Chapter III: Part 3

"In some of his Christmas annuals Charles Dickens delighted to portray the misanthropic grumbler who hated to see others enjoy themselves, and always laid himself out to be especially miserable at Christmas time, exaggerating the effects of the season by assuming a frozen aspect, and like an iceberg, chilling all around him; yet as the same iceberg when swept into the Gulf Stream finds the surrounding air and water by which it is enveloped will not admit its retaining its frigid isolation, it gradually melts and mixes with the warmer current, so Dickens brought his surly and crabbed man in contact with those who had set themselves to see everything under its brightest aspect, and under these softening influences he gradually thaws out and becomes the merriest amongst the merry, carried away by the joyous influences that are associated with the keeping of Christmas. And in all English-speaking countries, and especially in our old home, England, it is looked upon as a season to be given up entirely to pleasure in the present and bright hopes for the future. Memory takes me back to a Christmas which hardly came up to the ideal, and the contrast of then and now, of trials and miseries endured then, as compared with present comforts, may make us more satisfied with, and thankful for what we now enjoy. Twenty-nine years ago England had contributed as her share of the Crimean invading force over 35,000 men, of whom a scanty 8,000 were on Christmas Day, 1854, available for duty; many of the remainder had helped to fill the huge trenches hastily dug for graves on the fields of Alma and Inkerman, or slept below the innumerable little mounds which surrounded our camp hospitals, and inside the canvas walls of these the number of sick exceeded the total of those who still stood in the ranks, although none were received into hospital as long as they were able to carry themselves and their rifles. During the greater part of December we had been reduced to half rations, and sometimes to no meat at all; half a pound of biscuit; one blanket, and threadbare suit of uniform contributed but small support and protection to meet a climate not unlike that of Nova Scotia. And we were entirely without fuel, other than the roots of small alder bushes, which were grubbed up with pickaxes carried off from the trenches, and sometimes the pickaxe handles were used to warm a canteen of water for tea. But soon these became so scarce that we were without a single fire in the camp of my regiment for three days. In spite of all, however, Christmas was at hand, and we all set ourselves to be jolly. Even the celebrated Mark Tapley would have considered the circumstances were fairly creditable. The authorities also considered it incumbent on them to make an extra effort, and it was announced with great pride that the commissariat had secured some live cattle in honour of the season, and we were to receive an issue of fresh meat. But this was the extent of their ambition, and their pride met with a fall, for, after waiting till after three o'clock, our pioneers, who drew the rations, returned with the melancholy intelligence that there was nothing for us that day. 'The Zouaves,' so said the commissariat officers, 'had stolen the bullocks.' It is often mentioned as one of the advantages of live cattle as food for an army that they require no transport, but carry themselves. But we learnt that there is another side to this quality--they sometimes carry themselves away, as they did on this occasion. Whether our gallant allies really ate our dinner as well as their own that Christmas Day I know not, but African warfare had taught them to take care of No. 1, and they formed a convenient and not unlikely peg on which to hang the deficiency; and deficiency there was, for our supply department, relying upon their fresh meat, had not brought up any salt meat from Balaclava, and we were left with only our ration biscuit for our Christmas dinner. Just as we received this pleasant intelligence the orderly sergeant handed me the order book warning me I was for guard duty in the trenches that night. Our regiment, which had gone out from Edinburgh in the spring over 1,000 strong, and had received a reinforcement of nearly 100 men, was at this time reduced to 68 men available for duty. So but one captain and one lieutenant (myself) were detailed to take charge of this poor remnant of what had been, three months before, a magnificent battalion. Captain Patrick Robertson, well known to Haligonians as Colonel Robertson-Ross, Adjutant-General of Canadian Militia, was to be my companion. A new colonel had just been sent to us from a West Indian regiment, who took as much interest in his new command as if he had served all his life with us, and employed his chargers and his grooms to transport any possible comforts for his men. Six months afterwards he was struck down when directing the fire of his men on the Russian gunners to keep down their fire and cover our attack on the Redan. By chance he heard us warned for guard, and at once went to his tent and returned with a ham knuckle. 'It is all I have,' he said, 'but those going on duty must have the first chance of some food on Christmas Day. Sit down on your rug and make the best of it.' He was in earnest, so we ate up his dinner and polished the ham bone; but I had determined to keep Christmas as an Englishman should with a real plum pudding. I had collected the ingredients in the course of a couple of trips among the Maltese and Greek settlers at Balaclava and from the stewards of some of the transports; a few raisins, a little sugar, some butter (so called by courtesy); and of course my ration rum came into play. I could not get any flour, so purchased some biscuit at Balaclava. It was mouldy and full of weevils, and had been condemned as ship's stores and sold to some camp followers, but to us at half a crown a pound it was a treasure. I pounded a quantity of this as fine as possible, and mixed the material in my tin shako case, which did duty as bucket, etc., and tied them up in one of my two towels, and, having secured a tent bag full of freshly dug alder roots, the pudding was put on to boil. As we were going on guard, dinner was early, perhaps too early for the pudding. We had no holly, and could not spare spirits enough to make a blaze, but my servant brought in the pudding quite as triumphantly as if we had been in baronial mansion in old England. It was reserved for me to open the towel, which I did with no little pride at having the only plum pudding in camp. I had buttered the towel so that it should not stick to it; it did not, but it did not stick together either. It would not stand up, but fell apart like very stiff porridge. I believe it wasn't bad to eat, but it wasn't exactly what we understand to be plum pudding. My vanity was cruelly mortified after all my efforts to excel. I have never attempted to make another plum pudding. The Russians were considerate that night. They gave us very little annoyance, and Robertson and I walked up and down in rear of the trenches where our weary and worn-out men were lying quiet, getting a welcome rest in a half-wet, half-frozen ditch. We talked of home and how we had spent other Christmases, but I do not think we either expressed or held any other thought for the future than when we should bring our discomforts to an end and wind up the siege by a determined attack on Sebastopol. Little we expected that after long separation our paths would again come together in America, serving the Canadian Government in the organization of its militia. And amongst the sad memories which intertwine with the pleasures of this present Christmas is that of my poor comrade, a brilliant out-post officer and a gallant man, who, after facing every form of danger as a soldier should, died a few months since from violent seasickness, brought on in crossing the English Channel. Memory conjures up the past at this season. Friends who have left us are present in spirit. We associate the past with the present more at Christmas than at any other time of year. It colours our thoughts and influences our acts unknown to us, and brings out kindly feelings and hope, as much in 1883 as my reminiscences show it did in 1854."

