After Great Aunt Margaret had copied letters to the family into the precious notebook, Elsie then added extracts from the letters Grandad sent to her. Being somewhat curious I would like to have seen the complete articles but she obviously felt that was not appropriate! Nevertheless, they still provide a valuable insight, but from a slightly different perspective.
I wrote you last night and posted it, along with one for Mother, in the Mess post box. About midnight the fire alarm roused me, men were scurrying about with fire buckets and extinguishers, the Mess was burning furiously, and along with it my letters. Well, the men put the fire out by 1:30am, and fortunately saved the marquee in which we dine. The letters met a terrible fate, and I simply daren’t attempt a rescue attired in pyjamas. We’re having quite a nice time here, there is no reveille, and we needn’t rise until 8am. Considering we only have to subscribe 1/- per day the messing is exceptionally good. Our Colonel is a decent old boy, and there is no stiffness in the Mess. We’re very comfortable in our tent, and have been fortunate in securing a good servant (a Scotchman), who is gradually giving a more homely appearance to the place, and who obtains a wonderful shine on our accoutrements. Yesterday we had two lectures on topography from the Colonel, the subject of the first lecture was conventional signs, thus X is a windmill, + is a church. Topography is the Colonel’s pet hobby, in the afternoon he showed us how to sketch a panorama, and was so enthusiastic with his efforts that he assured us that every gentleman present would be able to sketch a useful panorama on the morrow. This morning found every gentleman, in every nook and cranny, panoraming. Myself, I panoramed for about three hours, of course I had to have variety so anon I smoked, admired the view, criticised in a superior kind of way other’s efforts. By lunchtime had evolved quite a useful piece of work, so I thought. In the afternoon the Colonel criticised our efforts. He told me my trees were not correct from a military standpoint, my pond, in comparison, was a lake, my hills were mountains. He quite spoiled my labours by sketching all over the paper his idea of hedges, trees, folds in the ground, etc., and finally had the audacity to label my work “useful”. Tomorrow we’re on revolves shooting. I’m enjoying the book immensely. The Russian thing is awfully funny and spells Gorky all through. Leave for the weekend is easy to obtain if one is not wanted for Church Parade on Sunday, so if I’m not wanted I’ll have the weekend in Sheffield, where I hope to arrive about 4pm Saturday.
I worked until 11pm last night on the map, and today it’s rained unceasingly, we’ve had to stay indoors, my map wasn’t needed… Yes, Omar does depress me – I won’t believe that “ The flower that once has bloomed forever” dies. Yet there is a certain beauty about the theme, which charms and holds me. I had a friend in the 9th K.R.R., artistic and lovable. One of our chief delights whilst in training was for him to recite Omar, and for me to listen, when lights were out in our tents and Morpheus had claimed the majority. His voice was very musical and low, even now I seem to hear him:
“Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like water, willy-nilly flowing,
And out of it, as wind along the water,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.”
We went to France, his life had hitherto been spent in the city, unfit, frail, all mind, no body. I trembled at the thought of the suffering he must endure. Yet, in spite of his deficiencies physically, he had an unconquerable soul. For three months he braved the hardships of weather and unspeakable trenches. About the end of July 1915 I fell sick. We had just had a spell of very wet weather, and from repeated chills I had contracted influenza pretty badly. Well, I lay in a dirty old Belgian barn, the boys had orders to take over the trenches at Hooge. I was too weak to accompany them and Fred came to wish me well and talk me out of a black humour before the Battalion marched off. On the night of 29/30th July 1915, the Germans, after levelling our trenches by bombardment, made a determined attack, and assisted by the use of ‘liquid fire’, captured the front system and killed the few men left who comprised the garrison. This was made on our 41st Bde, the next day our Bde, the 42nd , received orders to counter-attack and re-take the lost trenches. This attack was delivered in broad daylight, about noon of the 30th , our people had no preliminary bombardment, communications were bad, and shells meant to strike the Germans were bursting amongst our own men. There was no cover, and the Bde advanced across the open against a perfect hail of machine gun bullets and all manner of shell. I never knew how, but during this attack Freddie was killed. My battalion went out 900 strong, and with eighteen officers. About 100 returned, with one officer. I recovered from the influenza, and the depression that settled on me after these terrible events. I felt fit and strong, and there grew a strong desire in me to do nobly, and to bear any suffering that might come my way, because I felt that Freddie was not in reality dead, that somewhere indefinite he was watching, and that I must not disappoint him. This spirit animated me during all my experiences in France. I must suffer everything cheerfully because Freddie and the others were watching. The thought of their disapproval turned me sick.
So I’m not a disciple of Omar Khayyam, he expresses himself very beautifully, that is all. Of this I am convinced – the soul is born again to higher things…
Now I must finish, there’s a fearful gale blowing and I can’t keep my candle going. Added to this Hal is continually asking me if the tent is going to last the night. Silly ass!, as if that matters. I’ll let you know definitely about Saturday, in any case I’m coming although I may need to return about midnight.
