The following is excerpts of Danish-German soldier Peter Poulsen's diary entry from the Western Front in June 1918, detailing of the tragic case of his Polish comrade. Translated by myself:
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"Around 8 days ago we had welcomed a comrade back, a huge Pole named Gulochinsky. He was a reserved and quiet man, big and strong, and everyone held him dearly; but we also sensed that he had something on his mind. We tried to enquire on it, but no one could convince him to open up.
The French attack never materialized. They took up positions in a forest some 3 km away, and those of us who weren't on guard then received the orders to sleep in those small dug-outs, where there were space for 4 men in each.
Three of us had went inside and laid down, the fourth was the Pole. He too came inside and laid down quietly; but after a few minutes he stood up, walked over to me and grabbed my hand, and I felt him shaking like a leaf.
I soon realized that he was crying. He stood in silence for a short moment, then, he began talking, and all while squeezing my hand, he said:
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"Before the war I was a happy man. I had a wife, a lovely wife and seven healthy children. I worked on a sugar factory in Poland and was well-paid. When I came home from work in the evening, my wife was busy cooking food for me. My children jumped on my knees and my back, and I sang and jumped with them to my heart's desire, and we were so happy with each other. I was home on leave just before I was attached to your Company, but then my wife and all seven children had died."
Then he went quiet again and sobbed, and when he opened his mouth again, he just said: "You may speak now."
Indeed, what should I have said to him? I stood up. There lay a couple of small chests, so I put my arm around my comrade and forced him to sit on one of them and I sat beside him on the other, and we both cried."

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