IN TRENCHES.
_Christmas Day, 1914._

Here we are, on Christmas Day! We have had a curious time of it. Last night, about eleven o'clock, the enemy (100 yards only from us) put lanterns up on the parapet and called out: "Do not shoot after twelve o'clock, and we will not do so either." One of our men ventured across; he was not fired upon, and was given a cigar and told to go back. A German officer came out next, and asked for two days' truce from firing, but we said, "Only one day." Then we saw both sides, English and German, begin to swarm out to meet each other; we thought it wiser to keep our men in, because we did not trust the Germans, so I rang up the General to tell him this. We had to station sentries on the trenches to keep the men back; they were so eager to talk to the Germans. Then I offered to go across myself and learn what I could, and finally the German General asked me to send one of our officers over to them. This I did, and gave the latter as an ostensible reason the _Daily Telegraph_ of December 22nd, which I had got hold of, and which contained a very fair account of the troubles in Austria-Hungary and Berlin. He went out with this paper, met some German officers, and discovered a certain amount. They were very anxious to know if the Canadian Division had arrived, whether our trenches were very muddy, and told him that our rifle fire was good. We said that our rifle fire in general was our weak point, etc., etc. So now this is the queer position of affairs: we fire a pistol shot off at 12 midnight to-night by arrangement, and they reply with some shots over our heads, after which things continue to hum as before. You have no idea how pleasant everything seems with no rifle bullets or shells flying about. I need hardly tell you that we have kept our men ready in the trenches all the same, as we do not trust our friends further than we can see them. As to other matters. (1) The pheasants and the partridges arrived in time, and we lunched off them sumptuously to-day; many thanks. (2) The chocolate arrived, and was distributed this afternoon to the men. (3) I enclose three Christmas cards. They are very hard to get, and you had better keep them as mementoes of this war. I am sending one to my Mother. (4) Only 500 lbs. of plum pudding arrived for our men this afternoon. If more does not turn up to-morrow, I will write to the A.D.C. of General Rawlinson to find out what has happened to the remainder. Whilst we are peaceable, the guns are booming out now and then some miles away on our left and right where the French are fighting. I suppose we all thought from the Germans' behaviour that they had something up their sleeves and are looking out for squalls. They said that their army was in Moscow, and that the Russians were beaten, and, moreover, that the war would be over in two, or at most three weeks, so we are expecting a push....