I don’t quite know whether I’ll come by road or rail on Saturday, but in any case I’ll let you know definitely by Sat noon. I’ll need to borrow a bicycle, and if I’m fortunate enough to do so, I’ll most likely be able to stay until late Sunday night. It is only about two and a half hours run to Sheffield, and it wouldn’t be a bad plan if I left home about 4am Monday. I should then just arrive here in time for breakfast. There is just a chance of my taking the six weeks course at Grantham after I’ve finished here. This course includes lots of things, but not weekend leave. There is however a six days leave at the conclusion. Men who have spent a long time in France are given preference to men who have not been on active service. So there is just a remote possibility that I’ll be in England until Christmas. I must not shirk but I can’t have too much knowledge and I’m still awfully ignorant in many respects. This week we’ve been doing Tactical Schemes (Gas and Bombs come next week). Tactical Schemes include Outposts, Advance Guards, Rear Guards, Formations for Battle, etc., and require a great amount of thought. Now you’re getting bored. Still, I’ve got to be quite at home with such subjects, because when we get the Germans running we’ll need them.
I arrived here at 5am, I missed the road in the dark and came via Clowne instead of Whitwell, making an addition of 3 miles. The thingummy registered 26 miles so I didn’t do too badly. Since 5am I’ve washed and shaved etc., and am just writing this before breakfast, then you’ll get it on Tuesday. I did enjoy the run back, it didn’t require the least bit of energy. The country, with the mist rising and the colouring in the East heralding the sun, looked like a dream picture.
We’ve had a guest night this evening, that is, we’ve had an Orchestra playing outside the Mess, and extra special dinner, and we’ve also drunk the King’s health in port wine. I’m reading ‘The Caravaners’ when I can poach a few minutes, it promises to be delightful reading. I start on a three day Gas course tomorrow, and from all accounts it’s pretty stiff, so you’ll understand if I don’t write. If I don’t have word respecting you coming here, I’ll be home again on Sat afternoon.
It seems pretty certain that fifty of us are to be sent to France this week. Whether I shall be one of the fifty I cannot definitely state. If it be so, I shall only have six hours notice, and be tied to camp, or at the most Mansfield.
There is nothing in the orders this evening about France. I’ve just had a stroll to Clipstone, it is a beautiful evening and scarce a soul along the path I chose. You will be happy when I go to France – really – it isn’t anything to shrink from, rather to be desired, something to quicken and strengthen the soul.
I’ve just had dinner and am going to the theatre, the Alhambra. I telephoned Mary, but she wasn’t there. My address will be: Machine Gun Corps, Base Depot A.P.O. S.18, B.E.F. I will write immediately I get to Camiens.
I’ve arrived here quite alright, and had a pleasant voyage. Of course I mustn’t say where I am, but I’m not at my base depot. I go on there tomorrow. Am sleeping tonight under canvas, on top of a hill with a wonderful view of the sea. The weather is beautiful, consequently my hopes high. There are five of us sharing a tent, but oh what luxury compared with my last stay here. Then there were about twelve of us to a tent, with only our great-coats for warmth. Now I’ve three thick blankets and a bed too, so I’m going to be very comfy and happy this time.
I wrote to Mother this morning, about 10 O’clock. Now I’d better just write and tell her that I’m safe across.
I arrived at my depot last night. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Everything is nice and comfy. I’m writing this in the officer’s club. We are four, that is in this tent. We’ve had a very pleasant day together by the sea. Of course we didn’t really come to France to fritter away our time by the sea. Still, we’re going to make the most of things whilst we’re here. We came here about 6pm yesterday, our kits didn’t arrive until about 1:30am today. The tents were pretty well crowded out, so I slept on a form in the Mess and woke up this morning (Sunday) quite fresh. However, it’s much nicer today, we’ve got tolerable beds, a decent table knocked together out of biscuit boxes, other boxes to sit upon, books to read, we’re altogether very happy. After breakfast we went in the lachrymatory gas chambers. We were each given the S.B.R., stayed in the chambers, tasted and smelt the gas, and that’s all we’ve done today. After lunch the four of us walked about four miles to ????, where we hired a carriage and were driven into ????, awfully interesting isn’t it? Anyhow it was a lovely drive, a brilliant sunny day with a refreshing breeze from the sea, pine woods, crowds of French people on holiday, soldiers in uniforms of various styles and colours, native troops, girls in pretty dresses. Very fresh and novel for me, who had not been allowed such freedom before. ???? was very gay and light hearted. We walked along the esplanade and admired the houses, which, with the sun’s rays heightening the effect, surpassed anything I have seen for colour. Then there were the many coloured bathing costumes and wraps. Very dazzling but just a bit shallow, flimsy I thought for a nation that has and is still suffering so much. Now, we had tea, good English tea, and delicious French pastries. Peaches, pears, plums, melon, all delicious. Then after tea another stroll, and a sight of a crowd of Tommies just arrived in hospital, looking so tired, dirty, unshaven, but happiness written all over them. I’ve had that feeling but it’s difficult to express. It’s a dream, but oh so soothing, one just sits and mentally reviews it all. Yesterday unspeakable horror, now life in all its beauty, the tender voice of a woman. So we must suffer, without suffering there is no true life, no perfect happiness, and his the greatest who suffers most.
More gas tomorrow.
I haven’t gone up to the line yet, although I expect to do so sometime next week. A host of our chaps are going along tomorrow, others went during the week. There won’t be many left tomorrow night. I must write to Wilfred, I’ll do it after I’ve written this. There’s only one daily collection here at 5pm, it’s 4:30pm now. I’ve tea to get so I’ll just need to hustle. Shall also write to Mother tonight. I had a busy morning censoring letters at one of the hospitals yesterday, they do say funny things. One chap finished up with ‘God protect you from your loving husband’. On the whole the letters are most cheerful.
