Great War Diaries (2014) s01e03 Episode Script
Part III
1 It was the first time I put on the uniform of the newly formed Women Police, and I thought l looked very smart In this dapper uniform.
Oi, Miss Policewoman! Leave off before you get your nice uniform dirty! The girls here are very rough.
So are the conditions.
The government are employing Women Police inside munitions factories to control the women workers, and it is for this work that they want me.
Pass, please.
Endless rules are made and we have to enforce them - searching incoming workers for matches, cigarettes, spirits.
Keeping guard at the gate and allowing no-one to enter without a pass.
Patrolling, to see there is no larking or slacking.
Show me your coat pockets, please.
You'll have to take a look yourself, Missie.
Or are you worried you'll get your uniform dirty? It's a pity, Mary Morgan.
I thought we were on friendly terms.
None of my friends wears a uniform.
Look 'ere - Missie's tryin' to fondle me! I ain't got time for all this.
Duty calls and all that.
Stay there, Mary! If the factory were to go up in flames Then I guess it'd go up in flames.
You think anybody would care? I'm Gabrielle West, and, although sometimes a bit overwhelmed, I am proud to be a policewoman.
Yes, a female police officer.
That was unthinkable before the war.
But last year, conscription was introduced in Britain.
The war devours yet more and more soldiers.
So now, it's not just factory workers we women have to replace, even a female police force has had to be established and I'm one of the first ones here.
19 17 is turning out to be a terrible year.
German submarines attack in wave after wave, in order to starve us out.
The Germans speak of revenge for our own naval blockade, but for us, it is pure terror.
Hundreds of freighters have already been sunk and, with them, the food and supplies destined for the front.
So now, the women in the factories have to work even harder than ever.
Not those sandals again! Go back home and fetch some proper What's going on here, Miss West? - Everything is in order, sir.
- Nonsense.
Has this young lady refused to let you search her? This kind of behaviour calls for consequences.
You know, Mr Anderson, it would be better for the girls to have a longer break, so as they might smoke in peace outside the front gate.
A longer break? Shall we send that message to our men in the field when they run out of shells? Tell them we're sorry, but we had to take longer breaks to go and smoke? - Sir, all l meant was that - Enough.
Now, you can leave, Miss, um Just leave Out! For heaven's sake, Miss West, you have an official role here.
Don't let them take advantage of you.
Off you go.
The girls here are recruited in batches - some from the Midlands, some from Yorkshire, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.
They are brought down here and are put into very rough hostels or cheap lodgings.
Naturally, under these circumstances, only the roughest of the rough will come.
Sir, I'm rather afraid it is the girls who won't let us take advantage of them.
Oh, now, now, Miss West.
This isn't Russia.
I can't see a revolution breaking out around here.
Understood? I hope not, sir.
I hope not.
The gas has been cut off.
There are no candles to be had.
No petroleum, no spirit.
So, how one is to cook, let alone have a lighted room, I don't know.
The renowned German sense of organisation seems to fall terribly when it comes to social rather than military matters.
Hello? A new order about coals has appeared.
No-one is allowed to have more than a quarter of a tonne.
Well, there are none to be had, anyway, so the order does not do much harm.
My name is Ethel Cooper, and I'm an Australian living in Leipzig.
I came to this German "capital of music" as a Plano teacher, but since the war began, all of my German students have left, because I am now considered the enemy.
So, here I am, stranded on the wrong side of the front that defines this war, 10,000 miles from my family and my home town of Adelaide.
Part of the British Empire, half a million Australians flight on the side of the Allies.
As our naval blockade brings increasing misery and hunger to the Germans, we are all the object of their hatred.
Trapped, I do not know how to survive without money, without work, and without friends.
I need to escape.
She came laden up to the eyes with eatables.
I couldn't believe my senses, and then discovered, to my mixed horror and amusement, that she is making a small private business out of buying food in Poland, getting it smuggled in, and then selling it in Germany at a very considerable profit.
Any other people on Earth would rise against a government that had reduced it to such misery, but these folks seem to have no spirit left.
Oh! Bloody Krauts! Collections have been organised at school - copper, tin, lead, zinc, brass and cast iron are all needed.
They are to be turned into rifle barrels, cannons, cartridge casings, and so on.
There is a competition to see which class can collect the most.
My class has collected a lot.
I turned my home inside out.
Grandmother was not pleased.
Sometimes, I don't think she understands that we all have to do our bit for the war effort.
Maybe it's because, when she was young, wars didnât last so long.
What a Christmas.
I spend most of my spare time queuing outside the shops either trying to get hold of a few groceries or to give them anything that could be useful for the war.
Because of the British blockade, no food, no raw materials can get through to us In Germany.