STILL IN TRENCHES.
_December 26th, 1914._

Your letters came last night. Many thanks for sending mincepies, which have not yet appeared, but which will have justice done to them when they do turn up. As to your large bales of clothing, I believe they have arrived. I must say "believe" because my duties are so many that I have had to tell off one of my officers to look after these affairs; he then reports their arrival to me, bringing in the card enclosed in the bundle, etc. Sometimes they do not all come in one body, but perhaps one bundle to-day and another two days later. I think, however, that practically the whole five have now arrived. There are so many things that we are actually storing, some in a hired building behind the lines, for the men can neither wear nor carry them. I hear that poor Mr. Aitchison has lost his son; he was in the fourth King's Own, my father's as well as my brother H.'s old corps. The Kaiser has come to this part of the world, it is said, so I expect we shall hear of some strong fighting soon. Our "friends" fired one shot at 12 midnight as arranged, but have been quiet ever since. Perhaps they are tired of the war, and want to get home. I expect you are very busy about Christmas things. Do not overtire yourself. How very kind of my Mother to send L25 to our Funds! I must write and thank her. In the meantime, we do not really require anything; will let you know when we do. I am told that all regiments are much the same. Matches are an exception, and are always welcome, but they must be _safety_ ones to go through the post. Frost this morning, though nothing very cold as yet; still the sheepskin will probably be most useful if I can wear and carry it, but it has its difficulties. Thank the children for their cards, please....

IN BILLETS.
_December 27th, 1914._

Our strange sort of armistice continued throughout yesterday. The Germans told us they were all Landwehr men, and therefore not obliged to fight outside Germany except as volunteers, and that they did not intend to fight at present. Sure enough, though we shelled them and fired at them with rifles, they paid not the slightest attention. Whilst the shelling was on, they dodged down in their trenches, and popped up again when it was over. We hit one with a rifle, but as they would not reply, we felt rather mean and fired over their heads. The relieving regiment [Lincolnshire], of which Mr. Brown of South Collingham is a member, said they would not go on like this. Curiously enough, they have done so. Leaving our trenches, we marched away gaily, getting in here about eight o'clock, or a little later. Had something to eat; then I crawled between my blankets, having, as usual, been up just before 5 o'clock the previous night. At 10.30 p.m. we were waked by a message: "The Germans are attacking at midnight. A deserter has just come in to say so." Out we turned immediately, and marched in very cold weather to a certain point. There we halted; our guns had already opened a dreadful fire on the ground where the enemy must have been assembling his assaulting columns. Apparently this took the heart out of him, for the attack did not come off. I very much thought that this night would probably be my last. However, about 2.30 a.m. we decided to put the men into any ruins near us, and after stopping for some time in a blacksmith's shop seated on a sheaf of straw, I managed to get into a room with a concrete floor, and went to sleep there, having borrowed a sort of thin wrap from a Frenchman and put a sack over my feet to keep them from freezing. About 6.15 a.m. the Frenchman gave us some warm milk, and I was able to give him in return some of your excellent chocolate, whilst we also partook of it too. By 8 o'clock we were back in our billets. I had luncheon with my own General (Brigadier-General Lowry Cole). I hear that the enemy are walking about again on their parapets--refusing to fight. Church this morning in the unruined chapel of a small convent which has escaped the attention of the Huns! Apparently the people do not mind our using it. The central light of the east window represents a figure of the Blessed Virgin Mary, but a lot of my Presbyterians come all the same....