I’m leaving here tomorrow morning early. My new address will be 153 M.G. Corps, 51st Division, B.E.F., in case you’ve any doubt about it. I’ll have to wear a Balmoral, you know, a tam o’shanter kind of hat. Aren’t you glad I’m joining the best division in the British Army? That perhaps sounds a bit treasonable to my old division (I doubt whether there is such a word). However, you know what I mean. Still, the 51st has a splendid reputation and are considered alongside the Guards Division. This is a poor kind of letter, but I’ve my things to pack. You shall have a letter as soon as I reach my new company billets and I’ll tell you as much as I dare.
Oh, I had such a funny day yesterday. We started away about 10:30am, got a comfy carriage and had a very pleasant journey. I discovered a most amusing book in the club, ‘A Sentimental Journey’ by Lawrence Sterne. With this, and a variety of incidents usually found on a railway journey, the seven hours sped by without boredom. I am once more in the area where I spent my first nine months when fresh to active service, I’m glad of it too. Well, on arrival at the railhead, we had either to wait about three hours for a motor lorry, or walk about 8 miles to camp. We’d had nothing to eat but chocolate since breakfast, so we elected to scour the village for bread and wait for the lorry. We went into several establishments, in each case parading our ignorance of the French language, until finally we found a place to meet our requirements. Madame could speak English so we dined – omelette, a tin of crab one of the chaps had the forethought to bring along, bread and butter, and what I most required – tea. After which we washed. Of course it is usual to wash before meals but we lacked the moral courage to ask for soap and water at first, after tea we felt bolder. Then we went back to the rendezvous, sat down on the men’s packs, smoked, talked for a while, and watched the sun go down. Then the lorry arrived so we started away. The packs occupied most of the lorry, there was space for two officers on the front. There being three of us we had to spin a coin, and my luck brought me on the tailboard with the men, and the full charm of a very dusty road. However, after about four miles we overtook a big party marching. Many of the men were dead beat so we piled them on top of one another, inside and on the tailboard, until, the atmosphere being none too sweet, I transferred to the steps in front and got a breather. So we arrived in camp.
We had dinner, bully beef rissoles, potatoes and haricot beans, rice pudding washed down with lime juice. After dinner the fun began. A Boche plane was at work somewhere, dropping his bombs. All lights were extinguished. We went outside and watched numbers of lights searching for him. Then westwards across the channel a lively thunderstorm was in progress, most vivid fork lightning zig-zagging and lighting up the clouds. We rejoiced to see the storm blow northward, the marquee we sleep in being perforated. Things tamed down and I went to bed on the floor of the marquee, and in spite of the unaccustomed hardness slept heavily. This morning I reported for duty and found that nothing was required of me except to censor letters. I stay here today and tomorrow join my new company who are at rest in a place I know quite well. If you’re going to see Mother will you give them all my love, and tell them how happy I am. Also ask Maud to send me some nice letter paper and envelopes along. I can’t buy any decent here and I’ve almost run out. We’ve just had a heavy shower but the sun has got a clear field now, and we’re hoping that the rest of the day will be at least free from wet. I’ll just send Mother a note now.
I’m continuing my travels today. A motor bus is to distribute us among the various units in the division. My unit lies about 10 miles away. I’ll be with them about tea time. There are about forty for the bus, thirty-eight kilted, Brown and I the only obvious Englishmen. I didn’t tell you about Brown. Well, he’s the chap I told Mother was for tanks. However, he isn’t, I was mistaken, ‘twas another Brown. E.G. Brown is coming along to the same corps as myself. He is a very nice chap. His home is at Clay Cross. Once more I am fortunate.
Wilfred’s division were in the Army Corps but have since left it. I don’t know where they are now. Still, I think I’ll be seeing him soon. We’re having stormy weather, unfortunately I couldn’t get any trench boots at the Base. Still, I’m better off than Wilfred and Walter. I don’t have to stand for hours in the wet and there’s always the humorous side. This is a poor letter, I’m just a bit unsettled. Well, you’d be able to appreciate that if you could see me.
Have joined my company, you know the address so I’ll not bother to repeat it. I just arrived in time for tea. After tea I mounted the Guard for the Orderly Officer, who wanted to go out riding. Then Brown and I jumped onto a motor lorry and went into a town nearby. Tomorrow I am Orderly Officer, it is time I commenced work. We’ve just been to see our skipper for the first time. He’s a big fellow with grey eyes, hard and piercingly cold. I’m anticipating a few skirmishes with him, but I’m going to penetrate his mask. All the other chaps I shall get along with alright, especially the Transport Officer, a fellow called MacNaughton. It may be a bit chilly at first, but I’ll not be many days before I find my feet.
Brown and I are sharing a tent, we’ve each got a servant and are very comfortable. We’ve got beds, isn’t that a luxury for active service? True, they’re only very rude affairs, just a framework of wood supported by four stout uprights and covered with old waterproof sheets. Still, they’re beds and I’m much more comfortable now than I’ve often been in England. Our Mess President caters for us in far better style than in England at Clipstone, we were used to ???, that’s Irish and poor Irish too.
