Foxhole Flats in Normandy

An article on foxhole housekeeping, from the Warweek supplement of Stars and Stripes, July 13, 1944. 

Most foxholes were dug and occupied for relatively short periods of time, as deep and sturdy as time and ground conditions permitted. In some areas they were used for weeks or even months (at Anzio, for example) and soldiers gradually improved them, sometimes adding lighting, cooking areas and even furniture. The "deluxe" foxhole was part of GI folklore, and they grew fancier with each retelling. But some were truly elaborate. They made the best of an uncomfortable living situation, and working on them was a welcome distraction and a boost for morale.

Foxhole Flats in Normandy are Home to Gl Shovel-Architects; Helpful Hints for Soldier Tenants

By Arthur Goodwin

Warweek Staff Writer

THERE'S a real estate boom on in Normandy these days—with one room flats in great demand.   These apartments are sort of unlike those in the newer sections of any American city, but they have one great advantage—machine-gun bullets and shell splinters can't come in without knocking.

This unusual and highly desirable feature is due to the fact that these GI "homes away from home" are cleverly hidden away beneath the surface of what is sometimes called "Mother Earth." A very direct kind of guy might describe one of these Normandy flats as "this — — foxhole"—but that is a very unsympathetic approach, unworthy of the splendid young Americans who are often found defending their country under the direction of a leather-lunged and flint-hearted mess sergeant.

There is another attraction to these self-contained dwellings: they are entirely rent free. That is, they are rent free unless some hours of back-breaking pick and shovel work can be considered as rent. Many well-informed persons are decidedly of the opinion that it can be, and should be, so considered.

Just as an illustration of one of the many ways in which these shovel-chateaux differ from more commodious cabins, it is well to remember this:

At home, a man first builds a house, then he plants a garden around it. In Normandy the procedure is reversed. The home-seeker finds a ready-made garden —and then digs his flat into some protected corner of it.

For the benefit of future tenants and householders in Normandy, as well as for the present occupants, here are some tasty little household hints about how to be comfortable in the corner of somebody's cabbage patch:

First, the bedroom. In Normandy the best bet is to dig into the side of one of the innumerable hedge-banks along the roads or dividing the fields. These fields are all small and instead of stringing barbed wire or building stone walls to partition them off, generations of French farmers have built up dikes of earth.

Bushes and small trees grow on the tops of these banks and their roots hold the earth together. These roots also provide a tough, springy cover which makes an _almost shellproof roof over any excavation dug into the bank itself.

The scheme favored by most of the GI shovel-architects is to dig into and under one of these banks. If there's a ditch at the bottom and on the "right" side— which means the side facing AWAY from the nearest enemy positions—well, then, so much the better.

The man who can't find a convenient hedge-bank to dig into usually settles for the base of an apple tree. This isn't as risky as it sounds, because, although a tree or any other feature of the terrain which can be easily Seen tends to draw fire, there are so many apple trees in Normandy that no one tree is any more likely to be a target than any other. The exception of course is the unusually high tree, which would explode any 88mm. shell passing through the branches, or one which happens to be in a particularly exposed or inviting spot. Common sense is the best guide.

With a location picked out—and successfully defended from "claim jumpers" who figure they want to dig there too— the prospective tenant gets to work with an entrenching tool. The idea is to hollow out a trench long enough and wide enough for the man who plans to use it to lie down in comfort.

Any less than that is no good, any more just means extra digging.

The depth is very important and the standard rule is the deeper the better— up to the point of it being so deep that a nearby shell would cave the walls in on top of the occupant. One or two feet deep is skimpy and dangerous—it leaves too much Gl anatomy exposed to the chill winds from the Channel and the hot metal from Germany.

Ten feet would be just plain silly, beside being dangerous from the cave-in point of view and a hell of a lot of needless work.

A good four feet is about right, depending on the location and the kind of ground.

Lay a bed of green branches, with the leaves on, in the bottom of the excavation. This to provide insulation between the sleeping soldier and the cold, wet earth. Then, if you can get it, throw in all the grass available. This cushions any small rocks, sharp roots or the butts of the green branches. Pack the excavated earth in a parapet around the top of the trench, sodding it down so it doesn't show. Make this little extra protection about eight inches high.

Some GI architects line the inside of their trenches with cardboard from ration cartons. This is a good trick—if you can lay your hooks on any of this material. Just flatten 'em out and lay them in the bottom of the trench. The stuff will keep out the cold and dampness and helps a man get a night's sleep when he needs it bad.

The Joe who is up at the front with only a raincoat and a blanket will be most comfortable if he spreads the coat over his branches, grass and cardboard and then wraps himself in the blanket. Keep your head inside the blanket—it holds the heat in.

In a reserve or support area it may be a good stunt to "marry" some other guy —and then set up housekeeping together. Dig a trench wide enough for two and use shelter halves and blankets to make a two-man sleeping bag. Use packs for pillows, but be sure you've removed your mess kit. Don't use the gas mask for a pillow—it may injure it.

Don't sleep too well—things happen fast in a war and it is very embarrassing to start fumbling around, sleepy-eyed, for your Ml—only to discover that you don't have a hand to hold it in by the time you're wide awake. Keep one ear and one eye open all the time and whenever you can, grab a few minutes of shuteye during the day. It's warmer then, and there are a lot of guys around to warn you in case of any quick trouble.

