How I Filmed the War: A Record of the Extraordinary Experiences of the Man Who Filmed the Great Somme Battles, etc

In Short

This memoir recounts the professional and personal life of a pioneer cinematographer tasked with filming the front lines of World War I. From the frozen slopes of the Vosges to the devastation of the Somme, the author documents the logistical nightmares of hauling heavy equipment through trenches, the danger of drawing enemy fire, and the awe-inspiring sight of the first tanks in action. It remains a foundational text for understanding the birth of modern war reporting and the immense human cost behind the flickering images of the early cinema screen.

The Story

The narrative begins in the early, fluid stages of the war, where the author serves as a film operator among the Belgian forces. He captures the stark reality of ruined villages like Ramscapelle, where the skeletons of homes and the "moaning of the spirits" create an atmosphere of desolation. His work is far from a detached observation; he navigates knee-deep mud, gets lost in the inky darkness of no-man’s-land, and learns to crawl under fire to secure footage. He moves from the Belgian front to the high-altitude challenges of the Vosges mountains, where he braves the snow and the suspicion of military authorities to capture a French charge.

As the war settles into a grinding stalemate, the author transitions to official war filming, a role that requires constant negotiation with military commanders for access. He details the meticulous preparation for major offensives, including the buildup to the Battle of the Somme. He describes the assembly trenches—later filled with the heroic dead—and the harrowing conditions of the landscape, where the stench of death and the proximity of the enemy make his photographic mission a constant, terrifying gamble. He recounts moments of surreal contrast: filming the King and the Prince of Wales as they inspect captured trenches, while nearby, the war continues its relentless, destructive work.

The arrival of the tanks—"ugly-looking monsters" that waddle and belch flame—marks a shift in the author’s perspective on the mechanical scale of the conflict. He observes these machines crushing German defenses with an almost uncanny intelligence. As the war progresses into 1917, he witnesses the German withdrawal and the systematic, scorched-earth policy they implement, destroying orchards and villages with calculated malice. The narrative concludes with the author reflecting on the "eve of great events," documenting the liberation of French villages and the profound, quiet resilience of the soldiers who, despite being physically broken by the mud and exhaustion, remain determined to see the struggle through to its end.

How It Unfolds

The Belgian trenches The author experiences the immediate, visceral destruction of war, filming from ruined outposts while dodging snipers and the constant threat of German Uhlans.

The Vosges mountains Transitioning to a new theater of operations, he navigates the dangers of the Swiss frontier and the complexities of high-altitude filming, securing footage of a French charge over snow-covered peaks.

The Somme preparations He documents the quiet intensity before a major push, providing an intimate look at soldiers sharing meals and songs in the dark before going "over the top."

Under shell-fire The mechanical difficulty of operating a heavy camera under shrapnel fire becomes a recurring trial, as he finds his equipment frequently draws unwanted attention from enemy artillery observers.

The arrival of the tanks The narrative captures the introduction of new technology, depicting the bizarre, acrobatic performance of the first tanks against the German lines.

The German retreat He travels through the wake of the enemy’s withdrawal, capturing the systematic destruction of the landscape and the poignant reunion between British troops and liberated French civilians.

The People

The author, Geoffrey H. Malins, stands at the center as a man defined by his singular obsession: to capture the truth of the war on film. His persistence, often described as foolhardy by the officers he encounters, is fueled by a desire to show the people at home the reality of "Hunnish" destruction.

Major ____, an officer who acts as a guide, frequently warns Malins of the danger his equipment invites. He provides a grounded, skeptical counterpoint to Malins’s enthusiasm, constantly reminding him that the camera lens serves as a beacon for artillery fire.

The soldiers, both the "Tommies" of the British lines and the Belgian defenders, are the book’s true heart. Whether they are laughing over a meal in a dugout or struggling through mud to bury a friend, they remain the author’s primary subjects of reverence. Their willingness to face certain death leaves the author humbled, often causing him to reflect on his own role as a spectator to their immense sacrifice.

In Its Own Voice

"The skeletons of houses stood grim and gaunt, and the sound of the wind rushing through the ruins was like the moaning of the spirits of the dead inhabitants crying aloud for vengeance."

This passage occurs after the author navigates the ruins of Ramscapelle, emphasizing the haunting atmosphere of a destroyed village.

"I grabbed my camera and fell with it on the opposite side of the mound."

The author describes the physical scramble for survival while attempting to film a bombardment near Trones Wood.

"The thing seemed imbued with life, and possessed of the most uncanny sort of intelligence and understanding."

Reflecting on the first appearance of the tanks, the author captures the sense of awe and fear these new machines inspired on the battlefield.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is about the heavy price of documentation. The author argues that the truth of the war is found not in grand strategic movements, but in the intimate, often horrific details that only a camera can preserve for history. He grapples with the ethical tension of his work: the camera is a tool of truth, yet its presence often endangers the soldiers he is trying to honor. The book posits that the war is a clash between civilization and a mechanized, destructive "barbarity," and that the film camera is the ultimate witness tasked with ensuring this struggle—and the suffering of those who fought it—is never forgotten.

Why Read It Today

Readers with an interest in the history of cinema and the evolution of military reporting will find this an essential, if harrowing, primary source. The prose is direct and unadorned, reflecting the author’s background as a practical man who prefers the view through a lens to abstract philosophy. Because he wrote this account immediately after the events occurred, it possesses an urgent, immediate quality that later historical analyses often lack.

Be prepared for the bluntness of the period’s language and the author’s unabashed patriotism, which frames the conflict in stark, moralistic terms. The book is dense with the logistical realities of the early 20th century—the reliance on maps, the wait for permits, and the manual labor of hand-cranked cameras—which can feel slow to the modern reader. However, the emotional payoff is substantial. The scenes of soldiers singing in the dark before battle or the sudden, joyful encounter with liberated villagers provide a deeply human perspective on the "Great War." You stay with the book because it captures the transition from an older, more romanticized era of combat to the modern, mechanized age of warfare, seen through the eyes of a man who was often the only one standing still enough to record it.