Sunday, 21st November.
We haven't been posted yet. Last night was bitly cold; we shaved in our one tin between 5 and 8am. Roll call at 10, after which F., H., A., and I went for a walk to a place called Flecie, while we lunched in the Inn by a nice hot stove, and were swindled into paying four francs for it by a stout oold Frenchwoman without shame. Never in her life, I should say, had she two francs before such a dejuener, and these things are not calculated to make a lasting entente. The village where we lunched was filled with a Canadian ammunition column run by a Major from Montreal with whom we chatted. He and his officers were billeted at the chateau belonging to Count some-body and seemed very pleased with themselves - nice men.
Still very fit and go about in my fur all day. F. wears nothing and looks like an icicle. Apparently there is no chance of arranging our battalion, so if F. and I get together it will be pure luck. We would like H. and A. as well.
This is written in part of the hut where the men are singing, one small end being reserved for officers, of whom there are now hundreds here - why, nobody knows. The tent is a grisly squash, and I have not washed yet, to speak of. I made tea there about an hour ago in my canteen, which seems to go well. Several Epsomites here.
Andy
Full Version: Robert Ernest Vernede - Novelist/Poet
QUOTE (stiletto_33853 @ Sep 11 2005, 06:46 PM)
Sunday, 21st November.
while we lunched in the Inn by a nice hot stove, and were swindled into paying four francs for it by a stout old Frenchwoman without shame. Never in her life, I should say, had she two francs before such a dejuener, and these things are not calculated to make a lasting entente.
while we lunched in the Inn by a nice hot stove, and were swindled into paying four francs for it by a stout old Frenchwoman without shame. Never in her life, I should say, had she two francs before such a dejuener, and these things are not calculated to make a lasting entente.
Shameless old woman! How vividly he sketches people! Not an entente cordiale, I take it.
The doffernces in attitude in the service and regular battalions comes across in some of Robert's letters. I don't know much about the Army, but I noticed the same thing in 'McCrae's Battalion.' Inevitable, I suppose.
Marina
Marina,
Inevitable as you say in some respects, however most of the service battalions were commanded by regular officers. In the case of Villiers-Stuart he was quite scathing of the regular battalions, this from a regular officer. In particular he made comparisons of how many men were lost in regular battalions entering and leaving the trenches whereas he boasts of losing only one man this way.
Andy
Inevitable as you say in some respects, however most of the service battalions were commanded by regular officers. In the case of Villiers-Stuart he was quite scathing of the regular battalions, this from a regular officer. In particular he made comparisons of how many men were lost in regular battalions entering and leaving the trenches whereas he boasts of losing only one man this way.
Andy
Monday, 22nd November, 1915.
We have just returned from a lecture on sandbags, not bad, by a Major, who this morning took us in Battalion Drill of the pre Zulu days and then told off most of the officers on parade (all the Rifle Brigade, except F.) for not appearing in Sam Brownes. How to win this war ?? We are a rum folk.
The routine at this place seems to remain the same - parade in the morning, lecture in the afternoon. Most of the officers, we are told, were to be posted today, but only a few to the front, which leaves things as vague as ever. Meanwhile we are not given rations and have to feed ourselves at the rate of about nine francs a day. However, I was warm last night, in spite of a fairly hard frost, which looks well for the future. We all hope we shall get away from here, as it is pigging it without any necessity. I mean to get a bath to-night if it's possible. The worst of the place is the nowhere to sit and general overcrowding. It's either this (YMCA hut) or a cafe, which latter costs money. Frdk. is reading Henry James on a stiff chair in very bad light. I am going to find a bath.
Andy
We have just returned from a lecture on sandbags, not bad, by a Major, who this morning took us in Battalion Drill of the pre Zulu days and then told off most of the officers on parade (all the Rifle Brigade, except F.) for not appearing in Sam Brownes. How to win this war ?? We are a rum folk.
The routine at this place seems to remain the same - parade in the morning, lecture in the afternoon. Most of the officers, we are told, were to be posted today, but only a few to the front, which leaves things as vague as ever. Meanwhile we are not given rations and have to feed ourselves at the rate of about nine francs a day. However, I was warm last night, in spite of a fairly hard frost, which looks well for the future. We all hope we shall get away from here, as it is pigging it without any necessity. I mean to get a bath to-night if it's possible. The worst of the place is the nowhere to sit and general overcrowding. It's either this (YMCA hut) or a cafe, which latter costs money. Frdk. is reading Henry James on a stiff chair in very bad light. I am going to find a bath.
Andy
23rd November, 1915.
It's begun to be misty moisty (5.30pm) and we have just heard that _____ and ______ are posted to another Bn. and go off at 3.30am to-morrow morning, and the ret of us are likely to go at much the same time elsewhere. That, however, may be the usual rumour, and I will keep this till last mo. and then write on envelope or somewhere probable address, and you must write quick to me.
I am afraid that F. and I won't get together, but you never know.
24th am Am appointed and go off to-night. Of course F. and H. are in the 2nd. Never mind.
Andy
It's begun to be misty moisty (5.30pm) and we have just heard that _____ and ______ are posted to another Bn. and go off at 3.30am to-morrow morning, and the ret of us are likely to go at much the same time elsewhere. That, however, may be the usual rumour, and I will keep this till last mo. and then write on envelope or somewhere probable address, and you must write quick to me.
I am afraid that F. and I won't get together, but you never know.
24th am Am appointed and go off to-night. Of course F. and H. are in the 2nd. Never mind.
Andy
QUOTE (stiletto_33853 @ Sep 12 2005, 11:01 AM)
Marina,
In particular he made comparisons of how many men were lost in regular battalions entering and leaving the trenches whereas he boasts of losing only one man this way.
Andy
In particular he made comparisons of how many men were lost in regular battalions entering and leaving the trenches whereas he boasts of losing only one man this way.
Andy
Any idea why losses should be so bad in the regulars and not the service battalions? Admittedly I don't know much about them, but if I'd been asked to say which would lose more men, I'd have guessed the opposite of what Villiers-Stewart reports.
Perhaps it was the pre-Zulu war drill Roberet refers to so dryly!
Marina
Marina,
Villiers-Stuart claims that the regulars tended to march out of the line and through the shell barrages that sometimes ensued, and were to tradition bound to do otherwise. Whereas his claim was that the 9th and other service battalions used to go to and from the trenches by indirect routes. I will dig the piece out when the book is to hand.
Villiers-Stuart claims that the regulars tended to march out of the line and through the shell barrages that sometimes ensued, and were to tradition bound to do otherwise. Whereas his claim was that the 9th and other service battalions used to go to and from the trenches by indirect routes. I will dig the piece out when the book is to hand.
24th November, 1915.
We had such a night - officers being shouted for and going off at all hours; rain at intervals coming into the tent; F. and H. departing at 2.30am; ourselves at 5.30, as far as the railway siding, when it was discovered gradually that the train would not be in till 8 o'clock. So we went off and routed till we roused a cafe there to give us breakfast. Since then we have travelled through various places for about six hours, finally being turned out here to change trains at 4pm. We have therefore had lunch and shaved in the kitchen of the cafe Vasseur - quite a friendly Inn, where I write. We don't know whether we shall arrive at the Bn. and the trenches to-night or not.
Just off to train - must finish later.
9pm - Have arrived - been posted to C Coy. and had dinner. But first of all Ive got what you think will be good news, I expect, which is that the Bn. is out of the trenches altogether for a month, taking a rest, so that for that period you need not worry yourself one little bit. Personally, I think I shall find resting in the Army out here rather a nuisance.
There are about seven officers to the Coy., and we are billetted together in a farm house, moderatejy dirty, in a village which I have not yet seen as we only walked in in the dark; but there is much mud.
25th - We changed our billetts this morning and are now in a village four miles away from the other - four in a room in a picturesque enough farm house, with its pond and farmyard in the middle, the house and out buildings built round it in a quadrangle. The men are in the out buildings, in straw, not at all uncomfortable, I should say. We sleep on the floor in empty rooms. I would rather have gone into the trenches, as here, again, one has the outsider's feeling, the others having all done it except oneself.
Andy
We had such a night - officers being shouted for and going off at all hours; rain at intervals coming into the tent; F. and H. departing at 2.30am; ourselves at 5.30, as far as the railway siding, when it was discovered gradually that the train would not be in till 8 o'clock. So we went off and routed till we roused a cafe there to give us breakfast. Since then we have travelled through various places for about six hours, finally being turned out here to change trains at 4pm. We have therefore had lunch and shaved in the kitchen of the cafe Vasseur - quite a friendly Inn, where I write. We don't know whether we shall arrive at the Bn. and the trenches to-night or not.
Just off to train - must finish later.
9pm - Have arrived - been posted to C Coy. and had dinner. But first of all Ive got what you think will be good news, I expect, which is that the Bn. is out of the trenches altogether for a month, taking a rest, so that for that period you need not worry yourself one little bit. Personally, I think I shall find resting in the Army out here rather a nuisance.
There are about seven officers to the Coy., and we are billetted together in a farm house, moderatejy dirty, in a village which I have not yet seen as we only walked in in the dark; but there is much mud.
25th - We changed our billetts this morning and are now in a village four miles away from the other - four in a room in a picturesque enough farm house, with its pond and farmyard in the middle, the house and out buildings built round it in a quadrangle. The men are in the out buildings, in straw, not at all uncomfortable, I should say. We sleep on the floor in empty rooms. I would rather have gone into the trenches, as here, again, one has the outsider's feeling, the others having all done it except oneself.
Andy
Still 25th November, 1915.
