Dear Mother,
This is Whit Sunday, a Whit Sunday I shall not easily forget. Here I am, in a little French village, billeted in a barn, joining a Brewery. You will wonder how I did it, yet I had last night the best night’s rest I have had for many a day. There may have been rats, but it would have taken a whole army to awaken me, for yesterday we marched miles under a blazing sun. We came to 12 miles from here, in cattle trucks, a distance of roughly 300 miles. The journey took us 21 hours; yes, and we had straw to lie on too, we all enjoyed the experience immensely. On each side we had the sliding doors open, so were able to view the scenery, some of which, including the ladies, was lovely. We have some good fun trying to make ourselves understood. Tired of biscuits, I went last night into a shop for some bread. Being rather dubious about my accent I contracted my nose and said “pang! pang! pang!”. The fair lady who was serving brought me three glasses of beer. A fellow beside me then had a shot. He said “pang!” and at the same time jumped about a yard into the air, which gave the word a peculiar twist. The fair lady smiled knowingly and forthwith the bread appeared. Well, Mother, I’ve nothing more to say except that I’m very well and having a good time. Thank Margaret for the letters, please. Give my love to all and write soon.
Your affectionate son,
Bob
The following letters were written from various places in the region of Ypres (called Ieper today and called by the Tommies “Wipers”) and Poperinghe (referred to as ‘Pop’ in the poems), Belgium.
Dear Mother,
It is 2pm and I have only just had my breakfast, aren’t I a lazy beggar? I think you’ll forgive me though, for I have been trench digging all night and it was quite 4am when I got to bed. I said bed – now, we have done with barns, for a time anyhow, at present we sleep in bivouacs; we dig about 18 in. into the ground and cover it with tarpaulin supported by poles. We throw our waterproof sheets on the ground, and then down we go ourselves, our great coats covering us. But I slept beautifully, spade work tires me. Last night I saw things but I must not speak of them, I must reserve them until I come home. Now I must do a bit more digging.
Still very well and happy,
Bob
Dear Mother,
Will you please send me some cocoa, coffee, Oxo tablets, and soap. These are things which are difficult to procure here and yet are very useful, for when we can get water they are easily made. We have just to make a little fire and boil the water in our billy tins. Even had we always the money, you must understand there are now no stores to get things from. We are following the Germans and they don’t leave much behind. We depend entirely on our transport, which cannot always be expected to get things through as well as it is doing at present. I am, as usual, quite well. The weather is still beautiful so we have much to be thankful for. Alice says she may either go for her holidays with you or Margaret, it would be a nice arrangement. I hope you will be able to get away and enjoy yourselves, you must all need a rest. I have had letters from Alice and Edgar, both very nice, but have not yet heard from Lizzie. I must close abruptly,
love to all.
Bob
Dear Margaret,
It is very nice of you to send me such long letters when I rarely write to you. I do look forward to your letters, to everybody’s letters, they bring me on a night of veriest death, holiest dawn. With these and trust in God, which I pray in the blackest moments will never leave me, I hope to do my little best for my comrades. For now Margaret, I have comrades in the truest sense of the word. If their load be hard, I pray god will give me strength to make it just a little lighter. If I can do this I feel that it is not for nothing that God has made me. The lads! My little circle here, whom, with all their faults, I have learned to love. I shall rely on them, on the brink of existence, and they on me.
I had a letter from Doris Hart yesterday, in which she asks me not to get down hearted. I enclose the letter for your perusal. I have seen Clarence Belbin today, his regiment is the 7th Rifle Brigade, he is a fine chap and looked very fit. I have been in the trenches and had an exciting time which I must tell you of in another letter, it’s all rush here and one hasn’t time to sit down and write a decent letter. Tell Edgar I thank him very much for his letters and will write to him at the earliest opportunity. Oh! When you were black with coal I think I could have gone one better for I hadn’t had a wash for a week and was in the trenches during a thunderstorm. Love to Mother and Maud.
Your loving brother,
Bob
The latter part of this letter was written in the dark!
