Cover of Harry Colebourn's diary, 1916. Colebourn Family Archive.
From 1914 to 1918, while serving as a Canadian Army Veterinary surgeon, Colebourn filled the pages of six pocket-sized diaries, each in a different colour: black, dark green, red, burgundy, green and teal. From Ypres to the Somme to Vimy, Colebourn recorded camp life at the French and Belgian fronts. He wrote his logs in whatever was available, whether pencil, black, blue or red ink. These entries exemplify the personal war diary genre as written by thousands of soldiers and officers during the Great War.
Interestingly, Colebourn had two diaries from 1915; the original diary, a dark green volume marked in irregular ink and haphazard writing, which he likely misplaced in July and replaced with a new volume. When he later retrieved the original diary, he attempted to copy over the missing entries into the new volume, but reliving the terrible days in Ypres perhaps proved too difficult, and three months were left unfinished. In the unspeakable trauma of war, it is Winnie that gives him the strength to pick up his pen again and begin writing in his new diary: “In London all day. Visit zoo in morning and see Winnie.”
The 1916 diary, its year embossed in gold on the cover, afforded the army vet with half a page for each entry. In contrast, the plain leather cover of the 1917 diary opens to pages whose printed dates allotted a mere four lines a day, which expressed in equal measure matters of life and death and daily banality. Such a diary has its code. Like the regimental log, its style is fragmentary and the grammar minimalist, each entry focused on facts.
In his writing, Colebourn keeps his emotions in check. He reports trauma (“Many men + horses killed.”) with the same tone as the weather, which is often “wet + cold.” The entries avoid narrative and create drama by colliding the violent with the mundane—the war’s annihilation strikes without warning, as in the April 19, 1915 entry set in Ypres:
Visit [horse] lines A.M.
Germans shell town and kill 4 soldiers in Grand Place. Many others injured. Saw aeroplane fall. Stay in cellar under large grocery store for several hours. Tremendous shelling.
Fine.
“Fine” ostensibly refers to the weather, but has a dual function, and also expresses the relief that marks the soldier’s survival. As hundreds of thousands die, such entries affirm Colebourn’s life. Far from simply reflecting reality, the diary constructs and assembles the self. Even though the first person “I” is missing, the verbs assert Colebourn’s presence and agency, such as in his daily refrain: “Visit lines A.M.”
The diary showcases the daily, weekly and monthly rhythms of a soldier at the front. Accounts of his health are frequently interspersed: “Shave + then make monthly diary. Not feeling very good.” The monthly diary referenced is the official report that he makes as an officer of the Canadian Army Veterinary Corps.