There is nothing doing to-day, and one of us is "in billetts" while the rest are out, and that happens to be me, so I may as well chat, though I don't think there is much to tell here. Apparently the time here is going to be very much the same as at Minster, and except that I have to censor my platoon (No 12's) letters, I don't expect to find it very amusing. Making a whole circle of entirely new acquaintances at this time does not add to the amenities of war, and not having got with F. still annoys. I expect I shall grouse for some little time but you must not mind that.
I haven't seen the village yet, but they say there s not a shop in it even to buy matches at. Kuckily I got rather a poor pipe lighter in Etaples with which practice will no doubt make perfect.
The mess food in the middle of these excellent French housewives is cooked aaparently by Army cooks - and resembles it. (Grouse)
I might possibly get time, but doubt it, to finishoff some poems.
26th - Very cheery today - nice and bright. People not bad. Send me some socks and a good towel when you can.
Andy
There is nothing doing to-day, and one of us is "in billetts" while the rest are out, and that happens to be me, so I may as well chat, though I don't think there is much to tell here. Apparently the time here is going to be very much the same as at Minster, and except that I have to censor my platoon (No 12's) letters, I don't expect to find it very amusing. Making a whole circle of entirely new acquaintances at this time does not add to the amenities of war, and not having got with F. still annoys. I expect I shall grouse for some little time but you must not mind that.
I haven't seen the village yet, but they say there s not a shop in it even to buy matches at. Kuckily I got rather a poor pipe lighter in Etaples with which practice will no doubt make perfect.
The mess food in the middle of these excellent French housewives is cooked aaparently by Army cooks - and resembles it. (Grouse)
I might possibly get time, but doubt it, to finishoff some poems.
26th - Very cheery today - nice and bright. People not bad. Send me some socks and a good towel when you can.
Andy
QUOTE (stiletto_33853 @ Sep 12 2005, 05:13 PM)
Marina,
Villiers-Stuart claims that the regulars tended to march out of the line and through the shell barrages that sometimes ensued, and were to tradition bound to do otherwise. Whereas his claim was that the 9th and other service battalions used to go to and from the trenches by indirect routes. I will dig the piece out when the book is to hand.
Villiers-Stuart claims that the regulars tended to march out of the line and through the shell barrages that sometimes ensued, and were to tradition bound to do otherwise. Whereas his claim was that the 9th and other service battalions used to go to and from the trenches by indirect routes. I will dig the piece out when the book is to hand.
Possibly too hidebound to adapt to the new warfare at first? Horrible to think that what was once a strength becomes a weakness, if that's what happned.
Marina
28th November, 1915.
The time passes in a manner neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but simply of no particular interest to me, I suppose because one has no personal control of things, which never did suite me. It is freezing pretty hard, and I should think there would be skating if such things were to be done. Instead we spend our days (except Sunday, to-day, when there is nothing doing) as follows:-
6.30am Rise (Horrible)
7.30am Breakfast (Porridge and bacon and eggs dryly cooked)
8.30 - 9.30 Squad Drill
10 - 10.45 Parade with our platoons for musketry practice.
11 - 12 Sergeant - Major again
12.30 Lunch
After lunch we are supposed to supervise our platoons at some form of excercise, such as cross country running, foorball etc.
Football, if you please, is compulsory for the officers, so yesterday you might have seen me playing sokker for the first time in my life at the age of 40 with men who really play it quite well, and me not even knowing the rules. It's very asurd: however, being fairly nimble I don't think I made so considerable a fool of myself as I might have done, and anyhow, the day before I found I could easily outrun most, if not all, of my platoon, with the possible exception of the platoon sergeant - a nice man and a great athlete. Most of the elderly men (over 34) simply gave up and have to be coerced.
I suppose I am imagined to be about 28, and I think I shall not reveal the truth this time, as I don't fancy elderly subalterns are much appreciated. I imagine this battalion represents typical Regular Army, as far as you can get it now, and is, so far, more interesting than what one has seen, but I do think the whole thing is too undemocratic, and distinctions of rank demoralise human relations. I do hope Frdk. is not too much revolted by it and hasn't been forced to play sokker. I expect, however, that he is in the trenches, and I wish this Bn. had been.
This is all very stodgy, but that's what I become, you know, when I've got up too early in the morning and my soul isn't my own so to speak.
Andy
The time passes in a manner neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but simply of no particular interest to me, I suppose because one has no personal control of things, which never did suite me. It is freezing pretty hard, and I should think there would be skating if such things were to be done. Instead we spend our days (except Sunday, to-day, when there is nothing doing) as follows:-
6.30am Rise (Horrible)
7.30am Breakfast (Porridge and bacon and eggs dryly cooked)
8.30 - 9.30 Squad Drill
10 - 10.45 Parade with our platoons for musketry practice.
11 - 12 Sergeant - Major again
12.30 Lunch
After lunch we are supposed to supervise our platoons at some form of excercise, such as cross country running, foorball etc.
Football, if you please, is compulsory for the officers, so yesterday you might have seen me playing sokker for the first time in my life at the age of 40 with men who really play it quite well, and me not even knowing the rules. It's very asurd: however, being fairly nimble I don't think I made so considerable a fool of myself as I might have done, and anyhow, the day before I found I could easily outrun most, if not all, of my platoon, with the possible exception of the platoon sergeant - a nice man and a great athlete. Most of the elderly men (over 34) simply gave up and have to be coerced.
I suppose I am imagined to be about 28, and I think I shall not reveal the truth this time, as I don't fancy elderly subalterns are much appreciated. I imagine this battalion represents typical Regular Army, as far as you can get it now, and is, so far, more interesting than what one has seen, but I do think the whole thing is too undemocratic, and distinctions of rank demoralise human relations. I do hope Frdk. is not too much revolted by it and hasn't been forced to play sokker. I expect, however, that he is in the trenches, and I wish this Bn. had been.
This is all very stodgy, but that's what I become, you know, when I've got up too early in the morning and my soul isn't my own so to speak.
Andy
I sympathise with the dislike of the early rise! And the compulsory sports!Marina
30th November, 1915.
The tiresome thing is that if you sit near the fire here you can't see to write; and if you sit away from it, you are frozen. Not that there is any news. I'm very much afraid that I shant get any verses done. If I had the proper concentration, I might, but there are seven people strewed about the room at most times, one lamp (without a shade) and N.C.O.@s popping in at intervals.
The men are all very grousy about their rest, and certainly I have not run about more since joining the Army - all the morning from 8.30 and a football match or run in the afternoon. I joined the riding school party this afternoon and galloped about quite happily bare-backed. Half of them can't ride at all.
I think for a youth this would all be great fun - though you mustn't think I'm having at all a bad time.
Andy
The tiresome thing is that if you sit near the fire here you can't see to write; and if you sit away from it, you are frozen. Not that there is any news. I'm very much afraid that I shant get any verses done. If I had the proper concentration, I might, but there are seven people strewed about the room at most times, one lamp (without a shade) and N.C.O.@s popping in at intervals.
The men are all very grousy about their rest, and certainly I have not run about more since joining the Army - all the morning from 8.30 and a football match or run in the afternoon. I joined the riding school party this afternoon and galloped about quite happily bare-backed. Half of them can't ride at all.
I think for a youth this would all be great fun - though you mustn't think I'm having at all a bad time.
Andy
1st December, 1915.
I have just got my first letters from you. I can't answer them properly tonight. Everything is going on all right. These people are very pleasant and I dare say I shall even find some real friends.
Andy
I have just got my first letters from you. I can't answer them properly tonight. Everything is going on all right. These people are very pleasant and I dare say I shall even find some real friends.
Andy
3rd December, 1915.
The Deerskin waistcoat from L. has arrived and is fearfully nice. I put it on and then ran two miles, without stopping, with my platoon with that and the other one on - so got very hot. I have written to L.
I have just re-read your letters in my valise after a hot bath following the run. That sounds luxurious, doesn't it.
Don't bother to send papers. We get them regularly in the mess only a day late, and none too much time to read them.
I hear another Bn. has also come out of the trenches for a rest, so Frdk. is out of it too. We are pretty sure to be here for another fortnight at least.
I am just beginning to know my platoon. Have two very good sergeants. One of them beat me by a little in the two mile run to-day, but I had too many clothes on, and two miles is too short anyhow. Yesterday we took the Coy. for a route march to a town several miles off, where they could buy cigarettes and things - it's a great grievance that they can't get anything here. A lovely day. On the way back one of the other subalterns and I stopped at another village where we had to attend a lecture on gas attacks, so lunched therebefore the lecture - excellent lunch of five courses (at 2.30pm, after hours) served in about five minutes of our arrival. The French are good at that sort of thing. Then the lecture, which I retailed to my platoon this morning.
Very muggy and rainy today.
1. The Gas Lecture
2. Listened to the Musketry Lecture
3. Lecture on treatment of frost bite.
4. Two miles run with platoon.
All very practical, I think, but rather too much of it.
What shall I give my platoon for Christmas?
I think they have rather a thin time of extra's and accomodation; though well fed otherwise. Officers ought to fare like the men, I do believe, in spoite of the arguements against it. Here they can hardly wash, for instance; or do anything in comfort.
We are in a farm house - men all round in barns and cow-houses - the centre a lively, noisy manury farm yard with a pond in it and every variety of Turkey, Goose, Duck, Hen, Pig, Cow, Horse and Dog gobbling round. It is quite picturesque. The farmer very fat. I find myself quite fluent with my French, except occasionally.
Andy
The Deerskin waistcoat from L. has arrived and is fearfully nice. I put it on and then ran two miles, without stopping, with my platoon with that and the other one on - so got very hot. I have written to L.