I am afraid that soon you won't be able to find any metal or food anywhere.
My name is Elfriede Kuhr.
I am 16 years old and a very poor student.
But what's the point of learning all these useless things in mathematics or history when the war is the most Important thing In our life? Luckily, lessons are cancelled more and more often.
Not because there are so many victories to be celebrated, but because most teachers have long since been sent to the front.
In this fifth year of the war, we students have been appointed as "soldiers on the home front".
We help with the harvest, try to collect donations, or scrape together the last few raw materials.
At some point, surely all these efforts will have to bring the war to an end and victory for us.
I can barely remember what peace was like.
It's just been too long now.
His name was Gerhardchen, and I had immediately grown fond of him.
So what is it this time? They refuse to work, so long as Mary Morgan isn't reinstated.
Who is this, er Mary Morgan? The girl from the entrance gate.
The one you dismissed, sir.
The one I had to dismiss, because of your quarrel with her! Right, ladies our dear, sweet Miss West simply made a mistake and will apologise to you for it.
Then you can all get back to work.
No, sir, with all due respect, I will not apologise.
And don't you ever dare call me "sweet" again.
Things would be far better around here if you would please ensure that the girls no longer need fear the rats when they visit the lavatories.
That their overalls don't fall apart before they're even put on! That 20 or 30 girls do not end up fainting every day! I see.
Ah! I, Vincenzo D'Aquila, am 24 years old.
As a volunteer, I had set out from New York with thousands of other Italians to fight for the land of our birth.
We arrived full of ideals of freedom and democracy.
Also, in truth, Italy simply wanted to capture Trentino and the port city of Trieste from Austria.
For three years now, our armies have been battling the Austrians, and we have achieved nothing but millions of dead and maimed.
The wounded men who lost arms or legs are worshiped as heroes and sent home.
But those like me, who Just don't want to kill any more, who just can't kill any more, are regarded as malingerers, cowards and traitors.
To be asked the question, "Are you the Christ?", point-blank, of course, disconcerted me.
"What is this?" said I.
"Am I Christ? "And is the Second Coming being accomplished via the Insane asylum?" I thought hard for a minute.
What a fool this doctor was.
We, supposedly heroic soldiers, suffer from panic attacks, tremble with fear, and wake up at night screaming in terror.
All this is concealed from the world.
I am sent from one madhouse to another, while they try to unmask me as a malingerer.
Like all the others here, I ought to be sent back to the front, which would be my death sentence.
Avanti! There was a young man who was subject, at periodic Intervals, to an epileptic fit, in which he repeated, crawling across the hospital floor Avanti! Avanti, Savoia! As in his trench, culminating in the war cry, ' "A vanti, Savoia!"' Avanti.
Avanti, Savoia! Avanti! Avanti! Avanti! Avanti! Avanti, Savoia! I have been assigned to the night watch at the nursery.
I'm afraid of being alone at night.
There is no-one else here, only the children and me.
Feeling is running very high against England.
I loathe most of all this policy of hate-breeding which is being followed everywhere.
How frightfully bitter the feeling of the whole nation Is against us! The police forbad one to telephone In English or to speak English in the streets.
At the concert hall, all music and all musicians that are not German and Austrian are now tabooed.
Only at home am I able to play.
I acclimatised myself to the place at once.
When one is looked upon as hallucinated, the best thing to do Is to behave accordingly and begin to live a life of make-believe.
I accustomed myself to a belief that l was a member of a very select and exclusive club.
I decided that the time had come to do something.
In times that are extremely out of joint, perhaps the madhouse was the sanest place to live after all.
The great and terrible strike again.
More violent than the last, and, as usual, for more pay and less work.
The girls stormed around, yelled, shrieked, threw stones, and so on.
The strikers knocked down a policewoman who prevented them from getting at the changing room.
Then they went to the main offices and broke all the windows, demanding to see the manager.
Show your face, Anderson! Come out here! Face us all! Get rid of the extra shifts.
Show your face, Anderson! Get rid of those extra shifts! Avanti! Avanti! Well, now, Miss West, why don't you simply go outside and do your police work? You know very well this uniform is Just a pretty facade.
We've no rights or authority, and no chance against 4,000 furious working girls.
Well, perhaps you should have considered that earlier! No, sir, perhaps you should have considered earlier whether you really ought to extend our working hours, despite all our warnings.
Do you think I'm doing this for my own pleasure?! We won't hurt you! Promise! The army's planning a new offensive and wants twice as many shells as before.
Has that ever crossed your sweet little mind? I told you before - I'm not your "sweet" young lady.
Consider this my resignation.
God sakes.
I, Marina Yurlova, have been awarded the Order of Saint George, and have fought in a Cossack unit In the Caucasus for four years.
