Dear Mother,
I am now in France, in the same region as Dick left England for. Did you receive my last letter in which I stated my new address and told you of the big bombardment at ???? No doubt you have been uneasy respecting the severe fighting which has just taken place. You will be relieved to hear that we have taken no active part in this, we have been active but have only been up against the elements. For instance, on the day of the snow storm (which, from reports in the papers, and letters from Margaret and Edgar, I gather you had a good taste of in England), we were on the march, and had a fine time fixing drag-ropes and assisting the horses in pulling the transport over the hills. I have had few letters from anyone during the last month, no doubt letters have been sent but, owing to my wanderings, have been lost. Still, I had a nice parcel and letter from Lilian Hart, the parcel containing one of Auntie’s famous pork pies. It is very difficult to but even bread here. Edgar too sent me a letter, he says that according to the newspaper reports, Dick is Colonel. Still, Colonel or Field Marshall, I’ll give him a good run at tennis and any information he requires concerning Machine Guns. Snow is falling heavily again today – I am writing this (for warmth) in the house of a French peasant, where I have the uncomfortable feeling I’m not wanted. Still, I have no option other than a cold farm building, so I brave Madame’s fierce looks and vituperant tongue, and attempt conciliation through the medium of vile coffee. This I drink, cup after cup, like a Spartan, with the relish that one drinks senna tea. Cheerio! Mother, I’m in the best of health and spirits, best wishes to all.
Your aff. Son,
Bob
[Related Poem: To Arras, March 1916]
Dear Mother,
You will be surprised and pleased to hear that I have been awarded the D.C.M., with the General’s congratulations, so I feel pretty much like George Eliot’s bantam-cock, that thought the sun only rose to hear it crow. I will write a letter later, I wanted you to know as soon as possible. Love to Maud and Margaret.
Your aff. Son,
Bob
Dear Mother,
I am still in the best of health and spirits, we are now in a very quiet part of the line, so I hope the knowledge of this will occasion you some relief. I don’t know whether the D.C.M. will be the means of my getting home, there seems to be some doubt as to whether a seven days leave goes with it or not. Anyhow, there is just a possibility that I’ll see you all in a very short time. Excuse short note, Love to Maud and Margaret.
Your aff. Son,
Bob
Please send me writing pad and envelopes.
Dear Mother,
I have only one green envelope and don’t know when I’ll get another, hence Edgar’s letter. I am in the trenches but everything is quiet here, we’re only playing at War! However, the weather is fine so I’m enjoying myself. Maud’s note came the other day, I’m very glad she beat Sharrow Lane with her team. I hope I’ll be home to see her team in the final. Yes! I received Auntie M A’s pork pie, and didn’t “arf strafe it”, one can only buy wine in these villages, and as, owing to moving, we have had scant rations lately, my longing for something English was intense. If Margaret sees Alice ask her to tell her my address is as usual, also I’ll send her a big letter when I get a green envelope, and Mother, I’ll send you a big letter too. Only be patient, for my brain is not capable of much nowadays. Love to Maud and Margaret.
Your loving son,
Bob
Dear Margaret,
This is Sunday night, more important, Easter Sunday night. I have just “Stood down”, which doesn’t mean I’ve been treating the lads to an oration. There are two occasions during an ordinary day’s happenings here, when extra vigilance is essential, the hour before dawn and at dusk. This is “Standing to”, and, as I before remarked, I have just “Stood down”. We have had a beautiful day here in the trenches, our spirits have bucked up accordingly, for the past week has been wretched. Anyhow, the sky tonight predicts better things in the way of weather for us. I hope you’ve been treated to just such a day as we have had, and that you’ll have a nice holiday. Sorry there’s nothing doing in the matter of leave, you’ll have to keep on waiting. Sure, one fine morning I’ll rattle your windows with pebbles and rout you out. I’ve had letters from both little Ethel and Lilian, with congratulations. Ethel says, “I am learning music, I can play ‘Drink to me only with thine eyes’ and ‘Long long ago’”. It reminds me of mine own laboured efforts. I’m getting on spiffing! Don’t imagine I’m Sergeant Major, no, I’m still a full-blown Lance-Jack, and a very modest one too, but in respect of health I’m topping! Please assure our Mother that these are nice trenches, anyhow I think so. Most people go about with long faces, saying they’re mined, puts the damper on one just when one is thinking of a nice “kip”. They’ll come along with a gentle reminder, gives one spasms and the inclination to dream. However, my dreams are always the right sort – “Mine exploded in right front line; Fritz, advancing in mass formation, endeavours to gain footing in crater and is stopped by the gallantry of your honourable and crew, who, catching Fritz in perfect enfilade, pile him up in millions. Customary honours, fetes, feasts, joy-rides, recruiting speeches” – then, the horrible awakening, some brute bellowing in one’s ear-hole, “Stand to”. A miserably cold feeling down the spine, yes, the mornings are cold. Finished in haste, Love to Mother and Maud.
