A French soldier writes home to his mother of the horror of battle:
” Our losses are terrible; those of the enemy greater still. You cannot imagine, beloved mother, what man will do against man. For five days my shoes have been slippery with human brains, I have walked among lungs, among entrails. The men eat, what little they have to eat, at the side of the dead”.
And a British nurse confides to her diary:
“It is such a vast upheaval when you are in the middle of it, that you sometimes actually wonder if everyone has gone mad, or who has gone mad, that all should be grimly working, toiling, slaving from the firing line to the base, for more Destruction, and for more highly finished and uninterrupted Destruction, in order to get Peace. And the men who pay the cost in intimate personal and individual suffering and in death are not the men who made the war”.
“Letters of a soldier 1914-1915” and “Diary of a nursing sister on the Western Front, 1914-1915”