Sunday 22 February 2026
I skipped coffee and croissants after Mass this morning to get into the trenches.
A World War I trench, to be specific, not in Flanders or along the borders of France. But in Elham, Kent, at the back of a man’s farm.
Eagle-eyed historians will know that there were no front lines in Kent. But this was a re-creation, created by amateur historian farmers on a bit of their chalky land. Looking to indulge their passion for history and make a few quid, they dug up some land and created not just a British trench, but a German one as well, complete with no-mans-land and accurately sized shell holes.
The set-up is so good that it’s frequently used for documentaries, filmmakers, as well as busloads of school children. As well as trenches, there were dugouts, aid stations, and even a latrine. All dripping wet, muddy, and lit with candles for maximum authenticity.
It might be a bit of a stretch to tie this trip to the readings in Mass, about Christ being tempted in the desert. The folly of war must count within that. And the desolation of a desert is perhaps analogous to a miserable trench landscape.
And I suppose part of me felt that temptation, typical in young boys, to glorify war as heroic. I found myself wanting to be left alone in the trench so no one would see me running around playing “war”. But as I get older the reality of war seems uncomfortably close to home. The news headlines will usually take care of that.
But the pictures show the accuracy of this recreation, and the time and effort put into hopefully educating new generations of kids about the horrors of war. Along with a few older kids like me.