A priceless collection of memories told by men who had been in the trenches during the Great War. All through reading the stories, I was a little stunned by how close each of the survivors had come to death. If a bullet had missed some of them by just a few centimeters, we would not be honoured with their stories. Another thing I couldn't help notice was the prose of these veterans. I found it almost poetic even though they told it in plain language. The stories bring to mind a vivid picture of the trenches, and I appreciate even more why it was such a terrible place to be. One hundred years after World War 1, these stories ought to be cherished for future generations.
"I shall never forget that terrific bombardment. The never experienced anything like it before or since. The shells were flying in all directions, heavies, lights, high explosives, armour-piercing shells of all calibres, some whistling overhead, to burst as far away as La Panne, others dropping in the village with a roar that shook the foundations of the earth." - George Brame, On The Belgian Coast
"We did get to France at last, though; and into the trenches, too. The memory of that is mainly - mud. There was the ominous donning of 'gum-boots, thigh'; the shell holes and slithery duckboards [dear old Johnson and his 'following each other about in the dark']; the front line, where, by constant baling, liquid slime could just be kept from lipping over the dugout door sills. And there is the nightmare of mud and wire, by the deathly light of occasional star-shells from over the way, we learned the landmarks to guide us; 'Left by the coil of wire, right by French legs.' 'French legs?' 'Yes, we took over from the French; the legs of one they buried in the trench stick out a bit, you can't miss it.' It was rather startling, but didn't seem to merit a second thought." - A. A. Dickson, Varieties of Trench Life.