A WW1 Soldier’s Diary

July 20th, 1916.

My prophesying re the rush of air is about right: but first of all it must be under stood that (a) I haven’t been sick. (b) I don’t feel sick. (c) I don’t want to be sick. (d) I have no intention of being sick- reckon I’m some sailor. I’m writing this while the boat changes her position in the water- she’s a pro. at the game – got a patent roll of her own- you’ve seen some words here – short ones too, that were started 18ft. out of the water and finished by electric light- no kid either. Lord only knows what an exhibition we’ll get when we get into the Bight. However, there are just about 2/3rds of the men you don’t want to offer fat pork to- they are lying in various stages of helplessness wherever they can stretch themselves out. I noticed the ship’s parson taking a photo of a group of the poor wretches lying on the middle hatch- right out to it- dirty trick I thought but it would make a good picture for the Reverend Coltie in his lantern lecture on the spreading of the “drink victims”. There is not much to relate, everybody is obedient to the will of the boat and excursions to any point are made with bent knees and the hands well apart ready to pull or push as the case may be.-eyes on the mark, minds on the point of balance and sometimes a tongue or two hanging out. Everybody went to bed early tonight most of them too played out for even conversation. Lights go out on board at 9.15 so we don’t get a chance to keep late hours. We are well out in the ocean and have altered our course a point or two south in order to escape running into the centre of a cyclone disturbance. I’ll turn in, so enough for today.