_Later on 27.12.14._

I am still in my hole in the earth. Very horrid. Have not washed nor shaved for two days, and am covered with mud from head to foot in thick layers. If I raise my head to stand up straight, a bullet skips about my ears. I went round my trenches last night from 7 p.m. till 12.5 a.m. Such a walk! For some four hours I was travelling as hard as I could in the mud, slipping down in filthy ditches, entering in narrow cuttings in the earth made to protect one from sniping, and called concentration trenches. Still, we got round and held the line afterwards, despite the miseries of the situation. Sometimes I had to crawl on hands and knees through tiny places. I fancy that a pig is a happier creature than I am at present! When I arrived home at my particular burrow, I found a bundle of correspondence waiting for me to be answered to the Brigadier, so that had to be done in my ruin. Was up at 4.30 a.m. to try to see about the men's food and teas for the coming day, and filling of water-bottles, all of which has to be accomplished in the dark. I have had a very trying time working night and day lately. No sleep the day before, and none excepting three hours last night. This makes 72 hours up to 5 o'clock to-day, with only three hours' rest. As I sit here I can hear the shells booming near us, and very heavy fighting on the left, whilst a solitary sniper keeps pouring bullets over my head, hitting all round the houses some four hundred yards behind me. I ask no questions, but think that we cannot possibly be relieved under four more days, and that we shall be very, very dirty at the end!

IN BILLETS.
_December 28th, 1914._

Two private plum puddings arrived last night; many thanks. I turned in at 8.30 p.m., and slept peacefully and heavily till 7.30 a.m., and would have slept longer, only an orderly from the Brigade Office woke me with his gentle tread on carpetless boards! I had one other interval during the night listening to our guns all blazing away together for quite a long time. Presumably they are trying to catch the Germans forming up somewhere for an attack. You ought to be near a six-inch shell when it bursts to hear the sort of "scruntling" wrench that it gives as it breaks up the tough outer steel. To-day I have been arranging to have my men and their clothes washed, for such things have to go on in war as well as in peace time, only I am obliged to have the clothes fumigated as well now. My own hair has not been cut since I left Winchester, but I will try to see to that this afternoon! The weather has broken from frost into a heavy drizzle, which ought to make the trenches a sight, with the mud that is in them already, when we go back. I have written to my Mother thanking her for her generous gift to the Regiment. I fear she is alarmed at my being out here.... I am going for a walk this afternoon to try to get some life into my toes; they have been quite dead since we went into the trenches for the first time. Probably they are really all right, though I cannot feel anything as yet in them. Gen. Davis tells me that we are shooting away at the enemy to-day, but still they will not fight. Our last hostess was the daughter of a gamekeeper; that was where we had some milk yesterday morning. She said that her father escaped the Germans by jumping on a horse and riding 20 miles. I think I could have walked that distance easily for the same reason. Col. Napier told me that his boy Charlie was captured by the Germans at school at Hanover, "which," he added, "doesn't make me love my enemies any more."...

