Description
Mr. Featherstone describes the level of vigilance necessary in trench life. He also discusses reconnaissance and its dangers, as well as guard duty.
John Stephen “Jack” Featherstone
John Stephen “Jack” Featherstone was born in Oxridge, England, on September 29, 1898. His mother was unable to care for him, so he emigrated to Wolsley, Saskatchewan, at the age of twelve. He was a farm labourer and enlisted March 1, 1916, but being committed to care for the local preacher’s farm, couldn’t report until fall. Mr. Featherstone arrived at Bramshott camp in England, where he was selected for the shooting team. He won a marksmanship competition at Aldershot in June, 1917, and joined the 46th Battalion in November 1917, following Passchendaele. Mr. Featherstone describes action at Vimy and Amiens. Following the war, he returned to farming until 1922, when he joined the Canadian Pacific Railway as a fireman. Forty years later, Mr. Featherstone retired as an engineer and resided in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan.
Transcript
It was quite a thing there. You’d look over the top, you see, at nights. You daren’t stick your head up in the day time. But you had to be careful at nights because they’d take their machine guns and go right along across the front like this. And you could hear these things whistling by just like canaries singing. Bullets flying. Keep your head down. You know that old song, Keep Your Head Down, Fritzy Boy. I forget the rest of it. No, but a machine gun would start up, you know. Gee, they’d just start around like this and go right across the parapets. Keep low. But you see, nights you can look over the top, but in the day time, you can’t. We had periscopes coming down about that far below the trench with a little piece up there, but you had to be careful handling those. The flash of the sun - a sniper laying out there someplace - the flash of the sun shining on that glass when you move it. We had a major got killed that way. He was up the line just inspecting the line. He took a look out of one of these one day and I think he moved it and some sniper hit it and it ricocheted in and killed him. The bullet hit the top, come down, blast. It’s a thing about that long. Glass about four, four different ways in it, you know. The way we’d do, you see, see supposing here is the trench, like from here to there, and just up a little further along there we’d dig a hole underneath the side, a funk hole. You’re in there for two hours, two hours for the boys off. And then after another two hours they’ll come and wake you up and you go out. You stand up and watch, but you can’t look over the top. But then this one guy watches this end of the trench. And you’ve all got so much of a trench from about there to there, I’d say, fourteen feet, fifteen feet, something like that. That’s your property, that’s your territory to watch. Over the top and everybody walking through, no matter if it was the king of England come along, anybody come along that trench you throw the bayonet up right up to their throat. “Halt! Who goes there? ” No matter who it was, colonel or who it was, you’d stop them, because you never know. He could be dressed in a doggone different uniform, you know what I mean. It could be a German in one of your uniforms, for all you know. They could talk good English. You stopped them. You didn’t sleep. When you got a chance to go to sleep, you couldn’t sleep. You know like for your two hours. You’d get real dopey there for awhile. Well, we were young we didn’t seem to care so much.