembrance of it. Shells, which at any other time would have scared me out of my wits, I never so much as heard—not even when they were bursting quite close to me. One landed in the midst of a bunch of men about seventy yards away on my right; I have a most vivid recollection of seeing a tremendous burst of clay and earth go shooting up into the air—yes, and even parts of human bodies—and that when the smoke cleared away there was nothing left. I shall never forget that horrifying spectacle as long as I live, but I shall remember it as a sight only, for I can associate no sound with it.
“IT WAS HELL LET LOOSE”
“How long we were in crossing No Man’s Land I don’t know. It could not have been more than five minutes, yet it seemed much longer. We were now well up to the Boche. We had to clamber over all manner of obstacles—fallen trees, beams, great mounds of brick and rubble—in fact, over the ruins of Ginchy. It seems like a nightmare to me now. I remember seeing comrades falling round me. My sense of hearing returned, for I became conscious of a new sound, namely, the pop, pop, pop of machine guns and the continuous crackling of rifle fire. I remember men lying in shell holes holding out their arms and beseeching water. I remember men crawling about and coughing up blood, as they searched round for some place in which they could shelter until help could reach them. By this time all units were mixed up. But they were all Irishmen. They were cheering and cheering and cheering like mad. It was hell let loose. There was a machine gun playing on us near by, and we all made for it.
“At this moment we caught our first sight of the Germans. They were in a trench of sorts, which ran in and out among the ruins. Some of them had their hands up. Others were kneeling and holding their arms out to us. Still others were running up and down the trench distractedly as if they didn’t know which way to go, but as we got close they went down on their knees, too. To the everlasting good name of the Irish soldiery, not one of these Germans, some of whom had been engaged in slaughtering our men up to the very last moment, was killed. I did not see a single instance of a prisoner being shot or bayoneted. When you remember that our men were now worked up to a frenzy of excitement, this crowning act of mercy to their foes is surely to their eternal credit. They could feel pity even in their rage.