I have just re-read your letters in my valise after a hot bath following the run. That sounds luxurious, doesn't it.
Don't bother to send papers. We get them regularly in the mess only a day late, and none too much time to read them.
I hear another Bn. has also come out of the trenches for a rest, so Frdk. is out of it too. We are pretty sure to be here for another fortnight at least.
I am just beginning to know my platoon. Have two very good sergeants. One of them beat me by a little in the two mile run to-day, but I had too many clothes on, and two miles is too short anyhow. Yesterday we took the Coy. for a route march to a town several miles off, where they could buy cigarettes and things - it's a great grievance that they can't get anything here. A lovely day. On the way back one of the other subalterns and I stopped at another village where we had to attend a lecture on gas attacks, so lunched therebefore the lecture - excellent lunch of five courses (at 2.30pm, after hours) served in about five minutes of our arrival. The French are good at that sort of thing. Then the lecture, which I retailed to my platoon this morning.
Very muggy and rainy today.
1. The Gas Lecture
2. Listened to the Musketry Lecture
3. Lecture on treatment of frost bite.
4. Two miles run with platoon.
All very practical, I think, but rather too much of it.
What shall I give my platoon for Christmas?
I think they have rather a thin time of extra's and accomodation; though well fed otherwise. Officers ought to fare like the men, I do believe, in spoite of the arguements against it. Here they can hardly wash, for instance; or do anything in comfort.
We are in a farm house - men all round in barns and cow-houses - the centre a lively, noisy manury farm yard with a pond in it and every variety of Turkey, Goose, Duck, Hen, Pig, Cow, Horse and Dog gobbling round. It is quite picturesque. The farmer very fat. I find myself quite fluent with my French, except occasionally.
Andy
L. in the letter is Miss Lily Player, a cousin.
Andy
Andy
5th December, 1915.
I don't seem able to get at the poems. To-day being Sunday, I thought I would, but have been hoicked out for revolver practice, making lists of drafts of men, and watching a football match, which C Coy., which is the best in the Bn., won easily. I haven't yet had much to do with my platoon, owing to these other parades, but shall try to chat with the men, whom I'm only beginning to know by name.
I enclose Frdk's. letter, from which you will see that he seems contented with his lot, which I'm glad of.
This is only a scrap late at night. Another route-march tomorrow, and, I believe, an inspection by French the next day.
Andy
I don't seem able to get at the poems. To-day being Sunday, I thought I would, but have been hoicked out for revolver practice, making lists of drafts of men, and watching a football match, which C Coy., which is the best in the Bn., won easily. I haven't yet had much to do with my platoon, owing to these other parades, but shall try to chat with the men, whom I'm only beginning to know by name.
I enclose Frdk's. letter, from which you will see that he seems contented with his lot, which I'm glad of.
This is only a scrap late at night. Another route-march tomorrow, and, I believe, an inspection by French the next day.
Andy
9th December, 1915.
It has been disgustingly wet today and we spent it mostly in a barn much worse than ours, giving short lectures to the men on all sorts of things. I didn't give any, being in charge, but put on platoon sergeants, who start with great zeal and suddenly stop at the end of two minutes, having exhausted all their eloquence. I think practice in smoke helmets is what the men hate most; the things make you feel choked and sick for some minutes from the chemicals inside, and they would probably all much prefer to be gassed some weeks hence to wearing them now.
I sleep most comfortably in my valise. Would it interest you to know that it's rather the thing when one comes in at the end of the day to change into gum boots, which, with woolly soles inside, are most comfortable as evening dress? I'm in them now.
Yesterday at a football match a little man - a Rifleman - whom I didn't know from Adam, came up and told me he had been in the digging party at Warden with me, and has been out three months: we discussed old acquaintances, and he was most friendly, though I don't know his name now. I'm very bad at names.
It is far more interesting here than at Epsom or Minster. With all these people and methods the work gets done, and it is, for the time being, quite reasonably hard work and not too stupid.
Now I must close, hoping this finds you in the pink, as it leaves me. Have I told you that expression, which occurs in two out of three letters from the men?
Andy
It has been disgustingly wet today and we spent it mostly in a barn much worse than ours, giving short lectures to the men on all sorts of things. I didn't give any, being in charge, but put on platoon sergeants, who start with great zeal and suddenly stop at the end of two minutes, having exhausted all their eloquence. I think practice in smoke helmets is what the men hate most; the things make you feel choked and sick for some minutes from the chemicals inside, and they would probably all much prefer to be gassed some weeks hence to wearing them now.
I sleep most comfortably in my valise. Would it interest you to know that it's rather the thing when one comes in at the end of the day to change into gum boots, which, with woolly soles inside, are most comfortable as evening dress? I'm in them now.
Yesterday at a football match a little man - a Rifleman - whom I didn't know from Adam, came up and told me he had been in the digging party at Warden with me, and has been out three months: we discussed old acquaintances, and he was most friendly, though I don't know his name now. I'm very bad at names.
It is far more interesting here than at Epsom or Minster. With all these people and methods the work gets done, and it is, for the time being, quite reasonably hard work and not too stupid.
Now I must close, hoping this finds you in the pink, as it leaves me. Have I told you that expression, which occurs in two out of three letters from the men?
Andy
Must be really annoying him that he can't get on with his poems. Still, I suppose if he did, we wouldn;t have the letters. I'[ve read about those smoke hoods before - dreadful things to qwear, although better than being gassed!
Marina
Marina
20th December, 1915.
Your lettersnearly always come in exactly at tea-time, which is right, as one can set and read them at once.
The last two days have been sloping. We fell in at 8.45 for a route march and inspection by General Plumer, and before we started were dripping by a regular thunderstorm. The we meandered about for three hours before finding the General by the side of the road, where we splashed past him, my job consisting in giving "Eyes Laft" at the critical moment, which I did without being prostrated by fright. But these smart inspections seem out of place in the middle of war. I think the whole brigade marched past, if not the whole division. In the afternoon watched a football match in several hailstorms. The R.B.'s ended by winning the divisional final, having beaten Londons, Buffs and Royal Fusiliers easily. We are going to have a cross country run on Thursday, and I'm afraid my platoon will not win, as it is rather a tail in the running line.
Today, being the Sabbath Day, I'm doing nothing, and don't propose to. Fine and Cold.
I continue to like my sergeants, but find it rather a bore and very absurd to have to lecture on subjects of which I know nothing and have no practical experience.
Andy
Your lettersnearly always come in exactly at tea-time, which is right, as one can set and read them at once.
The last two days have been sloping. We fell in at 8.45 for a route march and inspection by General Plumer, and before we started were dripping by a regular thunderstorm. The we meandered about for three hours before finding the General by the side of the road, where we splashed past him, my job consisting in giving "Eyes Laft" at the critical moment, which I did without being prostrated by fright. But these smart inspections seem out of place in the middle of war. I think the whole brigade marched past, if not the whole division. In the afternoon watched a football match in several hailstorms. The R.B.'s ended by winning the divisional final, having beaten Londons, Buffs and Royal Fusiliers easily. We are going to have a cross country run on Thursday, and I'm afraid my platoon will not win, as it is rather a tail in the running line.
Today, being the Sabbath Day, I'm doing nothing, and don't propose to. Fine and Cold.
I continue to like my sergeants, but find it rather a bore and very absurd to have to lecture on subjects of which I know nothing and have no practical experience.
Andy
21st December, 1915.
Not very much time before post goes, and the reason is that I have become O.C. of C Coy. as well as mess president for at least eight days, as T. has gone on leave and I am the senior subaltern. Consequently you might have seen me on a horse this morning leading the Coy. on a Batt. route march, and I have work and interruptions by the hundred - most of it, of course, absolutely novel. I haven't the foggiest idea as to whether I have the unfortunate Riflemen (who appear before me on charges) shot or admonished, and in vain, while in England, I tried to get some one to tell me. However, I ought to learn something in the course of it and cannot do much harm, I imagine, in a rest camp; and if I get strafed, it really doesn't matter. Not my fault if I know nothing about it. Don't worry if I'm short in my letters, I really shall be rather busy.
Andy
Not very much time before post goes, and the reason is that I have become O.C. of C Coy. as well as mess president for at least eight days, as T. has gone on leave and I am the senior subaltern. Consequently you might have seen me on a horse this morning leading the Coy. on a Batt. route march, and I have work and interruptions by the hundred - most of it, of course, absolutely novel. I haven't the foggiest idea as to whether I have the unfortunate Riflemen (who appear before me on charges) shot or admonished, and in vain, while in England, I tried to get some one to tell me. However, I ought to learn something in the course of it and cannot do much harm, I imagine, in a rest camp; and if I get strafed, it really doesn't matter. Not my fault if I know nothing about it. Don't worry if I'm short in my letters, I really shall be rather busy.
Andy
Liked his description of saluting the general - didn't imagine for a minute he would be prostrate with fright! He is always so amused! This going back to the earlier letters is a good idea. - we can see how much he changed more clearly. When the last letter is finished, I'm going back to the beginning to read them all again and get the full momentum, if you see what i mean.
Marina
Marina
23rd December, 1915,
Just another line and a half in great haste. I really am rather bushed, for in addition to the ordinary things an O.C. has to do, I have the Christmas dinner to arrange for, and the point is that we must have 200 plates, tables, and dishes for 200 and, if possible, a piano. All these things ought to have been arranged for weeks ago to make sure of them, and were supposed to be, and now not two days at most to go, they are none of them forthcoming; and I send out parties in all directions to beg, borrow, or steal them in a place the size of Puckeridge or smaller.
