That instant penetrated us, our brains, our nerves, our flesh, our spirits, and did not abandon us for many days.
The top of his head was split open and his brain was bulging out, suddenly he began to scream, a scream that I soon began to know only too well... it was the sound produced from a human being in a state of agony, which eliminated reason.
the 'carnage' is being appauling, and we have been practically in it, as far as horrors go.
You boarded a cattle-truck, armed with a tray of dressings and a pail; the men were lying on straw; had been in trains for several days; most had only been dressed once, and many were gangrenous.
One could not, he said, continually reflect upon the material and spiritual waste involved whenever that highly trained product, a man in the prime of life, was instantaneously killed by a stray bullet, or life at the front would be one long misery.
Our "beds" at night were swinging iron cots, made up with the same blankets and mattresses as the sick me had used. Sleep, owing to the stuffy heat and the persistent flies, was almost impossible.
For me, as for all the world, the War was a tragedy and a vast stupidity, a waste of youth and of time; it betrayed my faith, mocked my love, and irremediably spoilt my career.
I had not yet realised-as I was later to realise through my own mental surrender-that only a process of complete adaptation, blotting out tastes and talents and even memories, made life sufferable for someone face to face with war at its worst.
Personally, after seeing some of the dreadful things I have to see here, I feel I shall never be the same person again, and wonder if, when the War does end, I shall have forgotten how to laugh. The other day I did involuntarily laugh at something and it felt quite strange.
We all acquired puffy hands, chapped faces, chilblains and swollen ankles, but we seldom actually went sick, somehow managing to remain on duty with colds, bilious attacks, neuralgia, septic fingers and incipient influenza.