Last night we had rabbit for dinner, rabbit pie, isn’t that wonderful? Or am I too enthusiastic about so small a matter? I think we’ll be resting here quite another week. There isn’t much doing, work from 7am to noon, and then finish for the day. Our O.C. has seen much service in India. Last night after a few whiskies he became talkative, and delighted me at any rate with stories of life there. He is a wonderful conversationalist and it was about midnight before we retired. I did feel modest. I felt that I never wanted to speak again, that it would be presumptuous of me to do so until I’ve lived half this man’s experience. So I’ve got to keep quiet but I’m going to win through and in a year or so talk to younger men with the authority he talked to me last night. He dwelt on this war and blamed the English people, not that they could have prevented it, but that they could have considerably reduced its duration. He is right, we made our Government.
Here I’ll have to finish. I’ve been made Section Officer and there’s an inspection tomorrow, my section’s simply got to be best. Imagine Robert tomorrow, sitting on a bucking horse the while some old Brigadier General is hurling questions at him concerning the abilities of a section he’s only known one day. I’ll carry it off alright.
I’ve been awfully busy these last two days, we’ve moved quite near the line today. I’ve been Billeting Officer, not a very brainy job but one that demands a lot of buzzing around, allotting tents, foraging for material for beds, cook houses, and oh, lots of details. I’ve enjoyed it though. We’ve got a wooden structure, covered with waterproof stuff in parts, for mess, sleeping, and everything. Now I’ve got to finish and buzz around again. Best wishes to all.
My Birthday – a very nice one too in spite of the fact that Fritz is now and then sending his messages over. We’ve got a nice gramophone. Selections from Mousine, Indian Love Lyrics. I’ve just had ‘Temple Bells’, ‘Till I Wake’, now Tosti’s ‘Goodbye’. Oh, we’ve got at least a hundred records. Your note has just arrived, also one from Wilfred and another from Mrs Betts. Wilfred has given in and consented to apply for his commission. I’ve got to write to him after I’ve finished this, and tell him how to go about it. I’m Orderly Officer again today, which means there’s a whole pile of letters asking to be censored. So I’ll set about Wilfred’s and then attend to the men’s.
Oh, such funny times we’re having. Bombs and thunderstorms, wild nights, inert days. It isn’t a bit of use going to bed, who can sleeps amidst such a din. Then in the daytime, reaction.
I’m reading Beauchamp’s Careen.
We’re going down country early tomorrow morning to fire a machine gun course – thirty five miles each way on a London bus.
Had a p.c. from Maud today.
I’ve been down to an isolated place and couldn’t get a letter to you. My Company are going into the line today but I’m not going with them. Oh, I’m getting on fine with this Company and am very very happy. I’m going to write you tonight, when I get my men settled.
I didn’t write last night as promised, ‘cos I was busy hunting around for men’s rations, and getting them comfortable. We, Mr Hampson and myself, along with about 40 men, constitute a sort of Company Reserve to the men in the trenches. We’re comfortably placed in tents, have got plenty of food, and are altogether very happy. Our Company are only holding the line a few days, then, says rumour, we’re going out for a long rest. Isn’t that funny? I mean, I haven’t done a stroke of what I call work yet. I wanted to know why I wasn’t to go in the line this time. The O.C. said that I had plenty of experience and his intentions were to give the new men a trial. Of course I ought to feel very grateful, but I feel a slacker all the same. Oh, O.C. commands a Company, C.O. commands a Battalion.
I told you we had been down country to fire a course. I’ll give you a little more detail. Eight of the old London motor buses came for us, and we were treated to a real joy ride, about 40 miles in all, accomplished in about 4 hours. We were a party of choir boys on our annual excursion, bubbling over with enthusiasm, a perfect day helping us to retain the same. The previous day we had sent on a Billeting Officer, Mr Savage, a Frenchman in all but parentage. Obviously our billets were good, French people love Englishmen who understand their language and ways. Each officer got a nice room and bed with clean sheets, the men the cleanest barns I have seen in the country. Furthermore the country was beautiful. Do you know Sussex? If you do you will be able to picture the delights this country held for us. Do we “picture delights”? We had come from desolation, a part where one’s nerves are always on edge, to absolute peace, where such noises as we heard had only the effect of making more absolute peace. Next day was Saturday. The men cleaned guns and ammunition and we officers went to explore the range: fix up targets, fix sentry posts, etc. My lot fell to fixing sentry posts so I took a bike. I had a circuit of about six miles to travel round, in addition to the six miles ride from billet to range. The day was hot and I had many stiff hills to climb. We started well at about 11am. I mean, we had two bottles of champagne, and this and the atmosphere combined to make me a trifle hilarious. I went on ahead of the party and picked out the best route. At noon we lunched, quite a nice lunch, hilarity increasing all the while, the range becoming quite a minor feature of the expedition. About 2pm I left the rest of the party, sought and found the range, and went round with my Corporal and fixed the sentry positions. I left the others, not because I had any exaggerated notions about duty to be done, but because there’s something in me kicks against hoggishness. Now I’m going into ???? to get some provisions, cigarettes etc., for the other chaps in the trenches. I’m going to get a nice horse and ride down.
Will tell you more about our excursion in tomorrow’s letter.
Just a year ago today I was wounded and got home.