Also I had to send off I. to inspect the trenches we go into in the New Year - for two days - and a servant who almost declined to go, as it's not much fun being in the mire and shot at for two days before Christams merely as a fatigue. Otherwise we are going all right - no thanks to me, as the thing runs very smoothly, and provided I assume an air which is unjustified, they seem to imagine that somebody really is in command.
Spent half an hour last night in vain trying to persuade the farmer and farmeress to lend us their crockery for the men - but not they. If I were fluent enough to be daring in French it might possibly have been done; but they are not very generous, I fancy.
Just as I had finished your Richoux sweets some more of them came from O.H. - much to the pleasure of the mess, which likes them.
I suppose I shall revert to subaltern and the ordinary course next week - meanwhile you won't mind short letters, will you?
Christmas Day is going to consist of a vast dinner for the men - ducks and pork and plum puddings, and oranges and beer, followed by a concert, all in a barn.
The R.B.'s have won every competition in the Division and so are highly pleased with themselves.
Andy
Just another line and a half in great haste. I really am rather bushed, for in addition to the ordinary things an O.C. has to do, I have the Christmas dinner to arrange for, and the point is that we must have 200 plates, tables, and dishes for 200 and, if possible, a piano. All these things ought to have been arranged for weeks ago to make sure of them, and were supposed to be, and now not two days at most to go, they are none of them forthcoming; and I send out parties in all directions to beg, borrow, or steal them in a place the size of Puckeridge or smaller.
Also I had to send off I. to inspect the trenches we go into in the New Year - for two days - and a servant who almost declined to go, as it's not much fun being in the mire and shot at for two days before Christams merely as a fatigue. Otherwise we are going all right - no thanks to me, as the thing runs very smoothly, and provided I assume an air which is unjustified, they seem to imagine that somebody really is in command.
Spent half an hour last night in vain trying to persuade the farmer and farmeress to lend us their crockery for the men - but not they. If I were fluent enough to be daring in French it might possibly have been done; but they are not very generous, I fancy.
Just as I had finished your Richoux sweets some more of them came from O.H. - much to the pleasure of the mess, which likes them.
I suppose I shall revert to subaltern and the ordinary course next week - meanwhile you won't mind short letters, will you?
Christmas Day is going to consist of a vast dinner for the men - ducks and pork and plum puddings, and oranges and beer, followed by a concert, all in a barn.
The R.B.'s have won every competition in the Division and so are highly pleased with themselves.
Andy
The O.H. in the last letter is Oscar Hamilton, M.D., of Northwood, an ols school and Oxford friend of Robert's.
Andy
Andy
Christmas dinner- another surreal time. Hope he got his piano and the crockery!
Marina
Marina
QUOTE (marina @ Sep 13 2005, 10:52 PM)
Christmas dinner- another surreal time. Hope he got his piano and the crockery!
Marina
Marina
Can I ask a question?
Andy - are you missing out the lovey dovey bits - or did Caroline edit the letters herself?
Seems to me that these letters are definitely for his own mental health - if he keeps talking about everyday things that he's doing - and not thinking about what he could be doing - he'll get through! - he's not giving himself a chance to remember what went before! the comfort and security etc. The times he seems to choke - is when he says he's received her letters - though he makes a quick recovery!! How fortunate he is - that she is the kind of woman she is - that he can say everything he's saying without restraint - he knows she understands ( in spite of her worry!) - how wonderful to have a relationship like that! -
Just a thought! sorry - didn't mean to interupt!
Annie
Annie,
Not an interuption at all. The letters are as They appear down to the punctuation marks, Caroline sent copies of his letters to close friends and family as they arrived from Robert. To quote Caroline:- "My first idea in printing my husband's letters was to have them, in a complete and more convenient form, for private circulation among those few intimate friends and relations to whom I had sent copies of each letter as it arrived. During the last few weeks, however, I have been asked by so many people to have his letters published, that I have at last decided to let them appear as they now do."
Andy
Not an interuption at all. The letters are as They appear down to the punctuation marks, Caroline sent copies of his letters to close friends and family as they arrived from Robert. To quote Caroline:- "My first idea in printing my husband's letters was to have them, in a complete and more convenient form, for private circulation among those few intimate friends and relations to whom I had sent copies of each letter as it arrived. During the last few weeks, however, I have been asked by so many people to have his letters published, that I have at last decided to let them appear as they now do."
Andy
24th December, 1915.
This is the third day I have had no letter from you, but I know it's not just that you haven't written, because nobody else has had any letters either.
C. has at last got into the nearest town this afternoon, where he is going to buy Chinese lanterns, candles, and those sort of etcs. I sent the Coy. out this morning by platoons to pick holly, and they seem to have depleted the countryside pretty well. Tables are still a difficulty, and I have commissioned a sergeant and a French speaking corporal to call on the Cure and see if he can raise any by his authority.
There was to have been a field day today in which I should have had to lead the Coy. in some intricate attack, but luckily it poured and the thing was put off. Not but what I believe it's quite easy to give orders on these occasions, provided the men are skilled in carrying them out.
Yesterday I rode over to a lecture at _____ on the trenches we are to occupy. The lecturer was some Colonel - I believe his name was H. if so, he was a youth Frdk. and I wre at school with, but I didn't recognise him and the room was too crowded to get close. Heavy rain going back and the animals galloped most of the way.
There are various changes being made in the Batt. T. will become in command of C Coy. instead of second in command, etc., etc. This all sounds very military, doesn't it ? and other people are most desperately keen on their positions. I fear I am too old to have any military ambition; at the same time, it is decidedly more interesting to command than be commanded - so perhaps I had better aim at being a Brigadier, say.
Andy
This is the third day I have had no letter from you, but I know it's not just that you haven't written, because nobody else has had any letters either.
C. has at last got into the nearest town this afternoon, where he is going to buy Chinese lanterns, candles, and those sort of etcs. I sent the Coy. out this morning by platoons to pick holly, and they seem to have depleted the countryside pretty well. Tables are still a difficulty, and I have commissioned a sergeant and a French speaking corporal to call on the Cure and see if he can raise any by his authority.
There was to have been a field day today in which I should have had to lead the Coy. in some intricate attack, but luckily it poured and the thing was put off. Not but what I believe it's quite easy to give orders on these occasions, provided the men are skilled in carrying them out.
Yesterday I rode over to a lecture at _____ on the trenches we are to occupy. The lecturer was some Colonel - I believe his name was H. if so, he was a youth Frdk. and I wre at school with, but I didn't recognise him and the room was too crowded to get close. Heavy rain going back and the animals galloped most of the way.
There are various changes being made in the Batt. T. will become in command of C Coy. instead of second in command, etc., etc. This all sounds very military, doesn't it ? and other people are most desperately keen on their positions. I fear I am too old to have any military ambition; at the same time, it is decidedly more interesting to command than be commanded - so perhaps I had better aim at being a Brigadier, say.
Andy
Boxing Day, 1915.
After three days of no letters I got five from you on Christmas Day - about 6pm - and one from my mother, and one from yours.
I hope you saw V.__ he seems to have been in luck about Christmas. I've forgotten his Batt. and address, so can't write (I suppose I could, but I haven't). I hope nobody will try to make me learn signalling.
I feel we don't need a confession of sins at present so much as of our stupidities. Perhaps that comes from seeing all these patient and gallant youths about, so cheery in what they all know is for them a daily risk of their lives.
By the way, the chocolates from L. have arrived. Richoux pack beautifully, and they are the best possible chocolates.
Now, about Christmas here, which was fairly amusing and will be more so to look back upon, I expect.
We sent C. into the town, and he brought out on a mess-cart chocolates and crackers and plates and cigarettes, which made a very fine show. The C.Q.M.S. is quite a brilliant decorator, and turned out the barn in great style with masses of greenery, and the lamps hung in festoons with Chinese lanterns between.
There were services in the morning and a football match at 12 - won by 11 platoon of C Coy. - and dinner began at 2. The C.O. came round and made a speech, and we gave him port, and all drank to the health of the Coy., and then they set to on pork and geese and plum puddings, and kept it up with a concert till the late hour. Our own dinner didn't arrive till 4pm, after much strafing of the servanta. At 7 the C Coy. officers had to go round to the sergeants mess, and I had to make a speech and drink half a tumbler of whisky, followed by champagne. They were all cheery. Then we supped off a magnificent pie sent out by T. from the Trinity cook, and at 11pm the farmeress came and besought me to turn the servant's party out of the kitchen where they were making a frightful row. I routed them out and they sang songs under our windows, and finally retired. Heaven knows how many men turned up at the correct hour at their billets, but I believe drunks and absents are overlooked on Christmas Day. All sorts of officers trotted in at intervals, and on Christmas Eve we all went round to each other's houses and wished each other well.
I don't fancy a certain amount of drinking can be helped, and they don't do much in the ordinary way. I retired to bed at 11.30 and didn't get up till 9 this morning, so had a pretty good sleep.
We haven't heard definetely when we move. I will write as soon as I can again.
Andy
After three days of no letters I got five from you on Christmas Day - about 6pm - and one from my mother, and one from yours.
I hope you saw V.__ he seems to have been in luck about Christmas. I've forgotten his Batt. and address, so can't write (I suppose I could, but I haven't). I hope nobody will try to make me learn signalling.
I feel we don't need a confession of sins at present so much as of our stupidities. Perhaps that comes from seeing all these patient and gallant youths about, so cheery in what they all know is for them a daily risk of their lives.
By the way, the chocolates from L. have arrived. Richoux pack beautifully, and they are the best possible chocolates.
Now, about Christmas here, which was fairly amusing and will be more so to look back upon, I expect.
