10 surprising WWI facts you’ve probably never heard

During the early months of 1915, German engineers prepared a weapon that did not rely on shrapnel or bullets to wound the enemy, but instead unleashed jets of burning liquid to disorient, incinerate, and terrify.

On 26 February, near the village of Malancourt on the Western Front, pioneer detachments tested the new Flammenwerfer in combat.

The assault teams carried canisters strapped to their backs and hoses gripped tightly in their hands.

As they reached the edge of no man’s land, they opened the valves, sending arcs of flame across French trenches.

The fire spread with alarming speed, consuming sandbags, wooden duckboards, and anything flammable that lay in its path.

Earlier, engineer Richard Fiedler had proposed the Flammenwerfer, though military officials delayed its adoption until they faced the deadlock of trench warfare.

The Kleif models came in two sizes: the smaller version allowed for rapid movement, and the larger required a two-man team to operate and carry the heavy tanks of fuel.

Each set combined a pressurised reservoir, a hose, and an ignition system, giving the operator the ability to direct a continuous burst of flaming oil over short distances.

These early models reached ranges of up to 30 metres. 

As a result, flamethrower crews trained separately from regular infantry, since their role demanded both endurance and steady nerves under pressure.

Teams worked in pairs. One controlled the hose, while the other monitored fuel levels or watched for threats.

The number of casualties caused by fire remained small in most actions. Still, the psychological effect proved far greater.

Defenders described a wave of panic as the flame began to snake through the trench line.

French troops sometimes abandoned their positions entirely when faced with these terrifying weapons.

Throughout the war, many soldiers rotated through various duties that pulled them away from front-line service, which reduced the strain of long-term trench exposure.

Infantry battalions operated on schedules that moved men into and out of the line on a routine basis, with time spent at the front balanced by periods in support or reserve positions located behind the main defensive belts.

Typically, rotations followed a five to seven-day cycle. During those interludes, soldiers repaired roads, helped with construction, moved ammunition, or rested in nearby villages such as Poperinghe in Belgium when conditions allowed. 

At times, commanders organised lectures, athletic events, or musical performances to occupy the men, who otherwise might fall into boredom or anxiety during periods of inactivity.

Accounts written by British, French, and German troops described impromptu games of football, religious services, or poetry readings held in barns or dugouts.

The physical danger never entirely disappeared. Still, the presence of structured relief gave units a rhythm that allowed them to endure.

Writers such as Private Frank Richards and Ernst Jünger recorded these routines in their memoirs. 

Some sectors rarely saw major action, so commanders used those areas to train new recruits or hold depleted divisions.

As a result, patrols and sniping became more common than large-scale assaults.

The popular image of a soldier trapped in endless mud fails to capture this broader range of wartime experience.

In 1914, when the rush to enlist overwhelmed recruitment offices across Britain, authorities turned away thousands of men who, though fit and eager, fell below the official height requirement.

Many of these men came from mining regions and industrial towns, where poverty and poor diets had restricted childhood growth.

Under mounting pressure, the War Office allowed new units to form that would accept shorter volunteers. 

Soon after, recruiters in Birkenhead raised the 15th (Service) Battalion, Cheshire Regiment, composed entirely of men under five feet three inches.

That battalion's success prompted the creation of 'Bantam battalions' across several regions.

These formations drew heavily from Glasgow, Lancashire, Yorkshire, Durham, and the coalfields of South Wales. Soldiers in these units earned a reputation for physical toughness and defiant pride. 

At the front, they fought at the Somme, Ancre in November 1916, and Bourlon Wood in 1917.

They often compensated for their shorter reach with speed and aggression in trench raids and patrols.

Bantams also served as part of the 35th and 40th Divisions. Eventually, as casualties mounted and fewer small-statured men enlisted, taller replacements filled the ranks.

Over time, this diluted the Bantam battalion identity until it faded entirely.

On 22 April 1915, near Ypres, German troops released chlorine gas into Allied lines.

The greenish clouds drifted slowly toward French colonial troops, who had no protection and little warning.

As the gas entered the lungs, it caused choking, violent coughing, and death from asphyxiation.

The panic it caused allowed German units to advance, though they lacked the reserves to hold the captured ground. 

Shortly after, Allied forces retaliated with their own gas attacks, using new agents such as phosgene and mustard gas followed chlorine.

Each had its own effects. Phosgene caused fluid build-up in the lungs, often with delayed symptoms, while mustard gas burned the skin, blinded the eyes, and lingered on surfaces long after an attack ended.

Phosgene became the deadliest gas of the war, responsible for around 85 percent of chemical deaths. 

By late 1916, both sides had built specialist gas units and used artillery shells to deliver chemical agents across the battlefield.

In July 1917, the Germans first used mustard gas during the Third Battle of Ypres.

Soldiers received masks made from impregnated fabric or rubber, and drill instructors trained them to don protection at the first sign of warning.

Still, many suffered. Gas clung to uniforms, seeped into dugouts, and injured the wounded lying in the open.

Approximately 1.3 million men became gas casualties, and over 90,000 died. The damage often lingered for years, and some survivors never regained full health.

When the war ended in 1918, the German, Austro-Hungarian, Ottoman, and Russian empires had all collapsed.

In Germany, the Kaiser abdicated on 9 November after sailors mutinied and workers rose in protest.

A provisional government declared a republic as revolution swept across the cities.

On 11 November 1918 at 11:00am, Germany signed the armistice, ending the fighting and the Weimar Republic emerged as its successor. 

At the same time, Austria-Hungary broke apart under pressure from nationalist movements as Czechs, Slovaks, Poles, Croats, and Romanians all declared independence.

