Every shell hole was a sea of filthy, oozing mud. I was tired of seeing infantry sinking back in that morass, never to come out alive again. I was tired of all the carnage, all of the sacrifice that was happening just to gain about 25 yards.
And this night I think that I had reached my lowest ebb.
I had been out on the wires all day, all night. I hadn't had any sleep it seemed for weeks and no rest and it was very, very difficult to mend the telephone wires in this mud. You'd find one end and then try and trudge through the mud to find the other end and as soon as you had one foot out the other would go down. The Germans were sending over quite a barrage and I crouched down in one of these dirty shell holes.
And then I began to think of those poor devils who had been punished for self inflicted wounds, some had even been shot and I began to wonder how I could get out of it. Then, in the distance I heard the rattle of harness and I thought to myself well, here's a way out. When they get level with me I'll put my leg under the wheel and I can plead it was an accident.
Eventually I saw the leading horses heads in front of me and thought, this is it, and I began to ease my way out and eventually the first wagon reached me. You know, I never even had the guts to do that, I found myself wishing to do it but I didn't have the guts to do it.
Well, I went on, I finished my wire, found the other end and mended it. I was out twice more that night. I was out the next day and the next night my pal came out with me. He wasn't busy on the other wires. And after the Germans has stopped shelling for a little while we heard one of their big ones coming over.
Normally and within reason you could tell if one was coming near or not. If it was the normal procedure was to throw yourself down to avoid the shell fragments. This one we knew was going to drop near. My pal shouted and threw himself down.
I was too damn tired even to fall down. I stood there.
Next I had a terrific pain in the back and the chest. I found myself face downwards in the mud. My pal came to me and he tried to lift me but I said, don't touch me, leave me, I've had enough, just leave me.
The next thing I found myself sinking down in the mud. This time I didn't worry about the mud. I didn't hate it any more. It seemed like a protective blanket covering me.
And then I found myself being bumped about and I realised that I was on a stretcher and I thought poor devils these stretcher bearers, I wouldn't be a stretcher bearer for anything.
And then something else happened.
I suddenly realised I wasn't dead. I realised I was alive.
I realised that if these wounds didn't prove fatal that I should get back to my parents, my sister and to the girl that I was going to marry, the girl who had sent me a letter every day, practically, from the beginning of the war.
Testament of John Palmer, Signaller, Royal Field Artillery (served 1914 to 1917), about his experiences at Passchendaele. He was a seasoned veteran of the WW1 Campaigns having been seriously wounded at The Battle of Loos in 1915 and had seen action at The Somme and in Ypres leading up to the third Ypres phase described above.
Recounted in 1964 as part of "The Great War Series". Transcribed from BBC 4 Extra.
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