Skegness Magazine

Source: Skegness, Mablethorpe and Alford News 1915

Interesting account by Skegness soldier
Some unenviable experiences
We take the following interesting extracts from a letter received by the Skegness relatives of private Bernard Rankin, of the 1st Lincolns, on active service. It is written from no. 1 rest camp RV;
‘I received your letter and the paper today for which I thank you very much. Just before I came down here our Company had what you might term a ‘rough passage’. One night we were told off to dig a communications trench – or at least part of it. To be precise we were told off to dig 2 feet deep for our night’s work. We had dug about a foot when, owing to the number of flares the enemy sent up, we were seen. They opened a rapid rifle and machine gun fire on us but of course we were soon down behind the foot of earth, or perhaps a foot and half, that we had dug; but not before a man of my platoon had been killed. He was shot in the mouth. After we had kept quiet a few minutes things quietened down; a burying party was told off to bury the man who had been killed, and we started work again. We had worked for about another minute when they let ‘rip’ again, and the chap next to me received a bullet straight across his forehead, but his luck was in as it only made a thin line, just scratched him; so near, and yet it was nothing!
‘We had only been laying down about a minute when the game started in real earnest. To me it was like the infernal regions gone mad! To start with, they exploded a mine just in front of us. It was under the ruins of a house that we had some machine guns in, and it buried twelve Engineers who were sapping, but only one was killed, the remainder being rescued, several of them as long as ten hours afterwards. After that they enemy’s artillery started at such a rate that the explosions seemed almost as quick as machine gun fire. In the rush to get some cover I ran straight into a ‘Jack Johnson’ hole, and fell up to the waist in icy cold water. It was a treat to get an unexpected bath (I don’t think!). After about ten minutes our artillery let go, and they did it beautifully. I could see the explosion of the shells bursting right over the Germanhun trenches. Then we were happy! That is always the case when we can see our shells exploding in the Germanhun trenches, but when their ‘Johnsons’ etc. are dropping in ours the feeling of joy disappears as if by magic. It makes you feel as if you were recovering from the effects of the night before, well, there were six killed and about 40 wounded. I saw the official account of it in the paper afterwards.
It said: ‘last night at St. Eloi the enemy exploded a mine and heavily bombarded our trenches, the parapets of which were afterwards repaired. No infantry attack followed.’ It did not say much, but it was hell to be in.
‘I may tell you that we had to keep our clothes on until they dried, and enough steam came from mine to have driven a steam roller. That little affair was on the right of Hill 60 where we had been in the trenches the last time. I told you in one of my letters that it was the hottest spot in the line, and chaps who have been out here since Mons say it is so. They always seem to bring the cream of the Germanhun army to this spot, and I have seen scores of the Prussian guard, fine looking chaps, stretched out. I counted as many as 40 dead in one group; they had lain there in ‘no mans land’ since October, and their clothing was torn to shreds by the continual bursting of different kinds of shells. Just in the rear of us was the remains of a farmhouse and all around there were dead cows and several dead horses, so you may be sure the smell was well er – not exactly like the Skegness bouquet.’
I was talking to a wounded Canadian who came here with me, and he told me he had two brothers in the Lovat Scouts at Skeggie. His name is McLean.
The brigade I am in is composed of the following regiments: Royal Scots Fusiliers, Northumberland Fusiliers, Royal Fusiliers, the Lincolns, and the Liverpool Scottish (a territorial regiment0. That’s all. Bon Soir. – Yours, Bernard.
‘P.S. – I forgot to tell you we are not downhearted. The first two years of the war are always the worst. I sent the postcard from Ypres. It is the cathedral, or what’s left of it.’