Dear Mother,
I have just written to Edgar and Gertie, they will tell you a little of what I have seen. I have just time to scribble you a little note to assure you I am well and hearty. First, thank Margaret for her letter, and Mrs Wilkinson for the verse, which, tell her, I will carry with me always. Thank you for the parcel, I did appreciate it immensely. Please send me another when you can, I know they cost rather a lot, but they are worth ten times as much to me. Margaret tells me that Laycock’s will probably send for me back; whatever my duty at home I feel that I have a sterner duty here and, while God gives me strength to bear it, I shall stay. God would never forgive me if I accepted the easier road. Now, my dear Mother, goodbye, and be assured that God will bring me back to you. Love to Maud, Margaret, everybody.
Your loving son,
Bob
Dear Mother,
Last Wed, June 16th 1915, we supported the Gordon Highlanders, who, along with the Royal Scots, captured 1,000 yds of trenches. These Scots are fine fellows, with hearts as big as their own mountains; it was four trenches they had to carry, and they were given but 30 mins to capture each. They started at 3:45am and at 4am they had occupied the fourth trench. How they walk in the trenches, on top of the parapets too, with heads erect and never a flinch. Whizz-bangs, trench mortars, shrapnel, Jack Joliusou’s grenades, hold no terrors for them, they have the finest contempt for death and what a pigmy I felt beside them! I’m quite certain I’ll never crouch again if I’m to die, I’ll die with my head erect. Perhaps you have read in the papers of the terrific bombardment we went through. However we got through, when I look back over the ground we passed, seems a miracle. In one place we passed was a railway bridge, and on this bridge were concentrated all the German’s heavy guns; dozens of our men fell here, killed and wounded! Had I been in a normal condition I should have been sickened to death, but my blood was on fire. At home the mere thought of a bayonet charge was enough to unnerve me, but here, I could have charged to Hell! Our brave men, shot through the stomach, my comrades who for nine long months I have worked with, killed and wounded. This all fired me with a hatred most intense against the Germans and we were in support, we could not turn back, we could do nothing but wait to be gassed and hit. The Gordons returned with each Prussian helmet, never shall I forget them, how manly! How cheery! Very few were unwounded, yet they could still laugh, the sunniest laughter I have ever heard.
[The rest of this letter is missing.]
Dear Mother,
After a week in the trenches, we are here for a rest. Yesterday I received your parcel, Maud’s letter and photo, and also a letter from Edgar, so that apart from the fact that I had left behind war and it’s horrors, I had much to cheer me. Thanks for the parcel; the cake and gooseberry tart (which I immediately made a mess of) were a wee bit squashed, otherwise everything was all right. Give my love to Ethel and Lilian, tell them I thank them very much for the chocolate. Don’t send me camp coffee again, instead, send me cocoa – we get plenty of coffee and tea. Will you please send me a writing pad, like the one I am at present using, and some envelopes. Did I tell you Lizzie sent me a parcel last week? A champion one too, a lovely cake, which so took the eye of the Quartermaster Sgt., that, immediately after seeing it, he returned to me with two hands full of dates and gave the cake such an endearing look. Really! I should have been a heartless brute had I refused such an eloquent appeal. Oh, the witchery of English cake, which can so bewilder the heart and eyes of an otherwise proud and unbending Quartermaster Sgt., that he will come, bringing his dates, to the footstool of a Private. Most of us received parcels yesterday, and we fed ourselves to such an extent that we could not sleep last night, so we had a concert and fairly shook the roof of the old barn with our laughter and song. Then, when we dozed off, the rats and mice came nosing around my cake. That settled the question of me sleeping, I had one eye closed, and the other on my parcel the rest of the night. Unfortunately, the weather is a little unsettled, or I’d make a bivouac and sleep out tonight. I’m sorry about the Keatings. I’m told that it does away with fleas, moths, beetles etc., but that body lice thrive on it. You will be glad to know that I have kept free from such. Now Badger, who is particularly careful, has not been so lucky. Indeed, these things worry him much more than Germans! I do feel sorry for him when he comes to me with rueful face and tells me how many he’s caught, together with their charming dimensions. We can usually have some sort of bath when we come to these rest camps, though I’m very glad this is not England else somebody would be shocked, for we strip by any convenient babbling brook. And if it be too small to jump into we throw buckets at one another on the bank. About coming home, now, I don’t think I shall be asked, because Machine Gunners are not easy to get. If I am asked I shall not accept, because I am convinced that I’m doing more here than I could ever do at home, so, unless they give me no alternative, I’ll stick it here. Don’t worry, Mother, I shall come through all right. Apart from my country, I hold it my duty to God, while I am physically fit, to uphold His cause against militarism, and I can do it best here. So, please, Mother, don’t lose any of your old optimism, and be proud that at last I can do a little for God. Remember Mother, our existence on this planet will not be worthwhile if Germany wins; for the sake of the next generation I am here, as well as for the present. How can I return when I have seen others die Mother, I would feel a traitor to do so. I have felt shrapnel whizzing around me, bullets, whizz-bangs, trench mortars too; I have asked God to preserve me for my dear old Mother’s sake, he has not failed me and I shall never doubt him. To return would be to doubt him. Goodbye, love to all.
