Brev från soldater under krig

Kom över några sista brev som soldater skickade till sina nära och kära på en dokumentär om WW1, och det fångade mitt intresse, bland annat känslorna de hade under kriget med mera. Bestämde mig för att starta en tråd där vi delar med oss av intressanta brev från soldater under krig.


To: Daisy Walker Shelter Street

From: Shane Mc Clindon Melbourne, Australia

Date: 9th October 1915

Dear Daisy,

I’m writing on behalf of Ollie, because he doesn’t want to tell his parents. Larry died last night. Ollie would like you to tell his parents, and I’d appreciate it if you’d comfort his sister and parents. He’s not taking it too well himself.

Larry was caught by a shell as it exploded. Shrapnel tore off half his face and a large bit went right through his stomach.

We took him to the hospital ships but it was really all in vain. The best they could do for him was remove the shrapnel and then bandage him up. We got permission to stay with him that night...

He died peacefully Dais, I want you to tell his family that, ok? Despite his injury he could still talk, and he cracked jokes with us...

He died while Ollie was reading the letter they got from Annie. He was happy that he got to hear from his sister, he was happy that he had done his bit. He was at peace.



On another not, as much as it’s hard to believe, we’ve become pretty good friends with the Turks. They’re not such a bad bunch as we thought. We sometimes throw some bully beef tins over for them to try and they sometimes throw over their cigarettes and other things.

We all like to try out each other’s things, but the Turks don’t like the bully beef much. When we have the truce to gather and bury the dead we also trade items using sign-language. There was even an old Turk called Ismail, he would come out of his trench every morning to gather firewood and the gifts we threw out for him and his friends too. He would say thank you by salaaming and then get back into his trench.

We never shot at him, not once. But the poor man was killed one morning after a new lot came in. He may have been a Turk, but he was still a good man.



I’m not sure if I even want to keep going now. We’re making friends just as fast we’re killing them. It doesn’t feel right to do that. I wish this blasted ordeal was over, it’s taken too many good people from our lives.

Miss you a great deal, send my condolences to Larry and Ollie’s family.

Love you always

-Shane

Det där brevet talade ganska väl om saker som inte syns i historieböckerna.
Jag har tyvärr inte några egna för tillfället men det är mycket bra initiativ till tråd. Hoppas vi får se mycket intressant läsning.

Här är ett brev från turkisk soldat under slaget vid Gallipoli...


To my high born royal wife, Ayesha, from your husband Mustafa Mahomet captain 13th turkish infantry. Oh Ayesha my morning star. I pray God to bring this all to an end. I can see our lovely Constantinople in ruins and our houses burnt to the ground. These english are very persitent and there is no fear of death for them. They are very cruel, they watch us like wolves in the night and are upon us like the devil in the day. Why did we even join in this wicked war? Ayesha I must now take my leave of you as the sun is sinking and I must away to my devotion. God bless you Ayesha, I wish I were at home to give you my adorations.

Tyvärr fick Ayesha aldrig brevet, den hittades på makens döda kropp.

Kommer inte ihåg vart, men jag läste ett brev skrivet av en svensk soldat under Karl XII fälttåg i Ryssland strax inann slaget vid Poltava. Texterna var minst sagt vulgära där skrivaren beskrev hur deras ryttare satt hjälfrysna på sina hästar och bara frosten höll liken kvar på sadeln, hur hans vänner fått sina näsor och skrev sönderfrusna men var tvungna att fortsätta.


Ett annat var från Östfronten under andra världskriget nån gån 1943 där tyska soldater badade i en älv tillsammans med ryska soldater, minns inte så mycket om det.

När man läser sådant här kommer man snabbt till insikt att man bara är brickor i ett större spel.

Det var meningen med tråden, att väcka känslor och förnuft, eftersom Flashback har personer som har gått på myten om att allting är svart på vitt. Vi har mycket att lära oss från historien.

Kort brev här från en amerikansk soldat under vietnamkriget, den må vara kort men berättar väldigt mycket.

11-Sept.-1969
Dear Mom and Dad,

Getting short, Mom, coming home pretty soon. Going to quit flying soon, too much for me now. I went in front of a board for sp/5 will know soon if i made it. I have now 20 oak leaf clusters and some more paper for you. I have flown 1500 hours now, and in those hours I could tell you a lifetime story. I have been put in for a medal again, but this time I have seen far beyond of what ever you will see. That is why I'm going to quit flying. I dream of Valerie's hand touching mine telling me to come home; but I wake up, and it's some sergeant telling me I have to fly. Today I am 21, far away but coming home older.

Love,
Larry



Ännu en till från vietnamkriget,

25 May, 1968

Dear Roberta,

Today is probably the worst day I have ever lived in my entire, short life. Once again we were in contact with Charlie, and once again we suffered losses. The losses we had today hit home, as my best friend in this shit hole was killed. He was only 22 years old and was going on R&R on the first of June to meet his wife in Hawaii. I feel that if I was only a half second sooner in pulling the trigger, he would still be alive.