Your aff. Brother,
Bob
Dear Mother,
I’m as usual in the best of health and spirits. Sorry to know from Margaret that you have been unwell, hope you’ll improve as the weather improves. We have quite a nice little home now, with a back garden promising all manner of good things: strawberries, blackcurrants, gooseberries, etc. One of my chums called the other day, and left me a bag of rice, so we’ve had rice and stewed rhubarb these last few days. We have about a dozen clocks, but not one to tell the time. However, we have one to give us a tune, and assist the digestive organs at mealtimes, which is fortunate as today’s steak needed much persuasion. Really, I’m having a delightful time just now when dawn breaks. I wash (water and Wright’s coal tar soap on the premises), and then breakfast while birds sing and gentle zephyrs bear with them the scent of lilac, daffodils, and every other spring flower mentionable. And don’t forget the aforesaid musical clock (one record). After breakfast I stroll around the garden, or gardens, people here must have been delightfully free and easy, judging by the gaps in the hedges, well! I note the progress of the apple trees, the pear trees, the plum trees, the gooseberry bushes, the currant bushes, and pray that they’ll be ready before the “great advance”. I then gather a few flowers to bedeck the apartment, return, sit me down in the most comfortable chair, and sketch. You’ll be charmed to hear I’m developing artistic tastes. Love to Maud and Margaret.
Your aff. Son,
Bob
Please send Wilfred’s address when next you write.
Dear Mother,
I’m in the best of health and spirits. Have just received parcel and letter from Maud, also letter from Margaret. I have to write to Frank, Dick, and Edgar, so please be content to know I’m alright. I shall try and get another letter through tomorrow.
Your aff. Son,
Bob
Dear Mother,
I haven’t much to write about, still I’ll try and do better than I did last time, when you must have been bored to death with those four lines. I still am enjoying the best of health, and, although sometimes when thinking of England, home, and beauty I get a fit of the “blues”, it is never for long. I am still in the garden billet, but, owing to the rough weather, my fruit trees are not making good progress. We are fed up with rhubarb, especially as we lack the wherewithal to produce custard, and must needs rely on that never-failing article, Tickler’s jam. However, with a little contriving one can do endless feats with Tickler’s, sans cookery books too. We anxiously await the presence of old sol to ripen the currants (colour indefinite yet), and to enlarge the gooseberries. The pears, plums, and cherries we feel are hopeless, and that other restless hands are destined to pluck them, and our spirits droop accordingly. How does the “Daylight Saving Bill” affect you? Far from saving daylight, quite the reverse is my portion, Lance Corporal’s may blest concession, sleep between the hours of 6am and 12 noon. If however, during said hours a snore is emitted from the said Lance Corporal’s ungodly nostrils, such snore apprising the Hun of the team’s headquarters, sleep for offending Lance Corporal shall be abandoned for all time. Well, Mother! I warned you I had little to say, and not feeling any bigger for the little I have said, I’ll put down the pencil. With my love for Maud and Margaret,
Your loving son,
Bob
Will you supply me with another letter-pad and envelopes please?