Conditions like these, cold, wet, and unrelenting, led to one of the most common, yet often overlooked injuries of the war: trench foot.
My father, Bruce Glover, experienced one of those conditions firsthand during the winter of 1944 while stationed near Elsenborn, Belgium. What began as days in cold, wet foxholes turned into something much more serious, a diagnosis that would send him across three countries before he recovered: trench foot.
In his own words, he described the moment everything changed:
"A couple of days later our company regrouped and the
medics inspected us for any injuries. They asked me to take off my boots which
I did not want to do because I had a feeling if I did, I would never get them
on again. I was right because I had contacted 'Trench Foot' which was a result
of the combination of prolonged cold and wetness in which we had endured the
past couple of months. We literally ate, slept, and exercised in our fox holes
leaving only long enough to go to the bathroom and maybe once every couple of
weeks going behind the lines and getting a shower which consisted of going
inside a big barn structure where barrels of cold water were hanging from the
rafters and drips of water were released as you pulled a rope hanging from the
barrels.
As a result of the inspection, I was sent behind the lines to a temporary hospital in Liege, Belgium and in subsequent weeks to Paris, France and finally to Birmingham, England. My feet were terribly swollen and somewhat painful, but bearable. It took the better part of two months or more before I was finally released from the hospital. One unforgettable moment I remember was a soldier in the next bed to me had a much more severe case of trench foot than I did and developed gangrene in his leg. The doctor came by one morning and with his forceps lifted the entire big toe nail off and the patient (soldier) never felt it. He eventually had to have his lower limb amputated, I heard later."
Trench foot, also known as immersion foot, is a non-freezing injury caused by prolonged exposure to cold and wet conditions. Unlike frostbite, it does not require freezing temperatures. Soldiers standing in wet socks and boots for long periods could lose circulation in their feet, leading to swelling, numbness, pain, and in severe cases, infection or gangrene.
As long as I can remember, my father was meticulous about keeping his feet dry. What once felt like a simple routine now connects directly to his experience with trench foot during the war.
The official records confirm what my father described. Morning reports document the moment his condition was recognized:
Hospital Admission Record
Date: 23 December 1944
Name: Bruce D. Glover
ASN: 36860891
Grade: Pfc
Organization: 393rd Infantry
Diagnosis: Trench Foot
Condition: Moderate
Hospital: 108th U.S. General Hospital
Even more telling, 18 out of 35 men in that same admission group were diagnosed with trench foot. This was not an isolated case, but part of a larger pattern affecting soldiers in the same harsh winter conditions.
From the front lines near Elsenborn, he was moved through a chain of care: first to a temporary hospital in Liege, then to Paris, and finally to Birmingham, England. He remained hospitalized until May 8, 1945. What my dad remembered as the better part of two months was, according to the records, closer to four and a half months.
This progression reflects the larger evacuation system used during the war, moving soldiers farther from the front as they stabilized but still required care.
One of the most striking memories he carried was not his own injury, but that of another soldier. It is a reminder that trench foot could range from painful to life-altering, depending on severity.
This was just one chapter in my father’s wartime experience, but it offers a glimpse into the realities soldiers faced beyond the battlefield.
Through his words and the official records, I am able to see not just where he served, but what he endured. Trench foot was not simply a diagnosis, it was the result of weeks of exposure, resilience, and survival under harsh conditions. My father always felt that someone was looking out for him in December of 1944. He never returned to combat, as the war in Europe ended on 6 May 1945, and he entered officer training at Fontainebleau, France on 8 May 1945.
Moments like this remind me that military records and personal accounts together tell a fuller story. One gives the facts, the other gives the experience. And it is in combining the two that history becomes something we can truly understand.
Golden Arrow Research
For this research, I worked with Geoff at Golden Arrow Research, who assisted in documenting my father’s World War II military history, including locating and compiling the morning reports used in this post. His work provided the foundation that allowed me to focus on understanding and sharing my father’s experience. More information about his services can be found at https://www.goldenarrowresearch.com/
AI Disclosure
This post was researched and written by me as part of my ongoing work to understand my father’s WWII service. I used ChatGPT 5.2 to assist with title suggestions, proofreading, transcription of the morning report images, and defining abbreviations. All content has been carefully reviewed, edited, and reflects my own research and interpretation.