Strange how short a time a half of a second is--the difference between life and death. This morning we were talking about how we were only two years different in age and how we both had gotten married before coming to this place. You know, I can still feel his presence as I write this letter and hope that I am able to survive and leave this far behind me.

If there is a place called Hell this surely must be it, and we must be the Devil's disciples doing all his dirty work. I keep asking myself if there is a God, then how the hell come young men with so much to live for have to die. I just hope that his death is not in vain.

I look forward to the day when I will take my R&R. If I play my cards right, I should be able to get it for Hawaii so our anniversary will be in that time frame. The reason I say this is by Sept., I will have more than enough time in country to get my pick of places and dates. I promise I will do everything necessary to insure that I make that date, and I hope that tomorrow is quiet.

We will be going into base camp soon for our three-day stand down. I will try to write you a longer letter at that time. Please don't worry too much about me, as if you won't, for I will take care of myself and look forward to the day I am able to be with you again.


Love,
Stan

Från WW1:

My own beloved wife

I do not know how to start this letter. The circumstances are different from any under which I ever wrote before. I am not to post it but will leave it in my pocket, if anything happens to me someone will perhaps post it. We are going over the top this afternoon and only God in Heaven knows who will come out of it alive.

I am in his hands and whatever happens I will look to him in this world and the world to come. If I am called my regret is that I leave you and my bairns. I go to him with your dear face the last vision on earth I shall see and your name upon my lips, you the best of women. You will look after by Darling Bairns for me and tell them how their daddy died.


'God in Heaven knows who will come out of it alive'
Oh! How I love you all and as I sit here waiting I wonder what you are doing at home. I must not do that. It is hard enough sitting waiting. We may move at any minute. When this reaches you for me there will be no more war, only eternal peace and waiting for you.

It is a legacy of struggle for you but God will look after you and we shall meet again when there will be no more parting. I am to write no more sweetheart... Kiss the Bairns for me once more. I dare not think of them my Darlings.

Goodbye, you best of women and best of wives, my beloved sweetheart. May God in his mercy look over you and bless you all... May he in that same mercy preserve me today. Eternal love from
Yours for evermore
Jim xxxxxxxx

ja jävlar, det får bli en prenumeration på den här tråden

February 14th 1915



My darling and loving wife Emily

It is Valentines Day and my thoughts are with you as always, I wish that I could be with you on this special day of love instead of being here in this hell hole which Belgium has become.

I miss you little George and Harry so very much and I pray for the day that this war comes to an end, please pass my love on to the children and kiss them for me.

We arrived at the front line just over a week ago and the smell was so bad that many of the men were sick, to describe the smell would be an impossible task but some of the causes will give you an idea of just how bad it is.

Raw sewage from the open cess pit, body odour from men who havent had a decent wash for weeks, dead bodies rotting in shallow graves and laying out in the open in no mans land, the smell of exploded bombs and the odour of Mustard gas which lingers for a few days after the attack, stagnant mud cigarette smoke and cooking smells all add to the unpleasantness of the trenches.

They say that we will get used to the smell over time but it feels like it will never leave us at the moment.

The smell attracts rats they are everywhere you look and they seem to be unafraid to show themselves, there is so much waste here that the rats are thriving and some of them are as big as felix our cat.

I shaved my head and my pubic hair yesterday because my hair was crawling with lice most of the men have been scratching and itching almost since the day we got here.

The rain is a constant companion flooding the trenches and turning the floor into mud it is so bad that some of the men are getting sores on their feet and can hardly walk with the pain.

Sleep his so hard to come by with the constant booming and banging of the shells from both sides, my bed is a bunk which has been placed in a dug out section of the trench, a mud roof a mud floor and the constant theat of a stray shell keep me awake at night.

I am scared my darling Emily, my life is under constant threat, bullets randomly fired at us, shells exploding every minute of the day, men are dying all around me if not from a stray bullet or shell they are falling with fever and disease.

Four of the boys in my squad have died already they went through basic training with me and i considered them good friends, my best friend John shot himself in the foot just to get out of here and away from the trenches, he will be treated in a field hospital and sent home.

We are going over the top tonight climbing out of the trench and attacking the enemy trenches

A and B sqaud went last night and most of them were killed or wounded before they even got 10 yards out of the trench, it is barbaric and a futile waste of human life but the powers that be seem to think that it is the way forward and keep sending those poor men and boys to their deaths.

I will close now and pray that this is not the last letter that I will ever send to you my darling, I long to be back at home with you and the children.

I love you with all of my heart

Happy Valentines Day my love

your ever loving Husband

George xxxxx

Sullivan Ballou. Major i 2nd Rhode Island infanteriregementet skrev detta till sin fru före 1:a slaget vid Manassas men hann aldrig posta det innan han dog en vecka senare.


July the 14th, 1861

Washington D.C.

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days—perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure—and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing—perfectly willing—to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows—when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children—is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me—perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar—that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have often been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the brightest day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for me, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

Var hittar man dessa texter? Finns det något att hitta från krig där svenskar deltagit? På svenska dvs.

Även texter skrivna under jugoslaviska krigen skulle vara intressant om någon vet var man kan hitta.