GOOD-BYE TO ALL THAT

“One piece of shell went through my left thigh, high up near the groin; I must have been at the full stretch of my stride to have escaped emasculation… My memory of what happened then is vague… I remember screaming. But once back on the better roads I became unconscious again. That morning the colonel wrote the usual formal letters of condolence to the next-of-kin of the six or seven officers who had been killed. This was his letter to my mother:

“22/7/16
DEAR MRS. GRAVES,
I very much regret to have to write and tell you your son has died of wounds. He was very gallant, and was doing so well and is a great loss. He was hit by a shell and very badly wounded, and died on the way down to the base I believe. He was not in bad pain, and our doctor managed to get across and attend him at once. We have had a very hard time, and our casualties have been large. Believe me you have all our sympathy in your loss, and we have lost a very gallant soldier.
Please write to me if I can tell you or do anything.
Yours sincerely,* * *”

Later he made out the official casualty list and reported me died of wounds. It was a long casualty list, because only eighty men were left in the battalion… I had been given news of the battalion from a brigade-major, wounded in the leg, who was in the next bed to me… I had been on the same stretcher since I was wounded. I remember the journey only as a nightmare…

A German officer on the other side of the carriage groaned and wept unceasingly. He had been in an aeroplane crash and had a compound fracture of the leg. The other wounded men were cursing him and telling him to stow it and be a man, but he went on, keeping every one awake. He was not delirious, only frightened and in great pain. An orderly gave me a pencil and paper and I wrote home to say that I was wounded but all right…

My parents got my letter two days after the letter from the colonel; mine was dated July 23rd, because I had lost count of days when I was unconscious; his was dated the 22nd. They could not decide whether my letter had been written just before I died and misdated, or whether I had died just after writing it. 'Died of wounds' was, however, so much more circumstantial than 'killed' that they gave me up… On the 30th I had a letter from the colonel:

“30/7/16
DEAR VON RUNICKE,
I cannot tell you how pleased I am you are alive. I was told your number was up for certain, and a letter was supposed to have come in from Field Ambulance saying you had gone under.
Well, it's good work. We had a rotten time, and after succeeding in doing practically the impossible we collected that rotten crowd and put them in their places, but directly dark came they legged it. It was too sad. We lost heavily. It is not fair putting brave men like ours alongside that crowd. I also wish to thank you for your good work and bravery, and only wish you could have been with them. I have read of bravery but I have never seen such magnificent and wonderful disregard for death as I saw that day. It was almost uncanny -- it was so great. I once heard an old officer in the Royal Welch say the men would follow you to Hell; but these chaps would bring you back and put you in a dug-out in Heaven.
Good luck and a quick recovery.
I shall drink your health to-night,***”

Next to me was a Welsh boy, named O. M. Roberts, who had joined us only a few days before he was hit. He told me about High Wood; he had reached the edge of the wood when he was wounded in the groin. He had fallen into a shell-hole. Some time in the afternoon he had recovered consciousness and seen a German officer working round the edge of the wood, killing off the wounded with an automatic pistol… Roberts said that he just managed to pull the trigger with the fingers of both hands when the German was only about five yards away. The shot took the top of his head off. Roberts fainted…

That evening I heard a sudden burst of lovely singing in the courtyard where the ambulances pulled up. I recognized the quality of the voices. I said to Roberts: "The First Battalion have been in it again," and asked a nurse to verify it; I was right. It was their Delville Wood show, I think, but I am uncertain now of the date. A day or two later I was taken back to England by hospital ship.”

~ Robert Graves, GOOD-BYE TO ALL THAT (AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY)