Blogs
Jean Vauclos
Name: Jean Vauclos | Age: 22 | From: Marseille, France
9
June 1916
Terrible news from Verdun again. The Germans have started yet another offensive, this time around Fort Vaux and Fleury. It seems impossible to think that France has more young men to lose. If this war doesn't finish soon, there'll be no-one left to run the place except the old farts who already do such a bad job of it.
As the papers say, we are being bled white. And meanwhile the British appear to be in no hurry to start a fight. They talk of a Big Push, but I sense they don’t want to be rushed into action just to save our arses down south.
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 9 June 1916
14 June 1916
It is fascinating watching the British. They really have no idea what kind of war they are in. Today I saw the strange sight of Indian cavalry trotting proudly through the town in their uniforms. They'll make a nice bright target for machine gunners and light artillery if they ever get into action. And quite how a horse is meant to advance through shell holes and trenches is beyond me. And yet they seem to think they'll be galloping into Bapaume in next to no time.
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 14 June 1916
16 June 1916
Have been carrying supplies to and from the front line today. It’s exhausting work. And dangerous. My hands are cut to pieces. Some of our communication tunnels are so narrow that it's impossible to pass down them. Instead, you have to jump out of them and crawl about in the open air for a few metres and then back down, praying that you don't get your head blown off by a German sniper.
In Pierre's case he didn't have to be out in the open to get hit. Where he was, you see, the German positions are so much higher up than ours that they can practically look right down into our trench and fire at will. Poor Pierre. One second he was talking to me, the next he was down – a bullet through the neck and into his spine. I waited with the body until some stretcher bearers could be found. And even then I wasn't so keen to move. It felt like the next bullet probably had my name on it.
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 16 June 1916
24 June 1916
The guns started blazing today – both French and British. It is the most terrifying noise. Our boys seem to have a huge concentration of fire power compared to the Brits who are strung out along the line all the way to Gommecourt and beyond. The big guns pound the German trenches and the little ones aim for No Man's Land, attempting to obliterate the long reels of barbed wire that the Germans have laid out.
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 24 June 1916
26 June 1916
They want someone to go forward in the night and assess the damage done by today's barrage. I said I'd go. Since Pierre died, I am a bit more fatalistic about my chances of making it through this war. No point in deliberately avoiding trouble, when you’re just as likely to be hit by a stray shrapnel bomb far away from the front – possibly even fired by one of your own guns!
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 26 June 1916
27 June 1916
Last night I stripped off my kit, blackened my face and set off across No Man's Land on my belly. What a place of devastation. What had been green fields before the barrage started is now a sea of shell holes. It took quite a while just to cover the 750 metres, since I had to be careful not to make a single sound. When I got there I could hear the German guards chatting casually, seemingly untroubled by what has hit them. Most of their barbed wire is still in place, their machine guns are cocked and ready – and their dugouts are clearly still keeping them safe and sound!
When I got back to the front line and reported all this to my officer, he at first looked concerned but then said, ‘Hell, there's several more days of shelling to go yet. By the time we get over there, they won't have much stomach for a fight, even if they do survive that far.’ I hope he's right.
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 27 June 1916
28 June 1916
As I sit here listening to the hellish noise of the British guns for the fourth night in a row, I feel both glad and sad that the British have decided to get serious about this war at last. Glad because it should give some relief to our boys in Verdun. Sad because, in the next few days, so many more young men are inevitably going to die. And for what? So that the same moustachioed old men can stay in power across Europe?
It is dangerous to talk like this, I know, but there are some men in my division who have even mentioned the word 'mutiny' under their breath. Certainly there is support for making peace rather than fighting on.
For me, I think it is too late. The British are now on the brink of a mighty commitment. We have to fight on beside them – for a little while at least. It is these thoughts that buzz around my head as the guns blast away all around me and we prepare to go over the top into No Man's Land.
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 28 June 1916
30 June 1916
Tomorrow is the big day. The bad weather has caused some delay but now we are ready. It is good that we have persuaded the Brits to attack after dawn rather than before. It will give our artillery some chance of aiming their guns more accurately – we might manage to get past their wire yet!
My commander says we should get out onto No Man’s Land before the barrage lifts, so that we stand a chance of being on top of ‘les Bosches’ before they have time to come out of their dugouts. The Brits on my left laugh at this. ‘What’s the rush?’ they say. ‘The Jerries aren’t going to be in much of a mood to fight after what we’ve given them.’ I wish I could be so sure.
> Posted by Jean Vauclos | 30 June 1916