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Arthur Douglas Crease Letters, Diaries and Scrapbooks


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The strain gets worse & worse as the night goes on. The trench is full of wounded & dead whom we have to step on as we move up & down the trench.

We think of those lying out in the open & wonder whether they are dead or suffering.

If we know they are dead we don't worry over them for the present but the wounded give endless anxiety as it is of course impossible to get near them until the fire slackens. All the time we are expecting an assault out of the pitchy blackness knowing that our machine guns were out of action & that we have no flares, no S.O.S. signals - that no one can