Your loving son,
Bob
Will write to Maud and Margaret during the week.
NOTE: In the following letter, as in the related poem, Grandad expresses his frustration at missing this particular foray into the trenches. Yet, the losses incurred were so great that there was a 75% chance that he might have been amongst them had he gone along. In one of the extracts from letters to his girlfriend Elsie, dated 18th July 1917, Grandad reminisces about this and says: ‘I recovered from the influenza, and the depression which settled on me after these terrible events. I felt fit and strong, and there grew a strong desire in me to do nobly and 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 I must not disappoint him. This spirit animated me during all my experiences in France. I must never flunk, I must suffer everything cheerfully, because Freddie and the others were watching, and the thought of their disapproval turned me sick.’
Dear Mother,
I have been sick with influenza, so when our Battalion went into the trenches again last Monday, I stayed behind to recuperate. This is the first time I have missed going into the trenches with the Battalion. I hated the idea of staying behind, yet considering the rough usage our men have had, I must thank providence that I am here, safe and well. News is gradually trickling through. The first we heard was that on Thursday night, the 29th, an enormous number of Germans, with the aid of burning liquid, had succeeded in capturing three lines of our trenches, practically (so deadly were the flames and fumes) wiping out one Brigade in our Division. So serious were things that it was decided that the trenches lost must be re-taken on Friday, and it fell to our Brigade, and in a great measure to our Battalion, to do it. They did regain them, and several more besides, but what a terrible price they had to pay! Three parts of the Battalion were either killed or wounded, between 400 to 500 men, including our Colonel and 15 officers. Badger was wounded but, from what I can gather, not seriously, and I am told he was able to walk to the Dressing Station; we shall know more when the remainder return. It seems the German losses were appalling, estimated at between 7,000 to 10,000. Perhaps this was the Crown Prince’s final attempt to break through to Calais, anyhow he got an answer which will hinder him making another attempt. Our losses were great and our Battalion particularly suffered, but when one considers them alongside the German losses, they look small. Our biggest loss is the Colonel, we all trusted him implicitly, had boundless confidence in him. I have seen men in the trenches with the “wind up” (afraid) who, at the sight of our 6 ft 2 in Colonel, would breath freely again. He was a tonic and now he is gone, and much has gone with him too, God’s ways are inscrutable. I pray Badger is not badly hurt, he is a fine chap and we got on well together here, sharing parcels etc. For his Mother’s sake, and his girl’s, I hope he will pull through all right, I don’t think he can be so bad as he is very strong.
Walter came to see me last week, and he looked very well. He has been out here about 3 weeks now, and was that night going into the trenches for the first time. I was agreeably surprised to see him looking so well… send him anything you might send me. Lizzie is very good in respect of sending me things, so, this is a very lonely country if one does not get heaps of hope from God. Walter will appreciate anything from you, you must not afford to send to both of us. Goodbye, my dear Mother, I am quite recovered from that wretched influenza, which kept me out of a fight for which the 9th K.R.R’s will be famous. Love to the girls.