IN BILLETS.
_December 29th, 1914._

We are off to-night for the trenches again. I hear that the Germans spent their time shelling our particular ones. It is to be hoped that they have used up their ammunition for the present, as I believe they are rather short. Such a night as it was; blowing a raging gale; but one gets very selfish, and we only remarked: "What an awful night in the trenches! Please God the Germans do not attack! Thank God we are not in them to-night!" and that was all. I wonder how long this war will go on. It never seems to come to an end, does it? I walked yesterday afternoon to a small town beyond shell fire and had my hair cut at last. I also had tea with a Capt. Sherlock, whose wife, I think, was a friend of yours, one of Sir Francis Cruise's daughters, "Gussie." I heard from Major Alston, of the 2nd Bat., how Capt. Whelan was killed. He showed great courage, and stood up on a parapet to demonstrate to his men where he wanted some digging done, only 250 yds. from the Germans. Of course he was seen at once, and was hit in the lungs. Major A---- also said that he was commanding that Battalion, and it was full of strange officers, but I expect they are doing all right. I fancy our German friends are finding the war longer than they thought. A curious coincidence is that we are opposed to the 25th German Infantry Brigade, that, of course, being our own number. So far we have not received Princess Mary's boxes. We shall get them in time, and I shall let you know later on about the plum puddings when I hear from the A.D.C. I did not get a letter from you last night, no doubt owing to Christmas Day and delayed posts....

IN TRENCHES.
_December 30th, 1914._

Just returned to my ruin from my trenches. They are up nearly to the waist in water, with little islands here and there for the men. I am absolutely trembling with cold, though I have changed my garments. Whilst I was there poor Capt. Miles, attached to me, was shot through the head. Being close by, I waded to him, but it was hopeless from the first. Such a place to die in!--but Heaven will be Heaven after that. His poor wife, too. I must write to her. He was a very nice man. I had plenty of morphia given to him, and he is now dying without any pain quite peacefully. Coming away from him, the German snipers spotted me, and twice I was covered with mud from their bullets; a near shave! It is a good thing to be able to look forward to Heaven as a home. I only wish I could realize it even more than I do. I will write you again as soon as we get into billets when I can find my valise. I think at Carlton you are fairly safe from air raids....

_P.S._--Mincepies tried to-day are excellent. I have heard from Capt. Boscawen about the plum pudding. It seems that a portion had to go to other regiments of the Brigade, but I should like you to send over some more for my Regiment only as soon as you can conveniently order it. Princess Mary's present has arrived, and I have sent it across to you for safe custody. The keeper might like the pipe and tobacco. I am sure you will appreciate the brass box as a memento, for we have both won it very hardly.... I have just been to see poor Capt. Miles carried out on a stretcher dead. I wonder how much of this war and the deaths caused by it will rest on the Kaiser's shoulders. I must now write a further letter to go to his wife. He was a talented man, and used to write for papers. When the war broke out he was running a cinematograph film-collecting expedition in German East Africa, and just managed to get away. Poor fellow!

G.B.L. 30.12.14.

LETTERS OF JANUARY, 1915.

IN BILLETS.
_January 2nd, 1915._

MY DEAR F----

I am not asking you to do anything to-day for me, as I hope to come in person, leaving here on Monday morning. The hour of my arrival at Carlton depends on whether I can get through quickly or not, and whether the Kaiser tries to sink the Boulogne to Folkestone boat. Knowing his peculiarities, I think he would probably wait until he found an emigrant ship well laden with women and children. What brutes the Germans have proved themselves! After heavy rain, the day has turned out bright and cold. The ditches are nearly full of water, which means that all communication trenches will be worse than ever, and Heaven knows they are bad enough already! Yes, I sent some of my private affairs to Carlton to await my return after this war, when I can attend to them, if I really do come back.... There are moments I wonder if anyone will!... _The Times_ of December 28th gave the names of 45 officers killed and 66 wounded between December 21st and 24th. We were fighting fairly hard all the while, but still, if we are as one to nine of the French, this shows that our combined losses would be roughly 1,100 officers for four days, before you come to the men. How matters stand with the Germans can only be conjectured. We learnt from a prisoner the other day that we had inflicted such terrible losses that they had been obliged to change their hour of relieving trenches. As a matter of fact, it had not occurred to us that we had given them any losses at all to speak of at those particular times. Anyhow, if Germany is losing as it is said she is in proportion of three to one of our men, the war cannot continue indefinitely. I hear the fight on my right and on my left at Ypres and La Bassee, both places being hard fought for by the opposing sides, and the row is sometimes deafening. As to your inquiries about Major Abadie, there is nothing to be said. If alive, he ought to have been heard of before now. Probably the poor fellow is dead, and was buried by the Germans or by the Belgian peasants, and no one will ever know what has become of him. A lot of Christmas cards have been sent to me ... but of course I cannot carry them about ... I am afraid mine is very much a soldier's faith. It seems to me one's duty is placed in front of one by Providence, and that if one carries it out faithfully and honestly, whate'er befalls, it is well, ... and this, I am sure, is the creed of all good soldiers. The shelling is making the house shake, but nothing very serious, I think, at present.