Emperor Karl I relinquished his authority but never formally abdicated. By the time the armistice came, the empire had ceased to exist.

It was the Treaty of Saint-Germain in 1919 that formalised its dissolution. 

Meanwhile, the Ottoman Empire signed the Armistice of Mudros on 30 October and British and French forces soon occupied Constantinople.

Arab fighters, led by Emir Faisal and supported by T.E. Lawrence, had taken Damascus and Amman.

The Treaty of Sèvres in 1920 and Treaty of Lausanne in 1923 dismantled Ottoman control.

Back in 1917, the Russian Empire had already fallen when the Bolsheviks seized power during the October Revolution on 7 November and withdrew from the war.

They executed the Tsar and his family, dissolved the army, and triggered a civil war.

New nations including Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia, Finland, Poland, and the Baltic states formed from the ruins of empire.

On Christmas Eve 1914, along sections of the Western Front, German and British soldiers began singing carols.

Their voices echoed across no man’s land. By the following morning, men from both sides left their trenches and met in the middle, where they exchanged food, shook hands, and shared stories. 

In several places, they retrieved the dead, who had lain unburied for weeks. In one sector near Frelinghien, soldiers played football using a ration tin.

Others swapped cigarettes, buttons, and chocolate. However, no military orders had permitted such meetings.

Still, the soldiers made the decision on their own, often against regulations.

Officers such as Captain Clifton Stockwell participated, while commanders like Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien later issued orders banning future fraternisation. 

Later, high commands issued warnings to prevent a repeat of the truce in future years.

Yet memories of that day persisted. Letters written home described the joy and strangeness of seeing the enemy up close.

For many veterans, it remained the most human moment of the entire war. The truce occurred along nearly 100 kilometres of the front, involving thousands of men.

In 1915, British planners explored ways to break the stalemate of trench warfare.

They formed the Landships Committee under the Admiralty, chaired by Winston Churchill, to develop armoured vehicles that could cross barbed wire and shell holes.

For secrecy, they called the prototypes “tanks” to suggest water containers. 

On 15 September 1916, during the Battle of Flers-Courcelette, tanks appeared for the first time in combat.

The British deployed 49 Mark I tanks, but around 36 reached the front, as many broke down or became stuck.

Still, the attack caused confusion in German lines. Soldiers fled at the sight of the machines.

Though the breakthrough failed to materialise, commanders learned valuable lessons. 

The later British Mark IV and the French Renault FT became more reliable. In fact, the Renault FT became the first widely adopted tank with a fully rotating turret, though the British Whippet offered limited turret mobility earlier.

In 1917, the Battle of Cambrai saw the first coordinated tank assault with over 476 machines taking part.

By 1918, tanks worked alongside infantry and aircraft in planned offensives. Their success remained limited by terrain and engine failure.

However, the concept of armoured warfare had now entered military doctrine. 

On 7 May 1915, the RMS Lusitania neared the coast of Ireland when a German U-boat struck the vessel with a single torpedo.

An internal explosion followed and, within minutes, the ship began to list and sink.

Of the 1,959 people on board, 1,198 died. Among them were 128 Americans. 

Germany had warned that enemy ships entering a declared war zone could be attacked.

Still, the loss of a passenger liner caused international outrage. Newspapers printed eyewitness accounts describing women and children struggling in the water, while British officials used the event to rally public opinion against Germany.

The ship was carrying over 4,000 cases of rifle cartridges and other war materiel, which Germany used to justify the attack. 

The incident shifted American attitudes. Although the United States did not declare war until 1917, the Lusitania sinking remained a turning point.

It forced diplomatic exchanges, slowed German naval tactics, and remained fixed in the memory of those who demanded justice.

On 21 April 1918, Manfred von Richthofen flew low across the Western Front while chasing a Canadian fighter.

He crossed Allied lines, where Australian and British troops fired at his red Fokker Dr.I triplane.

As the aircraft passed over the Somme Valley, machine-gun fire struck him. 

He crash-landed in a field near Vaux-sur-Somme where troops rushed to the site and found him dead in the cockpit.

At first, credit went to Canadian pilot Roy Brown. However, later analysis of the wounds and bullet angle suggested that ground fire caused the fatal shot.

A post-mortem concluded the bullet entered from below and behind, consistent with fire from the ground. 

Australian machine-gunner Sergeant Cedric Popkin, of the 24th Machine Gun Company, likely fired the round that killed the Red Baron.

He had tracked the plane with his Vickers gun as it flew overhead. Regardless, the Allies buried Richthofen with full military honours as many considered him the most skilled pilot of the war, with 80 confirmed kills.

In early 1918, soldiers began to fall ill with a severe form of influenza. Soon, the illness spread rapidly across training camps and hospitals.

By mid-year, a deadlier second wave emerged. It killed young, healthy adults in large numbers.

Symptoms appeared suddenly. Victims drowned in their own fluids within days. 

The virus travelled along troop movements. As soldiers returned home, they carried the disease into cities and towns.

Entire communities collapsed under the weight of infection. Hospitals ran out of beds. Doctors wore makeshift masks. Coffins stacked up outside churches.

Some researchers traced early outbreaks to Kansas, USA, while others identified simultaneous infections in France and China, suggesting multiple points of origin. 

Estimates place the global death toll between 50 and 100 million, which meant that the pandemic became one of the deadliest in recorded history.

India lost between 12 and 17 million people, while the United States lost around 675,000 people in total, including approximately 45,000 military personnel.

Yet for those already shattered by war, it added another layer of loss. No battlefield could shield them and no armistice could stop its spread.