I am enjoying “The Broad Highway”. Last night I got into bed about 9 O’clock and read by candlelight. This morning I am told a great number of shells were dropped in the vicinity of our camp. Thanks Jeffery Farnol for helping me to forget for a brief space.
I hope to get leave at least every six months. With a bit of luck I should be home at Christmas.
Just had a parcel from Maud, on the cover written the contents: books, dripping, caviar. I suppose she thinks it funny too. I went up the line last night with rations, a nice ride on a lovely big horse, but just a bit smelly. No, not the horse!
Finished “The Broad Highway” – I wish I could scrap like Peter Vibart.
Funny stunt we had this morning. Participating infantry and two tanks in the attack. In the defence me, with one machine gun and light riflemen. General idea: infantry attack a strong post and are held up by my machine gun, thereupon the assistance of two tanks is called for by the attackers. Tanks come up, eat everything barring their progress, finally eat up my strong point as a shark would a shrimp, and that’s all there is to it. Except that I had to beat a biscuit tin with sticks to make a noise like a machine gun. Isn’t this an insane war?
We’ve just had a Boche plane over. One of our search lights picked him up there at Archies and machines guns opened fire on him. He beat a hasty retreat. He looked very pretty, like a huge golden butterfly with the sun’s rays on him.
Three of us went into town, where Jack Wilkinson saw me riding (Poperinghe). There we met an old K.R.R. man, now an officer in the R.F.C. We had dinner together and at 10pm started on a four kilo walk home, two of us gloriously tight. We got clear of the town but the tight ones would persist in sleeping on the roadside. It was a black night, and the third person, himself in mighty good humour withal, had a sorry time. In spite of the fact that it depended on him whether Morpheus claimed us until the morrow, in a ditch, or much more preferable and out of reach of provost martials, in camp, the other two would harass him. He was heading in the wrong direction, thereupon an absurd argument would ensue, lasting perhaps 15 minutes. He’d persuade and on they’d go, zig-zagging for perhaps another half mile, when the ditch would once more claim them. Finally a red cross motor came along, which they boarded, and rode within a two minute walk of the camp. Now, the third person, being by this time practically sober, returned to his hut, leaving the other two to follow along. He must have waited in the hut for 30 minutes, but no sign of the other two. So, off he went to search, and took his flash lamp along with him. He borrowed a bike and chased about roads and fields, but no signs of the other two. Now he began a systematic search with his lamp and came to a turnip field. There he found them, the tall man on his back with his knees in the air, the slight man supported by the knees of the tall man. Both fast asleep, a ludicrous sight. By dint of threats, No. 3 managed to get them at last to bed, this at 2am.
Yes, I have read “Spanish Gold”, a very funny book too. I read several books by Geo. Birmingham whilst at Bisley.
Today MacNaughton asked me “How did you get your medal?” I replied “Oh, for conspicuous gallantry on many occasions, but you will ask.” “Yes,” he said, “I asked for a reply, not a display of modesty.” Now, aren’t I a silly ass. MacNaughton always has the ready reply, is polished, and just a weeny bit superior. He is also courageous. Yes, one day I shall discover that MacNaughton has a heart too.
You got my scribbly note telling you about the billeting. Well, I got to such an outlandish spot. Here I had tents and bivouacs to pitch, and it wasn’t until four days later that the Company arrived. Until their arrival I had no means of getting a letter off.
Mangel Pow is a dear old thing. MacNaughton thinks her a little thin. I’m sure I don’t know what he means. I’m sure she’s delightful, but then I didn’t go to the Academy.
What a wilderness we’re in. No, not exactly that, the birds haven’t deserted. A few trees have braved the storm, but for miles around there is no whole house. Still, in the evenings and early mornings, if one shuts one’s eyes there is peace. Also, we’re enjoying beautiful weather, sunny days and moonlit nights. I’ll be in the trenches on the 6th, about time I justified my existence.
Yes, everything points to my getting leave at the very latest January 18th, unless peace be proclaimed.
It’s a terrible night, wind, rain, and mud, a desolate country.
I took rations up the line two nights ago and Fritz strafed me with whizz bangs. Whizz bangs don’t matter, unless one is so selfish as to stop one all to oneself. It was rather exciting though. I had the Q.M. with me - he’s not used to shell fire, and had a gale blowing, so I dumped the stuff and told him to get the blazes out of it with the timber and horses. I stole an infantryman and made him hold my horse and guard the rations whilst I fetched a carrying party from H.Q., and so got the rations delivered. Then I had a lovely ride home. You’ve no idea how thrilling it is to gallop along roads about midnight with a strong wind blowing. Tonight I cooked my own dinner. I had three boiled eggs, herring in tomato, and tea. My servant, poor beggar, was simply wet through, so I sent him off to bed. The worst of it is we’ve no proper accommodation here – the men just make bivouacs, and of course no bivouac can stand such weather as this. They’re brave spirits, always smiling, they’re men.
Oh, could you get me some socks for my section? It’s getting pretty bad in the line now. Be my sub-section officer and collect socks for the men, just as many as you can.
I’m waiting now for our Transport Officer to come from the line – he’ll be in about midnight. I’m pretty comfortable although am risking sore eyes and a bad throat by having a fire in the tent. Every few minutes I have to take the thing outside to give it a wee blow-up. I’ve got several books to read, so unless you’ve got something very special don’t send any more. Have you got any more by Stephen Leacock? I get your Punch every week.