Yours.... G----.

IN BILLETS.
_January 3rd, 1915._

Just across the farmyard under my windows is the barn where my Catholic men are having High Mass, and where in half an hour, if alive, we shall have our service too. There was a good precedent for stables, I believe, 1915 years ago, so we do not view it as incongruous, but I understand that High Mass is unusual, and no doubt a great honour to the Regiment. I hear that our leave does not come off till January 6th. That puts me into the trenches to-morrow night again, for a short time. Last night, about 10.30 o'clock, I was snuggled in my blankets, not very well, for ice-cold water has a way of making you feel it after you are forty-four! However, I was awakened by a tremendous bombardment, all our guns going around us. It broke out twice again: I knew then what it was by putting two and two together. We had found out from a prisoner that the Germans were changing their trench troops about that time, and if we managed to catch them, we must have done them much harm. Rode over to inspect my transport yesterday. Incidentally, Major Baker and I bought 1-1/2 doz. eggs at four for a franc. Famine price, of course, but I have only seen two since I came over here! As to the discomfort of this work, it is not very pleasant, but I do not trouble greatly about it. As an unmarried man, I should not mind the danger either very much, having had a certain amount of experience in Egypt and South Africa, but as a married man, I hate it, because I think it would probably make a great difference to our young people when they grow up if I get killed. Sybil R---- wrote to me yesterday. You know I am her trustee. As to matches, etc., for the troops, keep all waiting now till I get over, and then it will be easy to help you about these things. Well, I must stop to go to church, and there is a good deal also for me to see to afterwards....

_January 4th, 1915._

No letter from you last night. So far, no further news of my leave either, but I believe it is due on January 6th all right. Slight rheumatism, that is only to be expected. It has been raining hard, and we are off to the trenches to-night, and I should think they will be worth seeing. It is said that the ground our trenches now occupy will soon be turned into a lake, and we shall have to go boating there. I warned the General the other day in fun that he would require boats ere long to bring up our rations, and it is really coming true! Such a cold, bleak day as it is! I am going over to the Cashier to try to get some money to bring me home; this is the only way one has of obtaining funds in this part of the world. Sad thing about that man-of-war being sunk. What beasts the Germans are with their mines, to be sure! Up to now the lambskin coat has not yet appeared, but I received a note saying that it was sent off on December 30th, so it ought to turn up some time or other, and then one can see. I suppose, if I get through this war, it would always come in as a lining for a motoring coat. Well, I must close this epistle and dash off, as I have to see to many other things before luncheon. We march to the trenches this afternoon.

G.B.L.

I shall telegraph from Folkestone, if I can; probably I shall come by the 8.30 p.m. train on the 6th, but I am only guessing. It may be January 7th.

[_Note._--An interval occurs from the date of this letter, when Colonel Laurie obtained ten days' leave and returned to England.]

