Bullets and Billets

A front-line view of life in the trenches of the Western Front in the early part of 1914-1915. Told by Lieutenant (later Captain) Bruce Bairnsfather, cartoonist, whose Alf, Bert, and Old Bill were forerunners to Bill Mauldin and his Willie and Joe in World War II. This volume traces Bairnsfather's service as a machine gun officer from its inception until he was removed from the battlefield by the intense shelling during the Second Battle of Ypres (April 1915). It is told with a wry, ironic, grim humor often possessed by those who have endured shells, bullets, floods, mud, bully beef, maconochie, and a surfeit of plum and apple jam. His participation in the unofficial Christmas Truce of 1914 (for which he was investigated in view of a court-martial) is documented as well as the horrors of war at close quarters.


By : Bruce Bairnsfather

00 - Foreword



01 - Chapter. 1 Landing at Havre



02 - Chapter. 2 Tortuous Travelling



03 - Chapter. 3 Those Plugstreet Trenches



04 - Chapter. 4 More Mud



05 - Chapter. 5 My Man Friday



06 - Chapter. 6 The Transport Farm



07 - Chapter. 7 A Projected Attack



08 - Chapter. 8 Christmas Eve



09 - Chapter. 9 Souvenirs



10 - Chapter. 10 My Partial Escape from the Mud



11 - Chapter. 11 Stocktaking



12 - Chapter. 12 A Brain Wave



13 - Chapter. 13 Robinson Crusoe



14 - Chapter. 14 The Amphibians



15 - Chapter. 15 Arrival of the 'Johnsons'



16 - Chapter. 16 New Trenches



17 - Chapter. 17 Wulverghem



18 - Chapter. 18 The Painter and the Decorator



19 - Chapter. 19 Visions of Leave



20 - Chapter. 20 That Leave Train



21 - Chapter. 21 Back from Leave



22 - Chapter. 22 A Daylight Stalk



23 - Chapter. 23 Our Moated Farm



24 - Chapter. 24 That Ration Fatigue



25 - Chapter. 25 Getting Stale



26 - Chapter. 26 A Pleasant Change



27 - Chapter. 27 Getting Fit



28 - Chapter. 28 We March for Ypres



29 - Chapter. 29 Getting Nearer



30 - Chapter. 30 Rain and Mud



31 - Chapter. 31 Slowly Recovering


Down South, in the Valley of the Somme, far from the spots recorded in this book, I began to write this story.

In billets it was. I strolled across the old farmyard and into the wood beyond. Sitting by a gurgling little stream, I began, with the aid of a notebook and a pencil, to record the joys and sorrows of my first six months in France.

I do not claim any unique quality for these experiences. Many thousands have had the same. I have merely, by request, made a record of my times out there, in the way that they appeared to me.

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