I’ll be going in the line on the 10th – thought I should have gone in before but they don’t want me, at least so it seems! I’m Sports Officer and have got to organise a host of winter sports for the Company. Football, Running, Boxing, etc. I don’t mind although I don’t know anything about sport. I’ll worry through.
Here comes the T.O. so Goodnight.
Thanks for today’s letters and cigarettes.
Isn’t it beastly weather, at least it is here. I’ve been shopping today, spent about 200 francs on eatables etc. for the officers in the line. Candles alone cost me 50 frs. I met an officer from my old Company today. He’s now second in command of another Company. He took me to lunch, very nice of him wasn’t it? I told you I had spent 5 months in a certain place during my first tour here. Well, I’m in the same place again, strange that I should return to the same places. I’m going to erect a hut for the Transport Officer and myself tomorrow. Tents are very uninviting these days.
This is the first letter I’ve written you from a dug-out. Is it smelly? However, it’s a jolly nice dug-out, a nice fire blazing. There’s my valise, which means my bed, and plenty of reading. Must ring off.
I’d just started a letter last night when rations came up and I had to finish in order that what little I had written would depart with the outgoing mail. There’s been rough weather in the Channel. Leave was held up for two days, letters likewise, so that explains why your letter of the 4th didn’t reach me until yesterday, the 11th.
Our trenches here are quite the best I have seen, running along the top of a high ridge, which makes drainage a simple matter. I have been in trenches where the Bosche would drain his water into our line – the reverse holds good here. Oh, the joy of it, I’m exulting, so would any man in the same circumstances. Doesn’t it make you laugh to see Bosche swimming and drowning in filth. No, it doesn’t ‘cos you’re English. No, I don’t want particularly to see him suffer. I want to see his rotten principles in the mire that’s all – the suffering is inevitable and a side issue. Sometimes we feel like brutes. Certainly we look like brutes often. Many men say we are a check to progress – this we grant, material progress. But do we not help the progress of the soul? Most men were ignorant of the existence of the soul until they reached the trenches – there they learned and died and were forgiven because of it. I think that God sits above and loves and hates, and those he loves best are those who die with a smile on their lips. I’m now going to write to Maud, Margaret, Kate, Wilfred, and Lawrie. They’ll need to be short letters though! Do you know if Mother has heard from Wilfred lately? I have written him twice and have had no reply.
By the time you get this we shall have been relieved from the line and be enjoying 12 days rest. I haven’t done much but most of the officers will be jolly glad to get out. I don’t mean I want to stay in you know, it’s just that when I was a Corporal I was never out and I’m a bit bewildered at finding things so much easier. In many ways of course it isn’t easier. For instance, the other night I was on pins and needles with the transport when whizz bangs were flying about. Such things one imagines: “if any of these men and horses are killed, could I, by using my faculties more, have averted this.” This is the proof, the difference twixt officers and N.C.O. or man. N.C.O. or man may lose his head when things are going awry. An officer must never lose his head. He must be the restraining influence. If emotions and excitements conflict him he must never transmit to the men any such weakness. While inwardly boiling, outwardly he must been perfectly normal – it isn’t always easy.
Well, how did you find Wilfred? Is he applying for a commission? I expect he’s so very happy on getting home, he hardly knows what’s what. I know on my first leave, and I’d only been in France eight months when I got it, I was blissfully unconscious for the first few days. It’s such a fatiguing journey. You leave your regiment in the afternoon for some railhead, here you perhaps wait until 2am the next day for your train. You get your train, and if you’re merely a Tommy, you’re lucky to find yourself sitting bolt upright in a hard wooden carriage. Journeys vary in length down to the port. Sometimes you’re twenty-four hours sitting in the aforesaid state. Often you arrive in port about midnight with no boat until 10am the next day. Here an officer is alright, he can get dinner and a comfy room in a club. Tommy is marched full pack to a desolate camp. He’s awfully weary really, but he can’t sleep because he’s too excited about seeing his people. Also, he’s very crumby, and fifteen crumby Tommies in a bell tent, ach! What a prospect for the wooing of sleep. Next morning he chats with some fellows who dodged the column, got a nice bed in an estaminet, omelette for supper, ham and eggs for breakfast. He feels awfully wild ‘cos he didn’t know the ropes – when he thinks of what constituted his breakfast! At 9am he is marched down to the boat. There he waits in a queue for two hours, singing all the latest at the top of his voice, inwardly raging at the delay. He enjoys the run across the Channel (unless he’s a bad sailor). When he sees the white cliffs he shouts and sings lustily. When he sets foot on the pier at Folkestone he knows no bounds. At Folkestone he entrains, is rushed up to Victoria. From thence he rushes across town to whatever station he needs. Often he has to wait hours for a train to get him home. Do you wonder at his indifference when he gets home? What has been uppermost, what has often seemed most improbable he’d ever see again. He is silent but very far from indifferent. Look at him! See what sights, what sounds, are rushing through his brain. Whilst perchance his Mother, beaming, fills the kettle and tells him the awful price of bacon and eggs. Whilst his sisters mark how he’s altered, how worn, how lined he looks, and yet how proud of him they are.