Your loving son,
Bob
[Related Poem: Battle Of Hooge, June 1915]
Dear Mother,
I hope you haven’t been worrying because you haven’t heard from me recently, it’s rather a forlorn hope; I am your lad and you must worry until God’s will is done. When God’s will is done you will cease to worry, for my Mother’s love for me is spiritual, unselfish, not bound by earthly ties. If the Germans sever me bodily from you then I have died for our God (for this is God’s cause), far better to die so than in a nice comfortable bed at home. Mother, I have seen much of death. Death at first sight is hideously horrible, but much contact has shown me the feebleness of the human body. On the face of each distorted body, I have seen a look of peace and happiness, the spirit has left the body and has found it’s heaven. The last expression on the face (the reflector of the spirit) is an expression of the first glimpse of the beauties found there.
This letter is from the trenches, where I shall spend my 24th birthday. Fritz, in his peculiar way, will wish me “Many Happy Returns”. I shall ignore his good wishes like I ignored them today, he’s been raining shells for the last 3 hours and only busted a few sand bags. Fritz! You’re a deluded contemptible fellow, you daren’t attack unless you’ve some devilish device to assist you. Stop in your hole you dirty beast, and tremble away your time until the lads arrive and make you babble “Mercy, English soldier!”.
Did Alice tell you of the lovely little home we had behind the ramparts of ???? Well, we left it last Monday, and the leaving nearly broke my heart. There we had refinement and culture, and stewed pears and mulberries for tea, stewed by mine own hand. Four days we lived thus, happily, now our portion is dirty smells millions of blue bottle flies, great fat rats, mice, frogs, creepy things. Above all that creepy Fritz, who will persist in sending his whizz-bangs. Oh Fritz! You have much to atone for, bringing me out of my land of dreams into this vile hole, for a birthday present too! Fortunately the weather is beautiful – last night, whilst on sentry one of the fellows was reading to me by the light of the moon, such weather makes me sigh for Old Norton. I have had three accounts, from Edgar, Lizzie, and Alice, of your Zeppelin experience. I’m glad they didn’t touch the house. I’ll bet they didn’t perturb you anyhow, the d’s running after my Mother! Thank Edgar for his letters and book, also his kind offer of more books, and thank Margaret for her letters, which I enjoy immensely and yet haven’t the kindness to answer. I’m glad Maud received the cards all right, I’ll bet she would like to be with me tonight, in a pair of khaki pants having a pop at Fritz. Still, she might object to the sleeping accommodation and the nearness of the rats! We have put Ernest on the wall of our dug-out, the lads would have it so, they love to fix their eyes on his well-cut suit, and the latest in hats and ties, and dream of that golden time when war shall be no more. Cheerio, Mother! Love to all.
Your loving son,
Bob
Dear Mother,
I have poisoned my hand with a rusty nail and had it lanced this morning. Otherwise I am in the pink. Will you send me another writing pad when you get a chance? Hope to be coming home sometime next month. Love to all.
Bob
Have had a letter and cigarettes from Miss Pilley, also a parcel from Harry Hardy.
Dear Mother,
We are in camp, about 12 miles from the firing line, we have some splendid new bell tents, and the weather is perfect. So, you will understand we are having a very comfortable time. My hand is almost better. I see the Doctor every morning, and after he has dished out his various pills for various ills, he looks at my hand, cries “Hot fomentations”, and his assistant thereupon dresses my hand. I then have given to me a sick report, with the Doctor’s remarks written thereon, invariably “Septic Hand, A & B”. “A & B” means that I am, for the time being, exempt from work, or rather “Come to me tomorrow and in the meantime, lose yourself”. I don’t find much difficulty in losing myself. Yesterday I went black- berrying, there are loads just now, great big ones like grapes. Well, Mother! Apart from my hand, which only requires a couple of days to mend, I’m feeling fine, so don’t worry about me. Love to everybody. Cheerio!
Your loving son,
Bob
Will write a longer letter tomorrow, it is now almost 2pm and this letter has to be censored at 2pm. Don’t forget a letter pad.