We sent C. into the town, and he brought out on a mess-cart chocolates and crackers and plates and cigarettes, which made a very fine show. The C.Q.M.S. is quite a brilliant decorator, and turned out the barn in great style with masses of greenery, and the lamps hung in festoons with Chinese lanterns between.
There were services in the morning and a football match at 12 - won by 11 platoon of C Coy. - and dinner began at 2. The C.O. came round and made a speech, and we gave him port, and all drank to the health of the Coy., and then they set to on pork and geese and plum puddings, and kept it up with a concert till the late hour. Our own dinner didn't arrive till 4pm, after much strafing of the servanta. At 7 the C Coy. officers had to go round to the sergeants mess, and I had to make a speech and drink half a tumbler of whisky, followed by champagne. They were all cheery. Then we supped off a magnificent pie sent out by T. from the Trinity cook, and at 11pm the farmeress came and besought me to turn the servant's party out of the kitchen where they were making a frightful row. I routed them out and they sang songs under our windows, and finally retired. Heaven knows how many men turned up at the correct hour at their billets, but I believe drunks and absents are overlooked on Christmas Day. All sorts of officers trotted in at intervals, and on Christmas Eve we all went round to each other's houses and wished each other well.
I don't fancy a certain amount of drinking can be helped, and they don't do much in the ordinary way. I retired to bed at 11.30 and didn't get up till 9 this morning, so had a pretty good sleep.
We haven't heard definetely when we move. I will write as soon as I can again.
Andy
28th December, 1915.
This will be a sleepy letter, as the Field Day came off to-day, and I spent from 8.30-4.30 leading C Coy. to the attack, and sending orderlies and signallers, and sergeants and subalterns flying in all directions except (probably) the right one. I don't think we did any worse than the other Coys., however; and these sort of attacks always seem a gorgeous mix-up; and on the whole I thought it easy to be an O.C as a Rifleman.
Now T. has returned from leave and I revert to 2nd in command, without, I think, having given myself away too much, and having had some useful practice.
Got a letter from you on my return, and had a hot bath and shall go to bed in a few minutes. Yesterday we had an alarm that we were to be inspected by Haig (C-in -C) but it didn't come off.
There is still nothing fixed about our move, and even our destination is altered by rumour daily. Sleepy I am.
Andy
This will be a sleepy letter, as the Field Day came off to-day, and I spent from 8.30-4.30 leading C Coy. to the attack, and sending orderlies and signallers, and sergeants and subalterns flying in all directions except (probably) the right one. I don't think we did any worse than the other Coys., however; and these sort of attacks always seem a gorgeous mix-up; and on the whole I thought it easy to be an O.C as a Rifleman.
Now T. has returned from leave and I revert to 2nd in command, without, I think, having given myself away too much, and having had some useful practice.
Got a letter from you on my return, and had a hot bath and shall go to bed in a few minutes. Yesterday we had an alarm that we were to be inspected by Haig (C-in -C) but it didn't come off.
There is still nothing fixed about our move, and even our destination is altered by rumour daily. Sleepy I am.
Andy
29th December, 1915.
Just a line afore I go to bed - to tell you that we don't seem to be moving for some days. Inspection by the G.O.C. to-morrow.
Andy
Just a line afore I go to bed - to tell you that we don't seem to be moving for some days. Inspection by the G.O.C. to-morrow.
Andy
31st December, 1915.
I don't think there is much news - still none of our departure or of our destination.
I have just been strafing my servant, who is also the chef, over his cookery, with the result that we are getting superb meals as a mess, and he is looking after me individually much better too. He said nobody had criticised his cookery before, and he had cooked for seven years for the Guard's mess. I said I had no doubt that he was a cordon bleu, but some evidence of it must be fortcoming.
Andy
I don't think there is much news - still none of our departure or of our destination.
I have just been strafing my servant, who is also the chef, over his cookery, with the result that we are getting superb meals as a mess, and he is looking after me individually much better too. He said nobody had criticised his cookery before, and he had cooked for seven years for the Guard's mess. I said I had no doubt that he was a cordon bleu, but some evidence of it must be fortcoming.
Andy
Bumper stack of letters today - beginning to know how he feels when he got all his letters from Caroline at one time! Odd to think of them all hanging Chinese lanterns in the barn, but nice.
Marina
Marina
Still the Village, 3rd January, 1916.
I came back from a long route march through much mud, followed y a long lecture on some new trenches, to find a letter.
Of course we are bound to be in the trenches pretty soon now, but that's what we came for; and I believe the R.B.'s are expected to hold the least choice ones as a rule. Even so, the risks are not much more or less, I suppose.
Did I tell you we were dealt out steel helmets a week ago to wear in the tenches - frightfully heavy but supposed to be good against shrapnel.
Andy
I came back from a long route march through much mud, followed y a long lecture on some new trenches, to find a letter.
Of course we are bound to be in the trenches pretty soon now, but that's what we came for; and I believe the R.B.'s are expected to hold the least choice ones as a rule. Even so, the risks are not much more or less, I suppose.
Did I tell you we were dealt out steel helmets a week ago to wear in the tenches - frightfully heavy but supposed to be good against shrapnel.
Andy
6th January, 1916. Another place in France.
I got two letters before moving. I was rejoiced to hear that you were in the pink as this leaves me at present, seated on my valise on the muddy floor of a small hut at which we arrived at 6am this morning, having started at 7pm the night before. It's not the trenches yet, but may be when you get this.
The start from the rest billet was rather picturesque. A dark starry night, the Btt. in fours on the muddy road, singing and shouting goodbyes to the villagers, captains on horses, and pack animals jogging behind the endless French avenues. We entrained about seven miles away - sat rather thick in a beetje carriage, where I fell asleep about six times and was joggled awake by the sudden way they brake the French trains when they are going at top speed. The men on trucks on the floor, which I fancy was quite as comfortable as the seats we were on. Then dismounted at a place that has been shelled and still is at intervals, tramped through heaps of filthy streets, very dark and muddy, but the sky between all quivering with light from the very lights on the not very distant front. Noy much noise of guns, which seems to go on mostly by day. The effect was (when we got into the open country) of the fireworks at Henley seen across a flat land like the Sheppey marshes. Constant passing of horses and waggons and troops on the road; but only an hour before we got to this place of liquid mud, where we slept on the floor (after some cocoa) until about 11am, when we had breakfast. I was very glad of my fur lining as our valises did not arrive until after breakfast, and we slept as we were. I slept very soundly myself and wasn't really cold, or if I was I didn't know it.
Apparently we sahll continue to mess in the trenches, which are said to be fairly dry. Those we were to have gone into were waist-deep in parts and so isolated that in the fire trench we should have had to get our meals when we could by ourselves. So that is an improvement.
It's quite an animated scene outside - mule carts and horse carts and men on horses and mules all splashing about in the mud under a very sodden sky, which looks as if it were going to rain buckets shortly.
I was going into the nearest town for the afternoon with T., but the order allowing officers off has been cancelled, so I'm staying here instead, a-scribbling to you.
It's absurd the amount of things one carries on the march. I had a pack and two haversacks, glasses, revolver, smoke helmet, and goggles (you're supposed to carry two) and map case all strung about me; and a steel helmet ought also to have been slung to the pack, but ours went by mess-cart. I walked in my long boots and changed into my rubber boots.
Getting dark and tea beggining to arrive.
Andy
I got two letters before moving. I was rejoiced to hear that you were in the pink as this leaves me at present, seated on my valise on the muddy floor of a small hut at which we arrived at 6am this morning, having started at 7pm the night before. It's not the trenches yet, but may be when you get this.
The start from the rest billet was rather picturesque. A dark starry night, the Btt. in fours on the muddy road, singing and shouting goodbyes to the villagers, captains on horses, and pack animals jogging behind the endless French avenues. We entrained about seven miles away - sat rather thick in a beetje carriage, where I fell asleep about six times and was joggled awake by the sudden way they brake the French trains when they are going at top speed. The men on trucks on the floor, which I fancy was quite as comfortable as the seats we were on. Then dismounted at a place that has been shelled and still is at intervals, tramped through heaps of filthy streets, very dark and muddy, but the sky between all quivering with light from the very lights on the not very distant front. Noy much noise of guns, which seems to go on mostly by day. The effect was (when we got into the open country) of the fireworks at Henley seen across a flat land like the Sheppey marshes. Constant passing of horses and waggons and troops on the road; but only an hour before we got to this place of liquid mud, where we slept on the floor (after some cocoa) until about 11am, when we had breakfast. I was very glad of my fur lining as our valises did not arrive until after breakfast, and we slept as we were. I slept very soundly myself and wasn't really cold, or if I was I didn't know it.
Apparently we sahll continue to mess in the trenches, which are said to be fairly dry. Those we were to have gone into were waist-deep in parts and so isolated that in the fire trench we should have had to get our meals when we could by ourselves. So that is an improvement.
It's quite an animated scene outside - mule carts and horse carts and men on horses and mules all splashing about in the mud under a very sodden sky, which looks as if it were going to rain buckets shortly.
I was going into the nearest town for the afternoon with T., but the order allowing officers off has been cancelled, so I'm staying here instead, a-scribbling to you.
It's absurd the amount of things one carries on the march. I had a pack and two haversacks, glasses, revolver, smoke helmet, and goggles (you're supposed to carry two) and map case all strung about me; and a steel helmet ought also to have been slung to the pack, but ours went by mess-cart. I walked in my long boots and changed into my rubber boots.
Getting dark and tea beggining to arrive.
Andy
Dans Les Tranches. 9th January, 1916.
