The Canadian perspective on WW1

This story is based on fiction and does not relate to any real events documented it was pulled out of my brain and may not make sense.

My name is Samuel Baker, I highly doubt that you have heard of me, I’m quite obscure to be honest. I was one of the many soldiers fighting for Canada in WW1. I enlisted when I was very young, quite naive and headstrong. I grew up in Guelph Ontario, or right outside anyway, on a farmstead with my smallish family (for the time). I was born in 1894 with 2 brothers and a sister. Being on a farm got me used to rough muddy conditions, maybe that’s why I made it out, I don’t know. I was the oldest of my family at 21 by the time the enlistment call appeared in the newspapers, I had already been following the war efforts on the daily, waiting for this moment. 

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In anticipation of Britain joining the war, military bases had been recruiting and training. I joined one close to home, so I could keep helping my parents. I, maybe expectedly, excelled at the training, most of the country folk did. So when the call came out many of us were already ready to go, lining up in front of the office I was buzzing with excitement. I was quickly accepted and moved permanently into the military base. I knew my brothers were old enough to hold down the fort at home. 

The lead up to deployment was hard, long waits, strenuous tasks all involved bubbling with anticipation. The tension was palpable for the few months we were there, stress was high.it was a relief when we got moved to the east coast of Newfoundland. It meant ships would be stocked and we would start sailing to France to join the fight on what is now called the western front. We would be greatly needed to help the struggling British and French soldiers keep Germany out. Supplies were also greatly needed as Germany had control of British seas, cutting off trade. 

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The sail was long, and hard, most of us were not used to the sea, many were sick, with so many people in relatively small spaces, there was little place to be alone. Food wasn’t great, dry crackers mostly, we had been desensitized to war foods before back at the base. Farm life was just a distant dream at this point. I got little word from home, mail was expensive, I often worried about my siblings, maybe they missed me, I hoped they did, I missed them. 

Hopes were high when we hit shore, there were smiles and laughter as we unloaded cargo and met fellow soldiers. These spirits wouldn’t last long, soon the march to the front began. Sore feet, tired muscles, the ground was muddy from people walking and turning up the soil. Quite a few suffered from the conditions, illness was rampant, most survived thankfully, but many got little sleep listening to others groaning in pain through the nights. We met many others as we approached the front, weary British and French soldiers, trekking on through pain and infection, carrying stretchers to medical tents, screams would occasionally ring out. Our spirits dropped steadily and fear started to set in. 

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We settled in small temporary buildings, five per stead. We would join the lines soon, then we would spend all waking, and sometimes sleeping hours in trenches. A few days later we marched out early in the morning, guns slung over our shoulders, hearts pounding.We had been ordered to a small Belgium town known as Ypres. 

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A British soldier came up from a trench to greet us, he was limping badly and had a bandage on one arm. We ducked into the trench and raised our guns, knees slowly sinking into the mud. We waited for hours, the smell in the trenches was horrible, corpses from previous fights still unburied littered the ground, the air was somber. We were surrounded on three sides by Germans, next to us were Algerian and French soldiers. A shout came from the German line, as if choreographed the soldiers in the front through small canisters onto the No Man’s Land in between lines. Strange yellow-ish gas billowed into the air and blew towards us, hitting the Algerians first. Gagging and choking the Algerians fled leaving the flank open, German soldiers followed the cloud towards us. We fought hard to keep them back, I could hear the cries of those dying around me, some coughing up blood onto the ground. 

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By some miracle I survived mostly unscathed but thoroughly traumatized by the experience, not that anyone cared. The next we were back, and the next, I caught a bullet to the shoulder and was moved into a medical tent where an infection from the rot and mud that had saturated the trenches had already moved in. Although wounded I was sent back a few days later. And once again the Germans pulled the trick with the gas, which had earlier been identified as chlorine. It affected the airways in a horrible way, we had to be careful not to breathe it in. I pulled a mud and urine encrusted handkerchief out of my pocket and put it over my mouth as the gas sunk into the trench. I survived, but many weren't so lucky, dying in hospitals later. The rest passed in a blur, many Canadian battalions fell or retreated, but we held strong until the French and British came to relieve us. At this point the infection in my shoulder had spread until I lost all mobility in it, I became feverish, thankfully the other countries took over most of the fighting as many of us were rushed into hospitals in major cities, including me. 

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From the hospital I read the news on the battle, we had been successful in keeping the Germans out, but losses were heavy, many of the people I had gotten to know hadn't made it, many friends I lost, I still think about them to this day. 

My arm sadly had to be amputated to stop the infection from spreading. But this battle made other countries respect our force a lot more, we even earned a reputation with the Germans, we were known as the Stormtroopers, Canada’s ruthless fighting force.