Dear Mother,
You have, I expect, seen in the papers reports of big victories by us and the French on Sept 25th. Badger wrote to me, and said that he had dinner with Maud and you, whilst on furlough, no doubt he will have told you our position on the line. It was from that position we attacked the Germans early in the morning of Sept 25th. The Germans held a strong Redoubt, this our Engineers had mined and placed several tons of gun-cotton underneath. The blowing up of this Redoubt was the signal to attack. The previous night we set off for the trenches, each of us heavily laden, myself carrying a machine gun. The big guns were unusually quiet, had the weather been respectable it would have been all right, but the weather wasn’t. Slipping around on filthy roads and in still filthier trenches, with a machine gun on my shoulder, I arrived at our dug-out exhausted. Four of us crowded into a dug-out made for two, and tried to sleep off our exhaustion. This we were all too tired to do, so we dozed and waited for the bombardment to commence. It would be about 4:30am when our dug-out began to heave like a ship, when we knew that, along with sundry German legs, arms, etc., the Redoubt had gone up. Now, hundreds of guns began to bark and I trembled, my teeth began to chatter, so terrible was the whoosh and screech of the shells. However, I lit a cigarette, which restored me to a more manly condition, went outside, and when not dodging lumps of shrapnel, watched the German line on the right, which the French had liberally douched with burning liquid. Poor old Fritz was having a devil of a time! I did not see our lads charge, but I heard the pop! pop! pop! of the German machine guns, so knew they were at it. Later on a message came down that we had taken three lines of trenches and everything was going O.K., but we were catching it badly in the supports. Parapets were flying about and the dead and wounded were horrible to see. Stretcher bearers were working like fury, but still many poor wounded chaps were left in the water and filth all day. One poor chap was lying there with his arm just hanging on by a piece of skin, he asked me “Give me a drink of water, mate?”. I gave him my water bottle and he asked me “Give me a fag?”. I lit and gave him a fag and he said, “How long will they be before they fetch me?”. I did not know and told him so, I could not help him. I tried to smile to reassure him, he smiled bravely back, he was a grand chap, so are they all. All through the day the shell fire continued without abating. No. 1 m/c gun section were sent to the crater of the Redoubt and did splendid work there. We, the No. 2 section, waited to be hit. We could not hit back, although around us parapets were being bashed in, our position was untouched. We had marvellous escapes from pieces of shell, which had they hit us…! Not one of No. 2 section was hit, though. Wounded men began streaming back from the charge, most of them had German helmets. We were up against the Prussian Guards, our lads, “The little devils in black buttons” so called by the Germans, had been relieving them of their decorations. By the way, the Germans call the Jocks the “Mad women from Hell!”. We decided to make some tea, two of the lads went scouting for water whilst I made the fire. They returned with water a trifle green and froggy looking, it didn’t turn out so bad though, and I fried some bacon. We were just thinking of demolishing it, when orders came down for us to go to ??? trench, make a gun emplacement, and prevent the Germans from again occupying the crater. However, we determined we’d have some tea first and we got it! Then off we went to ??? trench, again I had the gun and never shall I forget that journey. It began to rain in torrents, our overcoats alone seemed to weigh tons, and add to this a m/c gun. The difficulties we had to surmount, such as damaged parapets, treading gingerly over the dead bodies, likewise over wounded men, now reaching past an open space, now falling flat in the slime and water to duff some devilish shell. And the gruesome sights, which, in a horribly fascinating way, would draw our eyes so that we would cry in horror, “My God”!, and breath a prayer for the strength to bear it all. We arrived at our trench on a blown-in parapet, we made our emplacement, loaded our gun and put her in position to defend the crater. This trench, held for us horrors indescribable; a badly wounded man groaned in a dug-out, blood covered the trench bottom, flesh and brains splattered sand bags we had to handle, and still the rain beat down mercilessly. Mother, I tell you these things, that you may fully realise the goodness of God in bringing me safely through them. About midnight, we were relieved. I arrived at our rest camp thoroughly exhausted. A canteen of tea revived me, I rolled myself in a blanket, from our tent flaps I thanked God for the glorious sight of another day breaking. Cheerio, Mother, the Germans begin to run, soon I’ll be with you. Give my love to everybody.
Your loving son,
Bob
Please tell Mr and Mrs Frank Hardy, also Miss Pulley, how glad I was to receive their parcels, and that I will write to them.
[Related Poem: Battle Of Loos, September 1915]