I got two letters from you last night, so that the trenches are not so bad as they might be. I marched the Coy. up to the trenches with I., as T. went up earlier in the day to prospect. Very interesting - along a dull, ugly road that is already historic, I suppose, through towns that have become famous through being reduced to dust. In one of these all of us were dealt out with gum-boots, thigh-high and wet through, which is what happens in the Army when the object is that you shall have dry feet, but I fancy there is the excuse that there aren't enough of them, and one Batt. has to get straight into those left behind by the Batt. that has gone out. By this time it was dark and safe to march through the shelled area, which we did, wading through pools of mud and water, and holes eminently calculated to sprain your ankle. The Coy. ahead had one man shot through the leg by a stray bullet, but we had (and have) no casualties so far. Since arriving about 7 o'clock p.m. on the 7th I have had about six hours sleep in 48 hours - not enough. Some of the men have had less, I fancy, and that in mud holes; unavoidable.
The difference from what one expected in the trenches is that these are so filthy and dilapidated-looking; not regular trenches and nicely arranged barbed wire as in Sheppey, but crumbled up barricaeds in the middle of what looks like an earthquake combined with a snowslide, with ancient rusty scraps of wire hanging in festoons here and there, but pretty effective nevertheless. Everything gets blown up at intervals and inextricably mixed, clothes and tins and dug-outs and every mortal thing you can imagine. Otherwise they are roomier than anything at Sheppey. Since arriving I've seen almost all the things one reads of - aeroplanes being shelled in every direction, rifle fire, and crater mines being blown up and all the rest of it, except an attack or heavy shelling of our lines, I'm glad to say.
The first night and day were fairly peaceful - though our R.E. (a Canadian) wrecked the German mines late in the evening, and the earth shook, and we all stood to in case a crater was formed and had to be occupied. But it wasn't.
To-day, being Sunday, opened rather more characteristicly, I suppose. Having retired to baed at 2a.m. in a sort of little dug-out, 2ft. 6 high - room for one with one's legs sticking out a trifle - I was hauled out at 5a.m. because the wind had changed and a gas attack was possible. We stood about in gusts of rain till 7a.m. when I again retired to bed and was awakened by the Boches sending over rifle grenades, nasty buzzing things that make a noise like an enormous hornet, and I found I. just outside, ducking because he expected one on his head. They sent over twenty (you can see them coming and dodge if you have room) but did no damage, and I had breakfast and went on duty from 10a.m. - 2p.m.. During this you trot round and chat with the sentries and take an occasional glimpse in a safe direction and listen to the patter of bullets and find out if anybody has heard or noticed anything, and so on.
Meanwhile our artillery started shelling the Boche; their F.O.O. coming into our front line to get the range, and they began to shell back. This went on for sometime, at the end of which I went to see if the platoon was rubbing in anti-frost bite, whereupon a biggish shell fell about 15 yards away and I had to retire into a very safe place we have, with one shoe off and one shoe on, so to speak.
Then back to lunch, and now I'm off, and writing to you, but still exceedingly sleepy; while guns go on overhead, but not much at hand.
The men seem wonderfully cheerful and good-natured about everything; but of course, childishly foolish in some ways. They will fish water out of some filthy puddle, throw away their socks and do anything the fancy takes them that is reckless. The nud is difficult to exaggerate. I am crusted with it already, and have a large rent in the seat of my breeks, and haven't washed. Otherwise, I don't think they're as bad as I expected, though there are faint sickly smells and things that take some getting usedto. It is extremely interesting in many ways, and I suppose when one becomes experienced one may be some use. I believe T. is extremely good - very cool and conscientious and forethoughtful, and I doubt if we could have a better captain.
It's quaint dodging by oneself at night round dangerous corners and chatting with sentries you don't know and can't see about nothing in particular. Last night three cats were playing about in front of our parapet in the moonlight.
By the time you get this we shall probably be out again in reserve and luxury; so picture it all over for the time being when you get it. I haven't been unpleasantly cold yet and am in the pink.
Our cook-house, which is also the servants dug-out, is opposite our 9 x 3 mess room dug-out; and there you see either five servants snoring or the chef sitting over a brazier taking things out of his pockets and dropping them into the saucepan for our consumption. He sent up some tea which smelt so violently of dead cats that we couldn't touch it in spite of being very thirsty. Water (pure) is a difficulty.
Don't worry if letters are delayed. They are erratic, and I may at times be too desperatley sleepy to hold a pencil. Explain this to my mother.
I think I'll try and get a mug of water to wash in and shave now.
Andy
I got two letters from you last night, so that the trenches are not so bad as they might be. I marched the Coy. up to the trenches with I., as T. went up earlier in the day to prospect. Very interesting - along a dull, ugly road that is already historic, I suppose, through towns that have become famous through being reduced to dust. In one of these all of us were dealt out with gum-boots, thigh-high and wet through, which is what happens in the Army when the object is that you shall have dry feet, but I fancy there is the excuse that there aren't enough of them, and one Batt. has to get straight into those left behind by the Batt. that has gone out. By this time it was dark and safe to march through the shelled area, which we did, wading through pools of mud and water, and holes eminently calculated to sprain your ankle. The Coy. ahead had one man shot through the leg by a stray bullet, but we had (and have) no casualties so far. Since arriving about 7 o'clock p.m. on the 7th I have had about six hours sleep in 48 hours - not enough. Some of the men have had less, I fancy, and that in mud holes; unavoidable.
The difference from what one expected in the trenches is that these are so filthy and dilapidated-looking; not regular trenches and nicely arranged barbed wire as in Sheppey, but crumbled up barricaeds in the middle of what looks like an earthquake combined with a snowslide, with ancient rusty scraps of wire hanging in festoons here and there, but pretty effective nevertheless. Everything gets blown up at intervals and inextricably mixed, clothes and tins and dug-outs and every mortal thing you can imagine. Otherwise they are roomier than anything at Sheppey. Since arriving I've seen almost all the things one reads of - aeroplanes being shelled in every direction, rifle fire, and crater mines being blown up and all the rest of it, except an attack or heavy shelling of our lines, I'm glad to say.
The first night and day were fairly peaceful - though our R.E. (a Canadian) wrecked the German mines late in the evening, and the earth shook, and we all stood to in case a crater was formed and had to be occupied. But it wasn't.
To-day, being Sunday, opened rather more characteristicly, I suppose. Having retired to baed at 2a.m. in a sort of little dug-out, 2ft. 6 high - room for one with one's legs sticking out a trifle - I was hauled out at 5a.m. because the wind had changed and a gas attack was possible. We stood about in gusts of rain till 7a.m. when I again retired to bed and was awakened by the Boches sending over rifle grenades, nasty buzzing things that make a noise like an enormous hornet, and I found I. just outside, ducking because he expected one on his head. They sent over twenty (you can see them coming and dodge if you have room) but did no damage, and I had breakfast and went on duty from 10a.m. - 2p.m.. During this you trot round and chat with the sentries and take an occasional glimpse in a safe direction and listen to the patter of bullets and find out if anybody has heard or noticed anything, and so on.
Meanwhile our artillery started shelling the Boche; their F.O.O. coming into our front line to get the range, and they began to shell back. This went on for sometime, at the end of which I went to see if the platoon was rubbing in anti-frost bite, whereupon a biggish shell fell about 15 yards away and I had to retire into a very safe place we have, with one shoe off and one shoe on, so to speak.
Then back to lunch, and now I'm off, and writing to you, but still exceedingly sleepy; while guns go on overhead, but not much at hand.
The men seem wonderfully cheerful and good-natured about everything; but of course, childishly foolish in some ways. They will fish water out of some filthy puddle, throw away their socks and do anything the fancy takes them that is reckless. The nud is difficult to exaggerate. I am crusted with it already, and have a large rent in the seat of my breeks, and haven't washed. Otherwise, I don't think they're as bad as I expected, though there are faint sickly smells and things that take some getting usedto. It is extremely interesting in many ways, and I suppose when one becomes experienced one may be some use. I believe T. is extremely good - very cool and conscientious and forethoughtful, and I doubt if we could have a better captain.
It's quaint dodging by oneself at night round dangerous corners and chatting with sentries you don't know and can't see about nothing in particular. Last night three cats were playing about in front of our parapet in the moonlight.
By the time you get this we shall probably be out again in reserve and luxury; so picture it all over for the time being when you get it. I haven't been unpleasantly cold yet and am in the pink.
Our cook-house, which is also the servants dug-out, is opposite our 9 x 3 mess room dug-out; and there you see either five servants snoring or the chef sitting over a brazier taking things out of his pockets and dropping them into the saucepan for our consumption. He sent up some tea which smelt so violently of dead cats that we couldn't touch it in spite of being very thirsty. Water (pure) is a difficulty.
Don't worry if letters are delayed. They are erratic, and I may at times be too desperatley sleepy to hold a pencil. Explain this to my mother.
I think I'll try and get a mug of water to wash in and shave now.
Andy
Imagine having to share boots with the preceding battalion. Silly thing to be horrified by in the circs they were in, but really...
This last was a really good letter - vintage Robert!
Marina
This last was a really good letter - vintage Robert!
Marina
Quite a thought eh Marina.
10th January, 1916.
Just a line to say that I'm safe and well. Also I had six hours slepp last night, which is a great improvement, and I shall even do some more this afternoon. Nothing happened later yesterday, and to-day has been pretty quiet, and I'vebeen watching German working parties in the distance, and an unknown piece of railway. There must have been something on early to-day, for about 7a.m. a terrific row on our flank waked me and I believe went on for an hour, nut I was too sleppy to take any interest in it. It's a beautiful day. More sleep - so I must come to an end. My chief hours are 9.30p.pm - 1.30a.m. - 1.30p.m.. The night part is rather long and dull, though one has some intereting talks.