I never thought that l would celebrate my 18th birthday In prison, but, for the new Russian government, I am now an enemy of the people.
The Tsar, sacred to us Cossacks for centuries, is overthrown.
The new rulers are the revolutionary Bolsheviks.
Promising to end the war immediately, the Bolsheviks have abolished the old order.
With the help of the masses, they plan to build an entirely new form of society - communism.
Everyone who stands in their way, faces their "revolutionary terror".
Madame The Boche's conduct in France has been shameful.
It is unbelievable how much plunder they are taking back to Germany.
They'll have enough to completely rebuild every one of their towns.
But soon, we'll go over there, and then we'll be the ones stealing, setting fire and pillaging Non! Non! Yves! My name is Yves Congar and I am a French patriot.
I reached my 14th birthday this year - but how miserable it was.
For four years we have languished here In Sedan under German rule - although behind their backs we call them the Boche.
Like so many of our neighbours, a few months ago, my father was rounded up by the occupiers and transported to a labour camp In Germany.
There they are forced to work in the munitions factories.
I've heard that the Germans are planning a new offensive.
There have never been so many of their soldiers staying with us.
They are everywhere.
Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche.
Sweet Jesus, I pray to you for France, in your mercy grant us victory and bring peace in God's love.
There came the crash of heavy guns far away.
All day long, the bombardment increased in fury.
The thunder of the guns drummed across the night like an endless parade, stealing away all sense of time.
And then shots inside the courtyard.
It is exhilarating, in a way, to feel that we truly are at the razor's edge of fortune.
This is not merely a fight In which the only question is at what date we shall win.
In all our old wars - the wars in the colonies - we were not really putting a fair stake on the table, so to speak, because we could not possibly be destroyed by defeat, but only mortified a little.
All the moral trial of the possibility of destruction was left to the other side.
But now The enemy is at the gates.
15 minutes to pack up and leave.
I'm ready.
I am Charles Edward Montague, chief censor for British Military Intelligence.
I am based at the elegant but otherwise utterly boring headquarters at Château Rollencourt.
The desk job is all very well, but despite my 52 years, I would far rather be in the trenches, fighting as a real soldier.
As befits high command, the château is located well behind our front line - safely out of harm's way at least until today.
A major German offensive was launched, which caught us completely by surprise.
Our defences have been breached, our troops are fleeing.
Sir, with all due respect, would now not be the time for me to resume active service? We must move more quickly - no more documents in the car.
- Yes, sir.
- I mean at the front, sir.
Do you know where the front is, Montague? Because certainly nobody here can tell me that.
Well, sir, we could wait here until they reach the gates and then fight.
When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror? You're an old man.
Oh, if you really must! Stay for a couple of hours, and ensure all the documents are duly destroyed.
With pleasure, sir.
Sir, we really should be leaving now.
Don't stay too long, and don't let the Germans snap you up, old boy.
Now, off.
It seems we are as men wrecked upon a sand Quick, quick, quick, get in, get in, get in.
that looked to be washed off by the next tide.
It is the first time I have seen the rear of a retreating army, or felt the curious tingle there is In an atmosphere where the enemy may appear at any time.
If the Germans used all their strength now, with all their generalship, on this front, not even our men could save our generals.
The asses would go down with the lions they had tried to lead.
This time, I face battle with complete indifference.
Live or die, it means nothing to me.
If I have to leave this world, I would be sorry for only two things - family and nature.
I am Ernst Jünger, 23 years old, and Lieutenant In an elite storm trooper unit on the Western Front.
Today, the 2 1st of March 19 18, we begin our great offensive against the Allies.
Following the Russian Revolution and the collapse of Russia, we have been able to transfer a million of our soldiers from the Eastern to the Western Front.
For the first time in four years, we outnumber and outgun their defences.
With America now in the war, this attack is our last chance to make a decisive breakthrough before they are able to muster their full strength.
Fuelled by a mixture of excitement, bloodthirstiness, rage and alcohol, we attack the enemy lines.
Open fire! I felt the overwhelming urge to destroy.
Oh, God, Oh, God.
You English son of a bitch! The Englishman is cowering, holding up a photograph.
It was a woman, and at least half a dozen children.
I was glad that l eventually overcame my Insane rage, and walked past him.
Oh, sir, I didn't think there were any officers left here.
You wouldn't happen to have a corkscrew on you, would you? A corkscrew?! - Stand up straight, would you, man? - Oh, never mind.
What's all this then? Well Seems to me, you're one of those desk officers, all ironed uniform and all.
Don't think you've got much to say to me.
I wouldn't take that chance if I were you, Private.
Be careful, sir.
You might hurt yourself.
Right, lads.
