“…the bullets started whizzing around my head…”  

France, April 30, 1918

Dear Lottie and Walt,

No doubt you are thinking it’s about time I was getting busy with a letter to you…so here goes.

I don’t know how many times I’ve planned to write lately and something would prevent it each time. I’ve been rather busy as you can guess from what you read in the papers of the big scrap, and the end is scarcely in sight.

Fortunately, I haven’t reached the front line yet as a fighting man but have had quite a number of trips up there just the same. For about two weeks I was the noncommissioned officer in charge of a working party of about sixty, and every night we would make a trip up the line and spend several hours digging trenches, putting out wire or carrying supplies, etc. We would leave just before dusk, walk for probably two hours, excepting when we would get lost, which we did on a couple of occasions and had to walk practically all night, work till about two o’clock or so and start back, arriving just before daybreak. Then I had the rum to issue and it was usually after breakfast before I was able to turn in. We got lost a couple of times and believe me, it’s some  sensation to be out in strange country, wandering aimlessly around, and not knowing what minute you were going to walk into the Boche trenches; nothing whatever to guide you and not a soul in sight to put you right. Usually it was so dark you couldn’t see whether you were about to stumble over a rock or stump, or fall into a shell hole. About this time you begin to wonder why you ever left your happy home, especially when you have a bunch of men on your hands, and are responsible for their safety, and everybody growling about being walked to death.

…While we were working Heinie would throw over a few shells just to speed us up, or some of his machine guns would start practicing on us and you bet, it didn’t take us long to “dangle” out of there once our work was done. We were exceedingly fortunate in not losing a single man in any party, but it was nothing short of a miracle and some of the scrapes were uncomfortably close. The first night up I was patrolling along the trench we were digging and suddenly “bang” went a high-explosive shell. A second or so later a big piece of shrapnel just “ticked” the toe of my boot. If it had hit me I’d have been going yet, for it went into the ground with a thud that jarred me. A few minutes later a machine gunner opened up, which was a signal to duck, but at the same instant of hearing the gun the bullets started whizzing around my head and you talk about ducking. I went down so fast I nearly jerked my neck out of joint. I beat my steel helmet to the ground before my feet hit. And so it would continue at intervals all night and believe me, I heaved a big sigh of relief each night when we got back a mile or so on the homeward journey…

…Since coming back to the transport we…are not exposed to quite as much shelling as before, but we manage to get a salvo nearly every day or night as a gentle reminder. I should have said at the beginning that we haven’t our instruments just now. When we first came to this sector they were all shipped back out of the way and stored in a town quite a distance behind the lines. We didn’t know what to expect or when to expect it and didn’t want any surplus baggage to carry in case it was necessary to move in a hurry. We are hoping to get them back in the near future when, I presume, we shall carry on as before…

…Well now that I’m wound up I believe I could continue for several more pages, but it’s long past “lights out” so I think I’d better quit or I may spend the remainder of the night in the “clinque.” (That’s French for clink, eh what?)

…This leaves me “in the pink” and hoping to see you all this summer.

Best love to all and kisses for Helen.

Yours as ever, Garn

Selection from the letter collection of Sergeant Dobbs, to his sister Millie and his brother Walter
CWM 20050153-001
George Metcalf Archival Collection
© Canadian War Museum