Andy
10th January, 1916.
Just a line to say that I'm safe and well. Also I had six hours slepp last night, which is a great improvement, and I shall even do some more this afternoon. Nothing happened later yesterday, and to-day has been pretty quiet, and I'vebeen watching German working parties in the distance, and an unknown piece of railway. There must have been something on early to-day, for about 7a.m. a terrific row on our flank waked me and I believe went on for an hour, nut I was too sleppy to take any interest in it. It's a beautiful day. More sleep - so I must come to an end. My chief hours are 9.30p.pm - 1.30a.m. - 1.30p.m.. The night part is rather long and dull, though one has some intereting talks.
Andy
11th or 12th January, 1916.
Just a line to say that we go out to-night into reserve, which is a perfectly safe place. A certain amount of strafing on both sides going on. I would write more but am overcome with sleep again, having had little last night owing to giving my bed to an officer who came in yesterday. It was too jolly cold to slepp elsewhere. Having a fairly interesting time. Too sleppy for words.
Andy
Just a line to say that we go out to-night into reserve, which is a perfectly safe place. A certain amount of strafing on both sides going on. I would write more but am overcome with sleep again, having had little last night owing to giving my bed to an officer who came in yesterday. It was too jolly cold to slepp elsewhere. Having a fairly interesting time. Too sleppy for words.
Andy
12th January, 1916.
Here we are in the ruins of a very historic town - in some shell proof cellars, where I even had a sort of bed last night - and the time to lie on it. In fact I had 9-10 hours sleep, and having had practically none the night before (when I was also frozen stiff) I feel distinctly the better for it, and ready to write quite a long letter. I hope I didn't give too bad an impression in my first letter. It's no use pretending they are pleasant, as many people probably console themselves with thinking. It isn't the filth or the wet or want of sleep or general discomfort or chance of getting a bullet if you walk unwarily, that is unpleasant; it is the shells and shells only, and when they say it is a gunner's war, they mean the gunners have all the fun and the infantry all the horrors. There they are, somewhere miles behind, and theu open fire - when it suits them, more or less - on the infantry trenches where, it may be for hours at a time, you squat, not knowing if the next one is coming on top of you or not. There are various noises, of course, which I expect you have seen described: Those I like least so far are - 1. a sound as of the loudest thunderclap you have ever heard going off in your ears; 2, a noise of the whole of Harrod's store falling in with a sudden crash. I don't think it's just my finnickiness or the novelty of it that makes them alarming: In fact some people say that the more you've had of them the less you like them. I was standing yesterday morning next to a Buff officer who has been buried by a shell and been out since the beginning, and I don't think he liked the shelling that was going on any more than I did. But no doubt some men are better suited for the sort of strain it must be than others. We are said to have had a very light time - only three casualties in the Coy. - and we are out now for some time.
I rather think that one can acquire some sort of philosophy about shells in course of time - the fact is that it's no good expecting them to hit you. They probably won't, and if they do one knows nothing of it.
The advantage of being an officer is that you haven't very much time to think about yourself whether you want to or not.
Without artillery the trenches would seem quite peaceful and pleasant, and it is pleasant to see the old hands going on cooking their dinners stolidly with the shells crashing round, thopugh they can't like them. The recruits seem to have taken their first experiences very well. But then the older N.C.O.'s can be very useful in consoling them, and this, I should say, makes for greater value of the regular battalions as compared with the others.
T. is exceedingly good in the trenches. He barely slept at all and didn't particularly seem to need it - that's the thing I shall find it particularly difficult to live up to. I never did like the earliest dawn!!
Andy
Here we are in the ruins of a very historic town - in some shell proof cellars, where I even had a sort of bed last night - and the time to lie on it. In fact I had 9-10 hours sleep, and having had practically none the night before (when I was also frozen stiff) I feel distinctly the better for it, and ready to write quite a long letter. I hope I didn't give too bad an impression in my first letter. It's no use pretending they are pleasant, as many people probably console themselves with thinking. It isn't the filth or the wet or want of sleep or general discomfort or chance of getting a bullet if you walk unwarily, that is unpleasant; it is the shells and shells only, and when they say it is a gunner's war, they mean the gunners have all the fun and the infantry all the horrors. There they are, somewhere miles behind, and theu open fire - when it suits them, more or less - on the infantry trenches where, it may be for hours at a time, you squat, not knowing if the next one is coming on top of you or not. There are various noises, of course, which I expect you have seen described: Those I like least so far are - 1. a sound as of the loudest thunderclap you have ever heard going off in your ears; 2, a noise of the whole of Harrod's store falling in with a sudden crash. I don't think it's just my finnickiness or the novelty of it that makes them alarming: In fact some people say that the more you've had of them the less you like them. I was standing yesterday morning next to a Buff officer who has been buried by a shell and been out since the beginning, and I don't think he liked the shelling that was going on any more than I did. But no doubt some men are better suited for the sort of strain it must be than others. We are said to have had a very light time - only three casualties in the Coy. - and we are out now for some time.
I rather think that one can acquire some sort of philosophy about shells in course of time - the fact is that it's no good expecting them to hit you. They probably won't, and if they do one knows nothing of it.
The advantage of being an officer is that you haven't very much time to think about yourself whether you want to or not.
Without artillery the trenches would seem quite peaceful and pleasant, and it is pleasant to see the old hands going on cooking their dinners stolidly with the shells crashing round, thopugh they can't like them. The recruits seem to have taken their first experiences very well. But then the older N.C.O.'s can be very useful in consoling them, and this, I should say, makes for greater value of the regular battalions as compared with the others.
T. is exceedingly good in the trenches. He barely slept at all and didn't particularly seem to need it - that's the thing I shall find it particularly difficult to live up to. I never did like the earliest dawn!!
Andy
Just the thought of the shells, even though obviously I have never experienced them, fills me with horror. I admire those regular NCOs Robert speaks of who are so good at consoling the recruits - how on earth do you calm people in that situation? And Robert doesn't have time to think about himself - how like him.
Marina
Marina
12th January, 1916. (To his Mother)
Am at present, and for some time to come, behind the firing line in shell-proof cellars, which one subaltern says he would like ti live in for the rest of his life - after seeing the trenches.
Truly, nobody need think the trenches (at any rate the worst ones) anything but disgusting; but there is a great deal of fascination in them, and the men are extraordinarily interesting and good homoured, and cook under fire; and they get on the whole a worse time than the officers in the ordinary way of accomodation. Our new ones have the advatage of the old hands present to back them up, and the disadvantage of having more dangerous trenches to occupy.
It's all very odd and rather exciting - when on duty at night one goes about alone for hours up and down deserted trenches with sounds of firing in all directions and the Boches within listening distance, and flkares going up at intervals through mud nearly knee-deep, slipping and sliding in every direction in the dark and not quite certain at first whether one is trotting straight into the Germen trenches or not. The landscape is exceedingly desolate - ruins and shell holes wherever you look - and the only cheerful thing is the sun when it appears, and the men, whose cheeriness is unending.
Andy
Am at present, and for some time to come, behind the firing line in shell-proof cellars, which one subaltern says he would like ti live in for the rest of his life - after seeing the trenches.
Truly, nobody need think the trenches (at any rate the worst ones) anything but disgusting; but there is a great deal of fascination in them, and the men are extraordinarily interesting and good homoured, and cook under fire; and they get on the whole a worse time than the officers in the ordinary way of accomodation. Our new ones have the advatage of the old hands present to back them up, and the disadvantage of having more dangerous trenches to occupy.
It's all very odd and rather exciting - when on duty at night one goes about alone for hours up and down deserted trenches with sounds of firing in all directions and the Boches within listening distance, and flkares going up at intervals through mud nearly knee-deep, slipping and sliding in every direction in the dark and not quite certain at first whether one is trotting straight into the Germen trenches or not. The landscape is exceedingly desolate - ruins and shell holes wherever you look - and the only cheerful thing is the sun when it appears, and the men, whose cheeriness is unending.
Andy
13th January, 1916. Still the cellars
I am sitting in the mess room cellar, which is about 6 x 10ft. and holds the officers of two Coys. The space is sardiny and the cold icy. The difficulty about writing is that there are so many details and so little time to describe them. Last night, for instance, I sat here with the others and we had the brigade machine gun officer in discussing the position of the guns, and the C.O. and the Adjutant discussing the trenches, and all the officers of A Coy. (B. included) chatting and laughing, and I got to bed at 11.30, and had a good sleep till 9.
To-day I inspected my platoon and then wandered about a ruined place and picked some daphne mezereum and rosemary. To-night at 10p.m. I take a working party up to the trenches and return abut 1 or 2a.m.
______ told me as we left the trenches that he would give anything to be back in Sheppey, and he was one of the youths who was wild to get out. They certainly don't leave many illusions of the romance of war - the more credit to the people who have stuck it a year or more.
14th Got back safe and sound at about midnight. There was a high and furious wind blowing most of the time - very cold - also the chance of being machine gunned, so the men worked like buffaloes and we got through in no time.
To-day has been slack and luxurious, sitting over a charcoal brazier in the cellars, eating and dozing. Now we are bound for our rest camp.
Andy
I am sitting in the mess room cellar, which is about 6 x 10ft. and holds the officers of two Coys. The space is sardiny and the cold icy. The difficulty about writing is that there are so many details and so little time to describe them. Last night, for instance, I sat here with the others and we had the brigade machine gun officer in discussing the position of the guns, and the C.O. and the Adjutant discussing the trenches, and all the officers of A Coy. (B. included) chatting and laughing, and I got to bed at 11.30, and had a good sleep till 9.
