Sergeant John Corby, 4th Battalion Grenadier Guards

I am sending you a piece of Hill 70 that we made up in the trenches which I think is very good. If you consider it good enough to go into “The St Neots Advertiser” I should like you to put it in, and please send me one of the papers to show that the Guards are not all “feather bed” soldiers. I can assure you it was a bit hot, like all hell itself and shells burst in our trench and was myself buried twice by them. We shall not get anything so hot again. We lost 25 of our bombers out of 40 in less than 20 minutes. I am glad so many are turning up to answer the call, I think they will be wanted, but we have got them on the run I think. I am glad Mrs C and family are well. Remember me to all the Eaton folks and don’t forget the paper.

The Monday afternoon was well nigh spent,
When across to the trenches the Grenadiers went;
We started off in the grand old style
The Germans shelling us all the while.

Only five oclock ! it was not yet dark
And the German guns ne’er ceased to bark;
But we reached a trench and scrambled inside.
And there for a time we had to hide.

The shells were falling in a solid mass,
And they started using their deadly gas;
But the boys were fairly well equipped,
And over our heads our smoke helmets were slipped.

Then we advanced over an open field,
The shells were falling but we did not yield;
We reach the road we dug ourselves in,
Then for the shells we didn’t give a pin.

The worst of it was it began to rain
But the boys kept at it just the same;
We didn’t care a single toss
For any of the blooming cowardly Bosche.

When the darkness began to fall,
They sent up star shells to reveal us all,
If we’d put up our hands over the parapet,
The snipers would have had us you can bet.

But we knew a trick worth two of that.
So in the bottom of the trench we sat,
Waiting for the daylight to appear,
Also reinforcements from the rear.

The morning passed midst a might roar,
As the Germans were dropping shells galore,
But as they were dropping well behind,
The lads in the trenches did not mind.

In the afternoon the battle begun,
And we soon had the Germans on the run,
Over Hill 70 the beggars we chased,
And the shells from the Artillery were all well placed.

No doubt the Germans are a dirty lot,
Because for our wounded they care not a jot;
They fired on the stretcher bearers carrying them in,
And the shots from the snipers went ping, ping ping.

On the Wednesday night we got relieved,
And the hot rum and tea for all the boys received:
It made us all fell extra bold,
As we had been shivering with the cold.

We marched along the road all night,
And the star shells revealed a terrible sight;
For on Saturday the Huns had held this line,
And our Artillery had caught them fine.

Dead horses and men lay along the trench,
And they created a terrible stench;
Some were buried others were not,
We were glad to get away from that awful spot.

Now we are back in billets for a rest,
And although our billets are not the best,
We sleep quite sound from the roar of the guns,
And the bullets and the gas and the cowardly Huns.
But in the days to come, that memorable day
When the Gaurds made the Germans run away,
Will always be talked about with pride,
When the boys are sitting round their own fireside.

And your children will ask in tones of awe,
What did you do, Daddy in this terrible war?
Then you can answer with perfect glee,
That you were the boys that took hill 70.