Now, gentlemen, drink up your champagne, and then get a grip of yourselves - and start behaving like Englishmen.
- Have some.
- Thanks.
Nearly all the divisions which have been in battle are now mere shadows, with a quarter to a half of their strength left, and those - dead beat.
Dottore Mm! Not even for the high ranks In the German army would you see such abundance.
There were entire boxes filled with eggs, onions, tomatoes, coffee, delicious sauces, jams - in short, everything a gourmet could dream of.
Jawohl! Shh! Oh, these babies! Nothing but skin and bones.
Tiny, starved bodies.
And their eyes are so big.
Some look like living mummies.
When they cry, they can barely make a sound.
Shh! Seven-month-old Gerhard suddenly twists his whole body, his arms shake.
He craned his neck and suddenly lay still and stiff In my arms.
I would happily die, If It would bring the war to an end.
Little Gerhard looks frightening, like an ancient dwarf, dead for a century.
Oh, nein Nein! Nein! Komm.
Elfriede, komm.
Elfriede, komm! Elfriede Little Gerhardchen's mother screamed that it was the nursery that was responsible for the death of her child.
That wasn't true.
He He was just another victim of the war.
The flat feels dreadfully empty and deserted.
I am more homesick than ever.
And I am beginning to loathe Leipzig.
All that made me care for it has gone.
The sordid, dogged despair of the place and the people is getting on my nerves.
Morale in my squad Is pretty low, I have to say.
Our great offensive faltered and now the British and American counterattacks never cease.
Pretty much everyone has given up any hope of a German victory.
We all know that with their overwhelming firepower and logistical support, they Intend to crush us Into submission.
And they probably will.
I turned around and saw a strange sight.
Angriff! Men were coming up from behind me with their hands up.
They were moving towards the enemy lines, their hands held high.
Unfortunately, I didnât have a rifle In my hand to gun down this riffraff.
Gentlemen, as promised, here's your opportunity to photograph some German prisoners.
Sorry, you're kind of in the way here.
Hands up, Fritz! Do you mind if I move slightly to the left? These Germans seem like frightened rabbits, gathering up their courage Just to peer out of their burrows.
We have now the most stirring opportunity to show greatness in victory.
Come on - one more for the Kaiser! Hey, Montague, where did you get these guys? I mean, these are hardly the terrible Huns my readers are keen to see.
You got anything else? A few weeks ago, you'd have been running away from this lot.
Believe me.
But there appears to be hard pressure on the side of showing littleness, and so poisoning the future of the world.
I cried so much over poor little Gerhard.
Now I offer up myself to die, so that this war might end.
If a child - for is that not what l am?- is willing to make this sacrifice, then surely, God, you will not let this war go on.
Dear God, I am serious - as I pray you are.
Grandmother is at Frau Leonhard's for coffee and won't be back for three hours.
Everything is quiet here.
Keep your word, dear God, for I am keeping mine.
This is my solemn vow.
Hey! Hey! Proceed down to the right.
The rout goes on - convoys come and go continuously, through the night.
Groups of infantrymen, muddy, dirty, their equipment gone, without helmets, without guns, all In complete chaos.
So, tell me, Montague, how is the morale at the front? The Germans are retreating day by day, but they're fighting on.
Losses are still huge, even on our side.
They're all good men, but more than anything, they hope it'll soon be over.
Mm.
We must stick to our guns, mustn't we, hmm? Shouldn't end the war too soon.
Finish the Hun off, once and for all.
Can't be too harsh.
Let them bleed out a little longer.
That doesn't appear to be what the men think, sir.
Well, that is exactly what the men shall be demanding.
Tomorrow, in the papers.
Cross, would you do the honours? Yes, sir.
Gentlemen, a toast to the honest Tommy and a resounding thrashing of the Hun.
I hope our greedy and bloodthirsty noncombatants and profiteers will hold their tongues.
I think we've all done our bit in the face of enemy fire.
But there are signs of eager baseness about- demands for territory for ourselves, for a share of what Germany can pay.
If the caterpillars of the Commonwealth had their way, our part in this war, noble at first, would end in meanness.
Mm.
You were saying, Montague? It won't be worth one more drop of blood to pursue this war if the enemy is already defeated.
No news, no newspapers, no gas, no electricity, but no-one wants to leave Sedan now.
Better to die in our ruins than to be killed fleeing.
We can hear the cannons, very close, and to the west.
The moment we've been waiting for for four years is approaching quickly now.
But we fear its arrival too.
The evacuation, poison gas, fire, perhaps even death.
I crawled close to her and rested my head on her chest and cried.
Grandma pressed her head onto mine and cried as well.
We cried and cried, and neither of us asking the other why we felt so miserable.
