Journaux intimes

Lors des deux grands conflits mondiaux, des soldats confiaient souvent à leur journal leurs expériences de combattants, car cet exercice leur permettait de lutter contre l'ennui des longues heures d'attente. Pour certains, ces moments d'écriture étaient également un exercice de réflexion sur des expériences qui les avaient touchés; pour d'autres, c'était une façon de composer avec ces mêmes expériences et de tenter d'en comprendre le sens.

Première Guerre mondiale

Extraits du journal de Herbert Heckford Burrell, en service actif sur le front occidental :

Sund. May 6th, 1917
Bitterly cold wind from the North this a.m. spent restless and miserable night. The damp group & cold draught thro' tunnel made sleep impossible. Waited until late in the eveg and until full moon was up before we started. Fritz was sendg over a lot of high explosive over the hill we had to cross, however, we reached our objective safely. Soon after taking over the trenches Fritz started shelling our positions heavily with H.E. and it was a very trying time as the trenches are new & not yet dug very deep. One of my platoon men - Peacock by name a quiet unassuming courteous man, had been at his post barely 5 minutes when he was blown to pieces, what a devil's game it is, only a few minutes ago on the way up he had been telling me of his plans when he got back to Canada & how he intended going in for cattle raising. He leaves a wife and family behind him.

Wed. May 30th, 1917
Thunder shower in afternoon it rained just enough to make things miserable for us. One wishes for something to read or do. You are liable to go bughouse lying hour after hour on your back gazing at the chalk roof of your funk hole which is only two inches from your nose.

After the war they say the question will be asked what did you do in the Great War? To us out here the question rather arises what have you done with your LIFE, any moment it may have gone from you.

Mond. June 4th, 1917
Had a hunt for lice as it was so warm and you could sit in the sun with your shirt off. I found only 3 which must have been very active members for I thought there were 300 from their activity. Had some tea today, the first since 2 days ago and it was quite a treat.

A night of horror was in store for us and it happened thus: Our men packed like herrings in this deep and narrow trench neither coming nor going had to endure a hellish fire from trench mortars & it was not long before the casualties mounted up. No effort was made by any officers or noncomons to get the men to safety & they stood for what seemed an eternity uselessly sacrificing their lives.

I helped to carry the stretchers out & what with disgust at the useless sacrifice of valuable lives & nerves that had been severely tested for so many hours expecting violent death every moment. There were 5 killed I know of in 1st platoon & several terribly wounded. I was very very close to death all the time. A night of horror indeed.

John Teahan a d’abord servi au sein de l’Armée canadienne, puis dans l’Armée britannique. Il fut porté disparu au combat, à Thiepval, en octobre 1916. Voici quelques extraits de son journal :

January 23, 1916
One of the peculiarities of today's bombardment was a small black dog, a mongrel, which ran about the field behind us all during the worst of it. Apparently it would be a sure goner after a shellburst, but when the air had cleared of the flying mud and dirt it would reappear still running about the empty shell holes.

January 27, 1916
Going in last Sunday, we lost Lieut. Melville, our bomber, a very fine fellow and 7 other bombers were wounded slightly - the result of speaking too loudly and talking too much. Their conversation was heard in the German lines and they were shelled with whiz-bangs.

July 26, 1915
About 7:45 I went into the Ploegsteert Church to see the damage that has been done in the last few days. While we were looking around, two shells came over in rapid succession, so we got outside as fast as possible and started for home. The civilians all got inside their houses after herding the children off the streets. In a few minutes, Ploegsteert was practically emptied of soldiers, and crowds were going down Le Romain Road, some walking some running. Meanwhile the guns started shelling the road. At every whiz overhead, I and everyone else threw ourselves in the ditches alongside or flat on the road until the shell had burst.

Deuxième Guerre mondiale

Extraits du journal de Harry White, prisonnier de guerre à Hong Kong :

Oct. 10, 1943
We were allowed to send 10 messages for the Cndns. And Bardal let me send one because I had not received any mail as yet. Hope it gets through. Rations very low, nothing but rice and "green horror" (a name we have for the watery greens we have to eat).

Nov. 12, 1943
Work party calls for 500 men these days, have to use many sick men. Badger died. A full blooded Indian, one of my men, from Kamsack, Sask. I was in charge of his funeral. We held a quiet service in the chapel. The Padre (Chaplain) is with us. He reads a short sermon, we cover up the grave, blow a bugle call (the Last Post), and that's the end of another good Canadian. Often wonder if they will bury me up there some day.

May 14, 1945
Jack Poole started a little boxing class. Corrigan, Prendergast and I doing a little. Am in rotten shape for it though.

May 15, 1945
My little Kerry's birthday past, he is 8 years old. Hell, I've missed a lot of his life. How much longer will we be stuck in here?

May 18, 1945
Cracked my rib boxing. Guess our bones are very brittle these days.