My Second Year of the War

In Short

This chronicle serves as an immersive, journalistic record of the Second Year of the Great War, focusing primarily on the 1916 Somme offensive. Through the eyes of an embedded correspondent, the narrative shifts between the strategic planning of British commanders and the gritty, ground-level experiences of Canadian, Australian, and British infantrymen. By balancing technical observations of artillery barrages and the introduction of armored tanks with intimate portraits of the French peasantry and the men in the trenches, the work preserves the immediate, chaotic, and often surreal reality of a world consumed by mechanized slaughter.

The Story

The narrative begins in the winter of 1915–1916, against a backdrop of American detachment and the growing realization in Europe that the conflict is not a brief clash of arms, but a long, grinding test of national endurance. The author returns to the front to witness the transition of the British military from a small professional force into a massive, industrialized machine. He describes the quiet, methodical preparation led by Sir Douglas Haig and his staff as they plan the Somme offensive in the hilly, sympathetic landscape of Picardy.

As the narrative progresses into the summer of 1916, the focus sharpens on the relentless nature of the fighting. The author details the "hopper of battle," where divisions are fed into the maw of artillery fire and trench raids. He provides an unvarnished look at the transition from the old, mobile methods of war to the modern "systematic" struggle, emphasizing the crucial role of the "patent curtain of fire"—the artillery barrage—that defines the soldier's experience. Through the arrival of the ANZACs and their stubborn defense of the Ridge, and the introduction of the first lumbering tanks, the author traces the evolution of the battlefield.

Throughout these events, the focus remains on the human element, even amid the technological devastation. The author highlights the "thrift" of the French peasantry and the stoic, factory-like determination of British soldiers who, after surviving the horrors of a charge, express their primary desires as a shave, a meal, and a nap. The narrative follows the slow, agonizing progress of the Allies as they squeeze the German lines, taking villages and machine-gun nests with meticulous, often costly, effort.

The arc reaches its emotional and tactical conclusion with the exhaustion of the troops and the realization that the war is a profound test of civilization itself. The author reflects on the resilience of the men he encounters—from the "stubborn" Canadians to the "blithesome" fellow correspondents—before finally departing the front. He leaves with a sense of the "epic touch of great events," acknowledging that while the landscape of Picardy will eventually be reclaimed by nature, the memory of the struggle against the German line remains a defining, somber milestone of the twentieth century.

How It Unfolds

The transition to the front The author returns from a detached America to a Europe defined by self-denial and total mobilization. He observes the quiet, professional rigor of the British High Command as they organize for the impending major offensive.

Preparation in Picardy The narrative moves to the French countryside, where the landscape becomes an integral participant in the struggle. Here, the author details the immense logistical efforts, from building railways to cutting barbed wire, required to sustain the coming blow.

The Somme offensive begins The atmosphere of suspense gives way to the mechanical thunder of the artillery. The reader is taken through the trenches, observing the "refuse from the hopper of battle" and the exhaustion of soldiers waiting in reserve.

The Australian intervention The narrative shifts to the arrival of Australian troops, highlighting their unique spirit and their grueling fights for specific landmarks like Pozières. The author captures their transition from colonial volunteers to hardened, disciplined veterans.

The introduction of tanks A major turning point occurs as steel-clad, careening tanks appear on the field to dismantle machine-gun nests. These machines provide a new sense of tactical confidence, turning the tables on entrenched German defenders.

The final reflection The author concludes his time at the front by observing the French and British armies in final, coordinated assaults. He bids farewell to his colleagues and reflects on the necessity of this sacrifice before crossing the channel back toward England.

The People

The book is populated by figures who embody the varying facets of the war. Sir Douglas Haig stands as the calm, professional architect of the offensive, tasked with the cold arithmetic of "dealing in blows." His right-hand man, Sir Henry Rawlinson, works closely with him to oversee the grueling logistical reality of the Fourth Army. These commanders represent the new, systematic approach to warfare, where human life is managed with the precision of a factory floor.

In contrast, the French peasant represents the "heart-strength" of the nation—a figure of stubborn, conservative resilience who gives his gold and his sons reluctantly, but entirely, for the sake of survival. The Australian soldiers, led by officers like General Birdwood, emerge as a distinct, spirited force. They are characterized by a refreshing, informal bravado that often clashes with the rigid British command structure, yet they prove to be lethal, highly effective combatants when the pressure mounts.

Finally, the author’s own circle of correspondents—men like the eloquent Robinson, the tireless Gibbs, and the witty Russell—serve as the reader's anchors. They are not merely observers but active participants in the emotional rhythm of the front. They provide a vital human counterpoint to the "Brass Hats" and the statistics of the casualty reports, showing how men cling to wit, literature, and camaraderie to survive the overwhelming strain of the conflict.

In Its Own Voice

"In view of the thousands who were dying in battle every day, her remark seemed as heartless as it was superficial and in keeping with the riotous joy of living and prosperity which strikes every returned American with its contrast to Europe's self-denial."

The author reflects on the disconnect between civilian life in America and the harrowing reality of the front.

"Generically, they had a job to do and they did it just as they would have done one in the factories at home."

After interviewing survivors of a charge, the author notes the pragmatic, workmanlike attitude of the British soldiers.

"Nobody who is sane will leap into a furnace with a cup of water to put out the fire."

The author comments on the tactical impossibility of attacking machine-gun positions without proper support.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book examines whether a highly civilized, democratic society can survive a total war against a more primitive, authoritarian aggression. The author argues that civilization does not enervate a population but instead fosters a deeper, more stubborn resolve when that civilization is threatened. He questions the cost of such endurance, weighing the "thrift" of the French and the "extravagance" of the Anglo-Saxon against the industrial scale of the slaughter. Ultimately, the book is a meditation on the transformation of human character under the extreme pressure of the "hopper of battle," asking whether the mechanical nature of modern war renders individual bravery obsolete or merely requires a new, more clinical definition of courage.

Why Read It Today

This account is essential for readers who want to understand the Great War not as a series of abstract battles, but as a lived experience of transition. It is particularly striking for its focus on the "systematization" of death, detailing how artillery and infantry tactics evolved in real-time. Readers interested in the history of the Somme will value the author's ability to blend high-level strategy with the small, absurd details of trench life—such as the obsession with soda water or the companionship of a stork and a gull in a ruined village.

The writing is warm and precise, though a modern reader should be prepared for the author's period-specific focus on "racial" characteristics and the inherent jingoism common to 1917 military correspondence. The book does not shy away from the gruesome, yet it maintains a strange, quiet dignity in its descriptions of the landscape. It is not an easy read in terms of emotional weight, but it rewards the patient reader with a vivid, ground-level window into the moment when the world shifted from the age of chivalry into the age of the machine. It remains a poignant, firsthand testament to the resilience of the ordinary soldier caught in the machinery of a history-altering conflict.