To-day I inspected my platoon and then wandered about a ruined place and picked some daphne mezereum and rosemary. To-night at 10p.m. I take a working party up to the trenches and return abut 1 or 2a.m.
______ told me as we left the trenches that he would give anything to be back in Sheppey, and he was one of the youths who was wild to get out. They certainly don't leave many illusions of the romance of war - the more credit to the people who have stuck it a year or more.
14th Got back safe and sound at about midnight. There was a high and furious wind blowing most of the time - very cold - also the chance of being machine gunned, so the men worked like buffaloes and we got through in no time.
To-day has been slack and luxurious, sitting over a charcoal brazier in the cellars, eating and dozing. Now we are bound for our rest camp.
Andy
I've heard before about this cheerfulness of the men. Astonishing, isn't it? Sun and the men's cheeriness - I like that.
He really makes the trenches at night seem eerie - don't fancy the sound of that high cold wind at all!
Marina
He really makes the trenches at night seem eerie - don't fancy the sound of that high cold wind at all!
Marina
17th January, 1916. Still the Rest Camp.
I seem to get your letters very regularly, if I don't get one per day, I get two the next.
The camp is rather dull and cool, but one gets plenty of sleep, which is a good thing.
Yesterday I did practically nothing but censor letters and inspect the platoon and have a small greasy warm bath. To-day there may be a digging party, but I doubt it.
Andy
I seem to get your letters very regularly, if I don't get one per day, I get two the next.
The camp is rather dull and cool, but one gets plenty of sleep, which is a good thing.
Yesterday I did practically nothing but censor letters and inspect the platoon and have a small greasy warm bath. To-day there may be a digging party, but I doubt it.
Andy
20th January, 1916.
I wrote a small scrap yesterday and must try to make up this time.
2 hours later. Have been rather hustled after all, inspecting platoon, censoring letters (some of them write a dreadful lot and in any case thirty letters takes some time to read though), also writing crime sheets.
Our shed in which we live, is as T. said the other day, the sort of place where you might possibly put your garden roller in peace time, and now, by an irony of fate, we have been given a small stove for it, but no fuel, and when we go out and hunt small damp chips of wood, they smoke us out.
I know my letters aren't very consecutive, but that's mostly an attempt to be conscientious. If I told you we walked two hours from the trenches to here I suppose it would be giving some sort of information, though very little.
Since writing I have taken one working party up to the trenches again for 3p.m. - 12 midnight. We went miles and miles in artillery waggons - perfectly springless carts (holding twelve men) - which, when the horses gallop, reminded me of being on a elephant in pursuit of the leopard. Your spine gets bumped to bits. The work is rendered less dull than it might be by the fact that the Boches turn machine guns on you at intervals, when you have to lie in the mud. I'm glad to say we had no casualties, though the Regt. next had eight the same night.
Coming back I produced a tin of Edinburgh rock; after passing it round my cart we tried to pass it on to the one in the rear. It was rather like holding a carrot in front of a donkey's nose. The outrider of the four horses couldn't quite get up, and galloped and galloped his team till he eventually did. Nast misty moisty night it was.
Andy
I wrote a small scrap yesterday and must try to make up this time.
2 hours later. Have been rather hustled after all, inspecting platoon, censoring letters (some of them write a dreadful lot and in any case thirty letters takes some time to read though), also writing crime sheets.
Our shed in which we live, is as T. said the other day, the sort of place where you might possibly put your garden roller in peace time, and now, by an irony of fate, we have been given a small stove for it, but no fuel, and when we go out and hunt small damp chips of wood, they smoke us out.
I know my letters aren't very consecutive, but that's mostly an attempt to be conscientious. If I told you we walked two hours from the trenches to here I suppose it would be giving some sort of information, though very little.
Since writing I have taken one working party up to the trenches again for 3p.m. - 12 midnight. We went miles and miles in artillery waggons - perfectly springless carts (holding twelve men) - which, when the horses gallop, reminded me of being on a elephant in pursuit of the leopard. Your spine gets bumped to bits. The work is rendered less dull than it might be by the fact that the Boches turn machine guns on you at intervals, when you have to lie in the mud. I'm glad to say we had no casualties, though the Regt. next had eight the same night.
Coming back I produced a tin of Edinburgh rock; after passing it round my cart we tried to pass it on to the one in the rear. It was rather like holding a carrot in front of a donkey's nose. The outrider of the four horses couldn't quite get up, and galloped and galloped his team till he eventually did. Nast misty moisty night it was.
Andy
22nd January, 1916.
I'm so sorry about Frdk., and I fear he will feel it being knocked out so soon. I hope it won't prove dangerous and that he'll get well slowly.
The Rifle Brigade seems to have been rather strafed lately. We have had four officer casualties - none in C. Coy. A. Coy. had a bad time on a digging party the night before last. Hullo, must leave for the post.
Andy
I'm so sorry about Frdk., and I fear he will feel it being knocked out so soon. I hope it won't prove dangerous and that he'll get well slowly.
The Rifle Brigade seems to have been rather strafed lately. We have had four officer casualties - none in C. Coy. A. Coy. had a bad time on a digging party the night before last. Hullo, must leave for the post.
Andy
22nd January, 1916. Rest Camp
Partly owing to playing Bridge the last few nights, which I can't very well refuse, there being just four of us at present, and partly because the post has taken to going off earlier in the morning, I've rather scrabbed my letters to you, and they have been short if frequent. Now I may as well begin a longer one, thpough there's not much news. I. and I started on a peaceful country walk this afternoon and had to turn back because the beastly Boches started shelling the road just ahead of us, which was rather unusual chhek at this distance from the firing line. The day before we walked in to ____, a town which is fairly complete for these parts, to do some shopping.
The country is exceedingly flat, prim, dull and miry - camps everywhere, and the roads, which would ordinarily, I suppose, be as deserted as the Ware to Puckeridge road is, almost as crowded as Oxford Street with artillery waggons and limbers, mule-carts, motor-lorries and onmibuses, despatch riders and troops all bustling along through the never-ending mud. You get splashed from head to foot en route, if you walk, but we managed to get a lift both ways (six miles) from motor vans which joggle you along in the dark at a great pace. The town itself is mostly turned into small shops selling tinned fruit to Tommies, and other rubbish; but we had chocolate at quite a decent confectioner's, which has been there evidently from the start, and got back for dinner.
Sunday Morning. I'm camp orderly officer to-day and have just been the rounds of our camp. There was a frost in the night, and to-day the sun is shining brightly through a slight mist; and I am sitting by the stove in our hut (we've got some fuel for once).
Andy
Partly owing to playing Bridge the last few nights, which I can't very well refuse, there being just four of us at present, and partly because the post has taken to going off earlier in the morning, I've rather scrabbed my letters to you, and they have been short if frequent. Now I may as well begin a longer one, thpough there's not much news. I. and I started on a peaceful country walk this afternoon and had to turn back because the beastly Boches started shelling the road just ahead of us, which was rather unusual chhek at this distance from the firing line. The day before we walked in to ____, a town which is fairly complete for these parts, to do some shopping.
The country is exceedingly flat, prim, dull and miry - camps everywhere, and the roads, which would ordinarily, I suppose, be as deserted as the Ware to Puckeridge road is, almost as crowded as Oxford Street with artillery waggons and limbers, mule-carts, motor-lorries and onmibuses, despatch riders and troops all bustling along through the never-ending mud. You get splashed from head to foot en route, if you walk, but we managed to get a lift both ways (six miles) from motor vans which joggle you along in the dark at a great pace. The town itself is mostly turned into small shops selling tinned fruit to Tommies, and other rubbish; but we had chocolate at quite a decent confectioner's, which has been there evidently from the start, and got back for dinner.
Sunday Morning. I'm camp orderly officer to-day and have just been the rounds of our camp. There was a frost in the night, and to-day the sun is shining brightly through a slight mist; and I am sitting by the stove in our hut (we've got some fuel for once).
Andy
In a smoky 'garden shed' writing his letters - a nice image. At least he doens't seem so cold!
Marina
Marina
25th January,1916.
We're still here till the end of the week anyway, and I'm afraid we're going to do things like Coy. and Batt. drill to inprove our discipline, when lots of real yells to be done. The men haven't all had a bath since before going into the trenches - and I'm pretty scratchy myself after two hot baths.
Yesterday I went to a village hard by, and sat in a tub under a hot water douche for about three quarters of an hour. It was very pleasant. We then had tea - buttered buns at a hut rejoicing in the name of the Officerc' Club - not bad - if the buns had been hot, but they weren't!
I hope Frdk. is going well. I haven't heard from him yet, and imagine it is a good deal worse than he makes out. Personally, I would rather he didn't come out again, being too good.
Its frosts by night and gets nice and bright about 10 o'clock. Much nicer than damp mug.
Andy
We're still here till the end of the week anyway, and I'm afraid we're going to do things like Coy. and Batt. drill to inprove our discipline, when lots of real yells to be done. The men haven't all had a bath since before going into the trenches - and I'm pretty scratchy myself after two hot baths.
Yesterday I went to a village hard by, and sat in a tub under a hot water douche for about three quarters of an hour. It was very pleasant. We then had tea - buttered buns at a hut rejoicing in the name of the Officerc' Club - not bad - if the buns had been hot, but they weren't!
I hope Frdk. is going well. I haven't heard from him yet, and imagine it is a good deal worse than he makes out. Personally, I would rather he didn't come out again, being too good.
Its frosts by night and gets nice and bright about 10 o'clock. Much nicer than damp mug.
Andy
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