Being cut off like this from the world was the worst part- unsure if we were still slaves or free citizens of France again.
Oi, Miss Policewoman! Leave off before you get your nice uniform dirty! The girls here are very rough.
So are the conditions.
The government are employing Women Police inside munitions factories to control the women workers, and it is for this work that they want me.
Pass, please.
Endless rules are made and we have to enforce them - searching incoming workers for matches, cigarettes, spirits.
Keeping guard at the gate and allowing no-one to enter without a pass.
Patrolling, to see there is no larking or slacking.
Show me your coat pockets, please.
You'll have to take a look yourself, Missie.
Or are you worried you'll get your uniform dirty? It's a pity, Mary Morgan.
I thought we were on friendly terms.
None of my friends wears a uniform.
Look 'ere - Missie's tryin' to fondle me! I ain't got time for all this.
Duty calls and all that.
Stay there, Mary! If the factory were to go up in flames Then I guess it'd go up in flames.
You think anybody would care? I'm Gabrielle West, and, although sometimes a bit overwhelmed, I am proud to be a policewoman.
Yes, a female police officer.
That was unthinkable before the war.
But last year, conscription was introduced in Britain.
The war devours yet more and more soldiers.
So now, it's not just factory workers we women have to replace, even a female police force has had to be established and I'm one of the first ones here.
19 17 is turning out to be a terrible year.
German submarines attack in wave after wave, in order to starve us out.
The Germans speak of revenge for our own naval blockade, but for us, it is pure terror.
Hundreds of freighters have already been sunk and, with them, the food and supplies destined for the front.
So now, the women in the factories have to work even harder than ever.
Not those sandals again! Go back home and fetch some proper What's going on here, Miss West? - Everything is in order, sir.
- Nonsense.
Has this young lady refused to let you search her? This kind of behaviour calls for consequences.
You know, Mr Anderson, it would be better for the girls to have a longer break, so as they might smoke in peace outside the front gate.
A longer break? Shall we send that message to our men in the field when they run out of shells? Tell them we're sorry, but we had to take longer breaks to go and smoke? - Sir, all l meant was that - Enough.
Now, you can leave, Miss, um Just leave Out! For heaven's sake, Miss West, you have an official role here.
Don't let them take advantage of you.
Off you go.
The girls here are recruited in batches - some from the Midlands, some from Yorkshire, Ireland, Scotland and Wales.
They are brought down here and are put into very rough hostels or cheap lodgings.
Naturally, under these circumstances, only the roughest of the rough will come.
Sir, I'm rather afraid it is the girls who won't let us take advantage of them.
Oh, now, now, Miss West.
This isn't Russia.
I can't see a revolution breaking out around here.
Understood? I hope not, sir.
I hope not.
The gas has been cut off.
There are no candles to be had.
No petroleum, no spirit.
So, how one is to cook, let alone have a lighted room, I don't know.
The renowned German sense of organisation seems to fall terribly when it comes to social rather than military matters.
Hello? A new order about coals has appeared.
No-one is allowed to have more than a quarter of a tonne.
Well, there are none to be had, anyway, so the order does not do much harm.
My name is Ethel Cooper, and I'm an Australian living in Leipzig.
I came to this German "capital of music" as a Plano teacher, but since the war began, all of my German students have left, because I am now considered the enemy.
So, here I am, stranded on the wrong side of the front that defines this war, 10,000 miles from my family and my home town of Adelaide.
Part of the British Empire, half a million Australians flight on the side of the Allies.
As our naval blockade brings increasing misery and hunger to the Germans, we are all the object of their hatred.
Trapped, I do not know how to survive without money, without work, and without friends.
I need to escape.
She came laden up to the eyes with eatables.
I couldn't believe my senses, and then discovered, to my mixed horror and amusement, that she is making a small private business out of buying food in Poland, getting it smuggled in, and then selling it in Germany at a very considerable profit.
Any other people on Earth would rise against a government that had reduced it to such misery, but these folks seem to have no spirit left.
Oh! Bloody Krauts! Collections have been organised at school - copper, tin, lead, zinc, brass and cast iron are all needed.
They are to be turned into rifle barrels, cannons, cartridge casings, and so on.
There is a competition to see which class can collect the most.
My class has collected a lot.
I turned my home inside out.
Grandmother was not pleased.
Sometimes, I don't think she understands that we all have to do our bit for the war effort.
Maybe it's because, when she was young, wars didnât last so long.
What a Christmas.
I spend most of my spare time queuing outside the shops either trying to get hold of a few groceries or to give them anything that could be useful for the war.
Because of the British blockade, no food, no raw materials can get through to us In Germany.
I am afraid that soon you won't be able to find any metal or food anywhere.
My name is Elfriede Kuhr.