I’ve just been determining when my leave will come. There are still five officers to go, each taking a fortnight. That’s one this month, two November, two December, and me January. I may get home for New Year! Now I’ll write to Mother.
I haven’t got trench boots yet. I’m waiting for Ordnance to get them.
Just a tiny note. I’m playing football this afternoon. Have to take an interest, being Sports Officer, although I can’t play footer for nuts. Had a lovely gallop across country this morning. The photograph of me is very good – all the officers want one. Can it be done? Maud’s is a good one too. “Off the Main Road” is topping. It came yesterday and I’ve almost finished it already.
Been an inspection today by an American General. First a General Salute, then a march past. We had the bagpipes and everybody marched splendidly, one can’t help marching well when the pipes are playing. Everybody feels so bucked, chests are thrown out, heads back, chins drawn in, in a few seconds! Whereas if the Sergeant Major were striving for the same effect, he’d be hours in getting anything like perfection. Have you seen a kilted regiment? It is a grand sight to see them on the march, a Brigade of them moving in perfect time, the swish of the kilt with the swing of the legs.
Thanks very much for getting the socks. By now you’ll have seen Thistle, I should like to see her again. Perhaps I shall out here. Do you remember Kezia? “Feyther thinks I’m a fool. Let un. I yent!”
I’ve all the Company letters to censor now, all the other officers have gone out. It’s such a lovely day, I’d have gone riding only I simply had to get a bath and somebody had to stay in.
Missed writing yesterday. When the sports get going, or rather when I’ve settled my teams, I’ll have more time. I’m getting a fine footer team. We play the first round tomorrow – great excitement. We’ve got some beautiful new gramophone records. Inachevee, Schubert, Poeme Symphonique Finlandaes, Debussy. Do you know them? Backhous on the piano, Chopin, delightful music.
Had a letter from Maud yesterday, not quite so breezy as usual.
Postman’s waitin’.
Just played the football match – in a gale – we lost 8-nil, terrible isn’t it? Still, seeing our opponents had played together for years, and that we were just a scratch team, it isn’t quite so bad as it looks. We’re going in the line again on the 28th – don’t suppose there will be much activity if this bad weather holds, except the wallowing in the mud.
We’re not going in the line tomorrow, instead we’re moving about ten miles further back. Spect we shan’t see trenches again for about another month or so. I’m glad, November is a bad month usually. Have just been for a ride, I do enjoy riding.
I’m going to write a letter tonight after dinner. We’ve been moving again. I’ve got such a nice billet with a real bed a clean white sheets.
I didn’t write last night because I felt too cold to sit in my own room, which doesn’t boast a fireplace, and there was too much noise at Headquarters. I simply can’t write decently when there’s a lot of fellows about. Headquarters is in a Chateau, a luxurious place. When we arrived here Madame had an excellent lunch for us, since when we have lived off the fat of the land. Why, tonight we’re having guests! We’ve spent hours arriving at our menu. Roast Chicken is the main feature. There will also be Lobster Mayonnaise and several concoctions of Madame’s which I can’t name.
Savage, one of our officers, is an artist. He has had several pictures in the Royal Academy. He speaks several languages and is an epicure. I’m not quite sure about the epicure, but anyhow he knows all the best French dishes, so we get a varied menu. Oh, don’t we think a lot about our tummies? Can you read this? I’m hustling ‘cos I’ve only another ten minutes – have to wash and get into slacks for dinner ‘cos the Brigade Major is dining with us. Thanks if you can let me have the photographs. We have ten officers, sides myself. I’m awfully busy these days. We’re training from 7am until 3:15pm, then there’s letters to censor.
I’m Orderly Officer today. Did I tell you we had a new C.O.? Well, we have, a nice little chap too, Captain Rose. He’s making things buzz, won’t have any slackness and I’m glad of it. He’s a Yorkshireman and lives in Scarborough. Leave has been extended to a full fortnight.
This is really a charming village. Whilst I’m writing there is regular pandemonium going on in the farmyard. Such a cackling, chirping, clucking, and crowing. Everybody in the village keeps rabbits and eats them ‘cos meat is so dear. Sounds rather horrid but I had some the other day, cooked splendidly by Madame, and enjoyed it immensely.
My men aren’t going to get trench feet. That reminds me – a section M.G.C. consists of two officers, two sergeants, two corporals, four lance-corporals, and about thirty-two privates. We have two vacancies for seven days leave to Paris. I should very much like to go but it’s so awfully expensive. I couldn’t hope to do it on less than £10.
We’ve had a lot of wild weather, but fortunately ‘twas during the time we were housed in Nissen huts and now we don’t mind much what weather comes. We’re so comfortable, fixed. I should love to see Wilf. I hoped he would write whilst at home and give me some idea of his whereabouts. I hope he goes through with his commission. I had a letter from Mrs Wingfield yesterday, she told me about Lawrie. No, I don’t play in the football matches, at least I played once which was quite sufficient for everybody. Now to inspect men’s dinners.
I thought the socks you sent very nice. I opened them in front of the officers, and several of the latter suddenly discovered they were short of socks, so they must have been. Isn’t this horrid paper? I bought it in the village in such a funny little shop – I just said papier ecrit and this is what the woman brought. I’m picking up a little French but I’m fearfully dense. If I were naturally garrulous I’d enter into conversations with the villagers, and in many respects learn quite a lot when I attempt such, but shyness assails me. I hate to make an exhibition and consequently I make little progress.
