"Over the Top," by an American Soldier Who Went Together with Tommy's Dictionary of the Trenches — Key Ideas to Explore

The Fire-Step Voice

Empey explicitly states his intention to write in the language of Tommy Atkins sitting on the fire step, telling his mate what is happening. This choice shapes the entire narrative: sentences are short, slang is frequent, and the tone is wry rather than heroic. For example, he describes a German machine gun that “used to get our goats” and notes that after a two-week rest, “once again we went up the line.” The voice is that of a man who has learned the lexicon of the trenches—“Blighty,” “chow,” “grouse,” “C. B.”—and uses it without explanation, trusting the reader to catch up. This stylistic decision makes the book feel like an oral history transcribed, not a polished memoir.

Music and Machinery

A recurring image in the excerpts is the machine gun as a musical instrument. Empey’s crew decides to “become musicians” and he practices a tune called “All Conductors Have Big Feet” while firing. This is not merely a joke; it reflects a deeper pattern of transforming the weapon’s mechanical noise into something human and controllable. The gun’s rhythm becomes a skill to master, a way to impose order on chaos. Later, the same gun that plays tunes is also the source of deadly precision—its bullets “knock up the dust on the road” at dusk. Empey moves between these two registers without comment, letting the contrast speak for itself.

The Hunt for a Single Gun

Much of the excerpted narrative revolves around a single German machine gun that pins down Empey’s unit. He describes it with a hunter’s attention: it has the exact range of the dugout entrance, it fires at ration time, and it “got our nerves on edge.” The crew tries “various ruses” to locate and destroy it, each failing. This focused, almost obsessive pursuit gives the early chapters a tight, episodic structure. Empey does not claim to know the gun’s location or fate—he reports only the attempts and the mounting frustration. The gun becomes a character in its own right, a persistent antagonist that tests the crew’s skill and patience.

Punishment and the Crime Sheet

Empey devotes a long passage to the British Army’s disciplinary system, from Field Punishment No. 1 (nicknamed “crucifixion”) to “C. B.” (Confined to Barracks). He explains the hierarchy of offences and penalties with the same matter-of-fact tone he uses for machine-gun drills. The Crime Sheet, kept by the Sergeant-Major, is a ledger of infractions; a “smart soldier” stays off it. Empey admits he has been on it “a few times, mostly for ‘Yankee impudence.’” This section serves as a glossary in miniature, defining terms like “Pack Drill” and “Orderly Room” while also revealing the daily friction between men and authority. The detail about filling a pack with straw to lighten it—and the risk of getting caught—shows how small acts of defiance become part of trench routine.

Empey’s book resists easy categorization: it is part memoir, part slang dictionary, part technical manual for the machine gun. Readers will find the most value by paying attention to the shifts between these modes—the way a description of a punishment drill can slide into a story about playing a tune on a Vickers gun. The appended dictionary, “Tommy’s Dictionary of the Trenches,” is not a supplement but an integral part of the work, reinforcing the idea that survival in this world depends on learning a new language.

Reading Over the Top made me think of my grandfather, who never spoke of the war but would hum old songs under his breath. I found that same quiet ache in "Shiloh" as Seen by a Private Soldier With Some Personal Reminiscences — Context and Discussion, where the mud and the waiting felt just as heavy as the fighting.