I am 16 years old and a very poor student.
But what's the point of learning all these useless things in mathematics or history when the war is the most Important thing In our life? Luckily, lessons are cancelled more and more often.
Not because there are so many victories to be celebrated, but because most teachers have long since been sent to the front.
In this fifth year of the war, we students have been appointed as "soldiers on the home front".
We help with the harvest, try to collect donations, or scrape together the last few raw materials.
At some point, surely all these efforts will have to bring the war to an end and victory for us.
I can barely remember what peace was like.
It's just been too long now.
His name was Gerhardchen, and I had immediately grown fond of him.
So what is it this time? They refuse to work, so long as Mary Morgan isn't reinstated.
Who is this, er Mary Morgan? The girl from the entrance gate.
The one you dismissed, sir.
The one I had to dismiss, because of your quarrel with her! Right, ladies our dear, sweet Miss West simply made a mistake and will apologise to you for it.
Then you can all get back to work.
No, sir, with all due respect, I will not apologise.
And don't you ever dare call me "sweet" again.
Things would be far better around here if you would please ensure that the girls no longer need fear the rats when they visit the lavatories.
That their overalls don't fall apart before they're even put on! That 20 or 30 girls do not end up fainting every day! I see.
Ah! I, Vincenzo D'Aquila, am 24 years old.
As a volunteer, I had set out from New York with thousands of other Italians to fight for the land of our birth.
We arrived full of ideals of freedom and democracy.
Also, in truth, Italy simply wanted to capture Trentino and the port city of Trieste from Austria.
For three years now, our armies have been battling the Austrians, and we have achieved nothing but millions of dead and maimed.
The wounded men who lost arms or legs are worshiped as heroes and sent home.
But those like me, who Just don't want to kill any more, who just can't kill any more, are regarded as malingerers, cowards and traitors.
To be asked the question, "Are you the Christ?", point-blank, of course, disconcerted me.
"What is this?" said I.
"Am I Christ? "And is the Second Coming being accomplished via the Insane asylum?" I thought hard for a minute.
What a fool this doctor was.
We, supposedly heroic soldiers, suffer from panic attacks, tremble with fear, and wake up at night screaming in terror.
All this is concealed from the world.
I am sent from one madhouse to another, while they try to unmask me as a malingerer.
Like all the others here, I ought to be sent back to the front, which would be my death sentence.
Avanti! There was a young man who was subject, at periodic Intervals, to an epileptic fit, in which he repeated, crawling across the hospital floor Avanti! Avanti, Savoia! As in his trench, culminating in the war cry, ' "A vanti, Savoia!"' Avanti.
Avanti, Savoia! Avanti! Avanti! Avanti! Avanti! Avanti, Savoia! I have been assigned to the night watch at the nursery.
I'm afraid of being alone at night.
There is no-one else here, only the children and me.
Feeling is running very high against England.
I loathe most of all this policy of hate-breeding which is being followed everywhere.
How frightfully bitter the feeling of the whole nation Is against us! The police forbad one to telephone In English or to speak English in the streets.
At the concert hall, all music and all musicians that are not German and Austrian are now tabooed.
Only at home am I able to play.
I acclimatised myself to the place at once.
When one is looked upon as hallucinated, the best thing to do Is to behave accordingly and begin to live a life of make-believe.
I accustomed myself to a belief that l was a member of a very select and exclusive club.
I decided that the time had come to do something.
In times that are extremely out of joint, perhaps the madhouse was the sanest place to live after all.
The great and terrible strike again.
More violent than the last, and, as usual, for more pay and less work.
The girls stormed around, yelled, shrieked, threw stones, and so on.
The strikers knocked down a policewoman who prevented them from getting at the changing room.
Then they went to the main offices and broke all the windows, demanding to see the manager.
Show your face, Anderson! Come out here! Face us all! Get rid of the extra shifts.
Show your face, Anderson! Get rid of those extra shifts! Avanti! Avanti! Well, now, Miss West, why don't you simply go outside and do your police work? You know very well this uniform is Just a pretty facade.
We've no rights or authority, and no chance against 4,000 furious working girls.
Well, perhaps you should have considered that earlier! No, sir, perhaps you should have considered earlier whether you really ought to extend our working hours, despite all our warnings.
Do you think I'm doing this for my own pleasure?! We won't hurt you! Promise! The army's planning a new offensive and wants twice as many shells as before.
Has that ever crossed your sweet little mind? I told you before - I'm not your "sweet" young lady.
Consider this my resignation.
God sakes.
I, Marina Yurlova, have been awarded the Order of Saint George, and have fought in a Cossack unit In the Caucasus for four years.
I never thought that l would celebrate my 18th birthday In prison, but, for the new Russian government, I am now an enemy of the people.