At present I’m reading “The Man of Iron” – it’s a big book and rather heavy reading. After this I’ve “The American” by Henry James to read, so you needn’t send anything for a few weeks. Oh, isn’t it bad news from Italy and aren’t the Germans a wonderful nation? We’ll win though. He’s slowly being pushed back on this front and must break down sometime. Very few people realise what we’re up against in the North – the pill boxes, well garrisoned, can hold up any advance. These have to be demolished or, as sometimes happens, the garrison surrenders. One cannot imagine Britishers giving up in such strongholds, so we gain, inch by inch. Soon we’ll have the ridge, then brother Bosche must skedaddle. Is this of military importance? Perhaps I’d better not say any more. I just wanted to prove that we’re better than the Bosche although the Russians and Italians have let us down badly.
Do you get plenty of food nowadays? One hears such affrighting rumours. Last night I heard of a Brigadier General taking sugar home with him on leave, from the rations. If Brigadier Generals have to resort to this, how do poor people manage? We’re still in the Chateau and having a very happy time, the men too seem very content. We’re having sports on Monday – boat races, high jumps, relay races, all kinds of funny things. Such things keep up the spirits of the men and I’m very proud of my section. I’ve at least ten men who are each 5ft 10in high and thick set too. Also, I haven’t to exert myself to get work done if there’s an inspection on. I’ve just to say the word and can always depend on their turning out the best section on parade. It isn’t swank, I wish you could see them. I’ve been to Church this morning, the first time since I came to France. Now I must wash, get my tea, and censor letters until 6pm, when the postman will come for outgoing letters. I’m feeling very fit.
I’ve everything in my favour towards writing a decent letter tonight except my fountain pen. I lost that a few days ago. Brown has left the Company as we had an officer too many. Brown, being junior, had to go. This leaves me a room to myself, a nice room as I’ve said before. A fire, two tables, a washing stand, four chairs, and a huge cupboard which I’m very curious about, on top of which are ten plates, neatly arranged. Also, my pyjamas and other necessaries – also neatly arranged. These plates I should imagine to be quite eighty years old – they have a mark Creil et Montereau, Medailles D’or – Porcel opaque. One has a picture of the Chateau de Lord Byron on it. Whereabouts did Lord Byron stay in France I wonder? I’m sorry Brown has gone, he is a sterling chap – not gilded but most reliable, the very last man I would have parted with had I had any say. Still, in a way he’ll be better off and perhaps will get with a C.O. who knows how to appreciate his type, and be far happier than he was here.
I manage to rub along alright with the officers here – one or two I don’t commend, but they don’t give me any sleepless nights. There’s no news of our leaving this comfortable spot. We’re training pretty hard, for what I cannot say. I don’t expect we’ll do much this year anyhow. Thank goodness we’re getting November over, it’s such a month for stumbling into shell holes and being in consequence wet through, the dreariest month of all I think. Four of the officers have gone to see a show in a neighbouring village tonight. One is on leave, of the other four one has toothache, another ???, the remaining two I left talking, chiefly about other people.
Did you read the poems by Rupert Brooks in the volume you sent?
“And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given,
Her sights and sounds, dreams happy as her day,
And laughter, learnt of friends: and gentleness
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.”
I like Arthur Symons too:
“Light fills the air with God,
Wind with his breath,
And here, in his abode,
Light, wind, and air praise God,
And this poor breath.”
We’re still living in the Chateau, lucky beggars aren’t we? These last few days we’ve been in the field all the time rehearsing stuff. It’s been awful weather too. Still, there’s always been the thought of a nice fire and bed when I returned. So really I’ve enjoyed roughing it for a change. You want to know about the other officers. I’ll take them one by one. First the C.O. Captain Rose. Second and Second in Command is Bryce. Bryce prior to the war was a student in Brussels. Next is Seager…
My servant is getting a bath for me. I must get it over, else I’ll be late for guard mounting.
I’m feeling very happy tonight, that’s one reason why I’m writing this at 11:45pm when otherwise I’d be in bed. We’ve a holiday tomorrow to commemorate a victory the Division is very proud of. There’s sports and things, beer, and a good dinner for once for the men. We’ve been firing today, I had the best group of shots during the day. Bounce! After we’d done firing we’d two hours to wile away, so we had a little bomb throwing competition amongst the officers. We had a biscuit tin about 40yds away, at which we were directing our missiles. I was the only one to get a direct hit – more bounce!
A scrubby grubby little note. I’ve got trench boots.
St John’s Ambulance Brig Hospital
A.P.O., S. 11,
B.E.F.,
France
I got a nasty knock on my right hand on the 23rd. I’ll be coming home I think.
I’ve had a pretty thin time altogether. First I got poison into my system, which gave me a temperature of 105 on two occasions. Next, I got an abscess on my back. I’ve had three operations. However, I’m doing fine now. My temperature is down to normal, my back is almost better, and my hand is getting on nicely. Expect I’ll be coming to England in a week or so.
This is just to wish you all a very happy xmas. I’m getting along alright. I haven’t been able to get up yet and am feeling rather sore. Still, I really am better. We’re going to do very well here at xmas, lots of concerts and good things.