No field flat is complete without its kitchen, the main element of which is the "hot box" on which rations can be warmed up. If you don't have, and can't get, a GI cooker, don't worry about it.

Just take an empty C-ration can— punch a few holes in the sides near the top, fill it about two-thirds full of earth or sand and then wet this down with gasolene. Light up and you'll get enough heat to warm up beans or pork and egg yolk so they are fit to eat. If you do have a GI hot-box, here's a tip on how to make it more effective:

Take that same old C-ration can with holes in it as described in the preceding paragraph, empty out the earth or sand and set the hot-box inside it. This concentrates the heat and makes it last considerably longer. Also it is easier to put out that way.

Your kitchen will be pretty well stocked, but there won't be much variety. Here are a couple of gags which may help to make those GI canned-goods taste a little better:

1. Mix a can of beans, meat and hash together, heat the resulting mixture on the hot-box. It tastes different from any one of the three alone. Another stunt is to melt bouillon powder in a little water and cook it in with the meat-hash-beans. This is really a good combination.

2. Take the  bouillon  powder,  some lemon crystals or a couple of Chelseas to the nearest farmhouse and swap them for an onion or a couple of spuds. (French pronunciation: ohn-YON and pom-de-tair). Cut up the vegetables and cook them with the meat-hash-beans.

Here's another way of using the ham-egg combination:

Cut it into small chunks, do the same with the cheese component, mix 'em all in the meat can of the mess kit and then cook slowly until the cheese is thoroughly melted and mixed with the heated ham-egg stuff. This particular dodge was invented by a Normandy farm-woman where some Joes were billeted. After they tried it they all agreed that the French didn't get a reputation for cooking just by knowing how to boil a cabbage.

There's lots of butter in Normandy, despite the war, so there will often be a chance to use it in making field rations taste better. Almost anything fried in butter is good—and chunks melted in with any of the combinations already described will make them taste better.

Now for dessert:

Try whittling your chocolate "D-bar" into a cup partly filled with boiling water, crumble crackers into it, cook out some more of the water and you'll have a pretty fair hot chocolate pudding. Coffee is easy: boiling water, coffee crystals and sugar. The man who fancies a cold dessert can make one with sugar, lemon crystals, water and cracker crumbs.

Next in our self-contained Normandy apartment comes the bathroom. This isn't much of a problem. Practically every Norman farm has a pump in working order and pump water—plus soap, plus a bucket or an upside-down helmet —equals one bath. If there isn't a pump handy, use river water. Streams abound in Normandy.

Warning: Don't drink that farm-house pump water, but it's OK for scrubbing the old hide. Hint: For real luxury, try mooching a bucket of hot water, eau chaude (oh shode) from some neighbor.

Pvt. Harold Raclin, from Brooklyn, solved the shower problem this way: "Four of us go down to a pump in a field. One guy pumps. Two guys stand guard. The fourth guy stands under the pump and washes. The water is cold— but what the hell, I'm clean and I feel swell."

Pfc John J. Stever, of Reading, Pa., uses a different system.

"I just squat over a helmet full of soapy water and paddle it up around my crotch and armpits. Then wash myself all over with a washrag or a handkerchief."

Lots of men don't go in for quite such extensive bathing, but, instead, confine themselves to their face and feet. One helmetful does for both—face first, then feet. Don't forget to dry your tootsies and shake on plenty of GI foot powder before putting on your socks again.

A helmet substitutes for a lot of fancy plumbing in this foxhole civilization, but it's a poor substitute for a flush toilet. In fact these aids to comfort are a very scarce article in Normandy anyway—even in the best of times. In rear areas the old-fashioned straddle trench is the standard equipment.

It should be dug for a squad and at least 50 yards away from the position. Up nearer the front men dig little "cat holes" and cover them up after using. In both instance be sure that there's no secondhand toilet paper left to blow around the scenery. Cover it up with earth too.

Here are a few more hints on how to enjoy your one-room Normandy flat:

Wrap your wallet or other valuable papers in the cellophane cover of a K-ration. It will keep them dry.

Many Normandy farm-women will be glad of a chance to earn a few francs doing washing for GIs. Provide the soap and such deals are easy to arrange. Just say LAH-VAY—and point to your tattle-tale gray.

Don't move anywhere without your rifle and bayonet—enemy snipers may turn up at any moment—even in supposedly "safe" territory.

Wear your knife, if you are equipped with one, on your right leg, below the knee. You can get at it easier that way if you are crawling or lying—and that's what you’ll be doing when the time comes for that little weapon.

Don't dig in in sand or loose earth. Hard, rocky soil is harder digging—but it won't cave in on you and a hole just big enough to stand in and deep enough to get your head below the surface is sure fire protection against any enemy tank which might break through and come charging over your position.

If you think the weather and the living conditions are hard on you—and who doesn't—remember they are even harder on your rifle, carbine or BAR. Oil and care is the answer.

When you need those weapons in this war you need 'em awful damn bad.

And that's it—an outline for foxhole living. Maybe some of this stuff will come in handy. Remember it anyway— what can you lose?