The Tsar, sacred to us Cossacks for centuries, is overthrown.
The new rulers are the revolutionary Bolsheviks.
Promising to end the war immediately, the Bolsheviks have abolished the old order.
With the help of the masses, they plan to build an entirely new form of society - communism.
Everyone who stands in their way, faces their "revolutionary terror".
Madame The Boche's conduct in France has been shameful.
It is unbelievable how much plunder they are taking back to Germany.
They'll have enough to completely rebuild every one of their towns.
But soon, we'll go over there, and then we'll be the ones stealing, setting fire and pillaging Non! Non! Yves! My name is Yves Congar and I am a French patriot.
I reached my 14th birthday this year - but how miserable it was.
For four years we have languished here In Sedan under German rule - although behind their backs we call them the Boche.
Like so many of our neighbours, a few months ago, my father was rounded up by the occupiers and transported to a labour camp In Germany.
There they are forced to work in the munitions factories.
I've heard that the Germans are planning a new offensive.
There have never been so many of their soldiers staying with us.
They are everywhere.
Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche, Boche.
Sweet Jesus, I pray to you for France, in your mercy grant us victory and bring peace in God's love.
There came the crash of heavy guns far away.
All day long, the bombardment increased in fury.
The thunder of the guns drummed across the night like an endless parade, stealing away all sense of time.
And then shots inside the courtyard.
It is exhilarating, in a way, to feel that we truly are at the razor's edge of fortune.
This is not merely a fight In which the only question is at what date we shall win.
In all our old wars - the wars in the colonies - we were not really putting a fair stake on the table, so to speak, because we could not possibly be destroyed by defeat, but only mortified a little.
All the moral trial of the possibility of destruction was left to the other side.
But now The enemy is at the gates.
15 minutes to pack up and leave.
I'm ready.
I am Charles Edward Montague, chief censor for British Military Intelligence.
I am based at the elegant but otherwise utterly boring headquarters at Château Rollencourt.
The desk job is all very well, but despite my 52 years, I would far rather be in the trenches, fighting as a real soldier.
As befits high command, the château is located well behind our front line - safely out of harm's way at least until today.
A major German offensive was launched, which caught us completely by surprise.
Our defences have been breached, our troops are fleeing.
Sir, with all due respect, would now not be the time for me to resume active service? We must move more quickly - no more documents in the car.
- Yes, sir.
- I mean at the front, sir.
Do you know where the front is, Montague? Because certainly nobody here can tell me that.
Well, sir, we could wait here until they reach the gates and then fight.
When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror? You're an old man.
Oh, if you really must! Stay for a couple of hours, and ensure all the documents are duly destroyed.
With pleasure, sir.
Sir, we really should be leaving now.
Don't stay too long, and don't let the Germans snap you up, old boy.
Now, off.
It seems we are as men wrecked upon a sand Quick, quick, quick, get in, get in, get in.
that looked to be washed off by the next tide.
It is the first time I have seen the rear of a retreating army, or felt the curious tingle there is In an atmosphere where the enemy may appear at any time.
If the Germans used all their strength now, with all their generalship, on this front, not even our men could save our generals.
The asses would go down with the lions they had tried to lead.
This time, I face battle with complete indifference.
Live or die, it means nothing to me.
If I have to leave this world, I would be sorry for only two things - family and nature.
I am Ernst Jünger, 23 years old, and Lieutenant In an elite storm trooper unit on the Western Front.
Today, the 2 1st of March 19 18, we begin our great offensive against the Allies.
Following the Russian Revolution and the collapse of Russia, we have been able to transfer a million of our soldiers from the Eastern to the Western Front.
For the first time in four years, we outnumber and outgun their defences.
With America now in the war, this attack is our last chance to make a decisive breakthrough before they are able to muster their full strength.
Fuelled by a mixture of excitement, bloodthirstiness, rage and alcohol, we attack the enemy lines.
Open fire! I felt the overwhelming urge to destroy.
Oh, God, Oh, God.
You English son of a bitch! The Englishman is cowering, holding up a photograph.
It was a woman, and at least half a dozen children.
I was glad that l eventually overcame my Insane rage, and walked past him.
Oh, sir, I didn't think there were any officers left here.
You wouldn't happen to have a corkscrew on you, would you? A corkscrew?! - Stand up straight, would you, man? - Oh, never mind.
What's all this then? Well Seems to me, you're one of those desk officers, all ironed uniform and all.
Don't think you've got much to say to me.
I wouldn't take that chance if I were you, Private.
Be careful, sir.
You might hurt yourself.
Right, lads.
Now, gentlemen, drink up your champagne, and then get a grip of yourselves - and start behaving like Englishmen.
- Have some.
- Thanks.
Nearly all the divisions which have been in battle are now mere shadows, with a quarter to a half of their strength left, and those - dead beat.
Dottore Mm! Not even for the high ranks In the German army would you see such abundance.
There were entire boxes filled with eggs, onions, tomatoes, coffee, delicious sauces, jams - in short, everything a gourmet could dream of.
Jawohl! Shh! Oh, these babies! Nothing but skin and bones.
Tiny, starved bodies.
And their eyes are so big.
Some look like living mummies.
When they cry, they can barely make a sound.
Shh! Seven-month-old Gerhard suddenly twists his whole body, his arms shake.
He craned his neck and suddenly lay still and stiff In my arms.
I would happily die, If It would bring the war to an end.
Little Gerhard looks frightening, like an ancient dwarf, dead for a century.
Oh, nein Nein! Nein! Komm.
Elfriede, komm.
Elfriede, komm! Elfriede Little Gerhardchen's mother screamed that it was the nursery that was responsible for the death of her child.
That wasn't true.
He He was just another victim of the war.
The flat feels dreadfully empty and deserted.
I am more homesick than ever.
And I am beginning to loathe Leipzig.
All that made me care for it has gone.
The sordid, dogged despair of the place and the people is getting on my nerves.
Morale in my squad Is pretty low, I have to say.
Our great offensive faltered and now the British and American counterattacks never cease.
Pretty much everyone has given up any hope of a German victory.
We all know that with their overwhelming firepower and logistical support, they Intend to crush us Into submission.
And they probably will.
I turned around and saw a strange sight.
Angriff! Men were coming up from behind me with their hands up.
They were moving towards the enemy lines, their hands held high.
Unfortunately, I didnât have a rifle In my hand to gun down this riffraff.
Gentlemen, as promised, here's your opportunity to photograph some German prisoners.
Sorry, you're kind of in the way here.
Hands up, Fritz! Do you mind if I move slightly to the left? These Germans seem like frightened rabbits, gathering up their courage Just to peer out of their burrows.
We have now the most stirring opportunity to show greatness in victory.
Come on - one more for the Kaiser! Hey, Montague, where did you get these guys? I mean, these are hardly the terrible Huns my readers are keen to see.
You got anything else? A few weeks ago, you'd have been running away from this lot.
Believe me.
But there appears to be hard pressure on the side of showing littleness, and so poisoning the future of the world.
I cried so much over poor little Gerhard.
Now I offer up myself to die, so that this war might end.
If a child - for is that not what l am?- is willing to make this sacrifice, then surely, God, you will not let this war go on.
Dear God, I am serious - as I pray you are.
Grandmother is at Frau Leonhard's for coffee and won't be back for three hours.
Everything is quiet here.
Keep your word, dear God, for I am keeping mine.
This is my solemn vow.
Hey! Hey! Proceed down to the right.
The rout goes on - convoys come and go continuously, through the night.
Groups of infantrymen, muddy, dirty, their equipment gone, without helmets, without guns, all In complete chaos.
So, tell me, Montague, how is the morale at the front? The Germans are retreating day by day, but they're fighting on.
Losses are still huge, even on our side.
They're all good men, but more than anything, they hope it'll soon be over.
Mm.
We must stick to our guns, mustn't we, hmm? Shouldn't end the war too soon.
Finish the Hun off, once and for all.
Can't be too harsh.
Let them bleed out a little longer.
That doesn't appear to be what the men think, sir.
Well, that is exactly what the men shall be demanding.
Tomorrow, in the papers.
Cross, would you do the honours? Yes, sir.
Gentlemen, a toast to the honest Tommy and a resounding thrashing of the Hun.
I hope our greedy and bloodthirsty noncombatants and profiteers will hold their tongues.
I think we've all done our bit in the face of enemy fire.
But there are signs of eager baseness about- demands for territory for ourselves, for a share of what Germany can pay.
If the caterpillars of the Commonwealth had their way, our part in this war, noble at first, would end in meanness.
Mm.
You were saying, Montague? It won't be worth one more drop of blood to pursue this war if the enemy is already defeated.
No news, no newspapers, no gas, no electricity, but no-one wants to leave Sedan now.
Better to die in our ruins than to be killed fleeing.
We can hear the cannons, very close, and to the west.
The moment we've been waiting for for four years is approaching quickly now.
But we fear its arrival too.
The evacuation, poison gas, fire, perhaps even death.
I crawled close to her and rested my head on her chest and cried.
Grandma pressed her head onto mine and cried as well.
We cried and cried, and neither of us asking the other why we felt so miserable.
Being cut off like this from the world was the worst part- unsure if we were still slaves or free citizens of France again.