IN TRENCHES AGAIN.
_January 13th, 1915._

MY DEAR F----

After leaving C.-on-T. I met Mrs. Foley in London, and gave her a note to post to you. As you know, I spent the night at 24, Harrington Gardens. I was up at 6 a.m., and Aunt M---- (Mrs. Cowell) had a lovely breakfast for me. I was away by 7.30, catching my train all right at Victoria. It was run in two parts. We had a rough crossing to Boulogne, but I was not ill. We reached railhead at 8 p.m., and I then mounted my horse and rode along the quiet country road in the dark. The others travelled in wagons; I preferred riding to driving in farm-carts. On arriving at my transport lines, I changed and came on here, getting in about 12.30 a.m. My people had left their house, having had a shell in the room we lived in, which had blown it even more to bits than before. I went to our new abode, and then on to the trenches to see how everything was doing, and got wet half way to the knees in the driest parts; but I am glad to say they are steadily improving things for us Regimental officers. I was in bed between 2 and 3 a.m., rose again at 3.30, and finally, of course, just about 5 a.m. for good. My feet were rather numbed after the cold water, as we had to break the ice at every step. This morning the Frenchwoman visited us. Each time she comes we are shelled, and Major Baker is sure that she is a spy. To-day was no exception; we were well slated, and two shrapnel hit the roof. Fortunately the firing has now stopped. These Germans are malicious brutes, and would be glad to do one an injury. Mincepies arrived the worse for travelling, though much appreciated all the same. I want to find out more about your suggestion for khaki flannel shirts. So far, everyone thinks they would be most useful, but I must ask all the others. I believe they would be gladly accepted, as the matches were this morning, with joy. It is nice to think I managed to get over to see you.... Heard yesterday that the authorities are still hopeful as to Germany running short of ammunition, but, of course, the more we can get out of her the better. Some big shells are falling near us now, whether theirs or ours I have not ascertained....

IN BILLETS.
_January 14th, 1915._

So far, of course, no letter from England, though one may arrive to-night. I beat the post by a little, you see! I heard from Lord Grenfell yesterday on some business matters. He tells me that the Russians were in a critical state three weeks ago with their ammunition used up. I imagine, as he says, that they have now got it, and their reinforcements, etc., are quite right again. I also heard from Sir Charles Burnett, our Colonel. Enclosed is Mrs. Miles's letter, a most broken-hearted one. I am writing to her, poor lady, again to assure her that her husband's sword will be sent home. We came peacefully out of the trenches yesterday, though Major Baker, who marches before me, had plenty of bullets round him. To-day I have been examining my new draft of men, quite a useful lot, and in the afternoon rode over to inspect my transport. You see I have got the pad you sent me, and am using it at once. About H---- I approve of his going to Stanmore Park in a year's time. He will then be 9-1/2.

G.B.L.

_P.S._--The sheepskin has at last arrived. Thank you for your kind present, but I am almost afraid that it will not work. It is much too bulky! Even Major B---- looked queerly at it! By the way, the cake also came; it was beautifully fresh. We do enjoy these things. Many thanks for both. The sheepskin is very short for me, and closely cropped, and looks like a worn-out mat!!

IN BILLETS.
_January 15th, 1915._

Two letters arrived from you to-night, enclosing also a nice one from Mr. Argles, etc., etc., and I will write to him about January 20th, if I get out of the trenches safely this time! I wonder what the change of Austria's Foreign Minister means. Everything in the way of change can, I think, only be to the good of England, as Hungary has always been friendly to us. Our General inspected us this morning at 11 a.m. My first parade was at 5.45 a.m., and I had another at mid-day, and yet another look round later in the evening after dark. I also went for a hack to examine a road behind our position. So all this passes the time. _Re_ the khaki flannel. What the officers think is as follows: They would like shirts very much, but as everybody bought new ones when they were home in October, they are not required at present, though those they now have will very soon be worn out, and then they would be grateful for others, and it would save them trouble. So you could have the shirts made up by the woman you speak of, giving her good brown bone buttons. At least ten of them could be a copy of my flannel ones, with single button cuffs instead of the double kind which have "holes for links." There are several officers in the Battalion who take my size in shirts, and the remainder could be made a bit smaller. Most people are rather ill after the trench warfare of the last two days. I had a head, too, nothing worse. It has been wonderfully mild here. I am keeping my lambskin coat after all. I think one could use it to sleep in on cold nights, or to do work in too, but I hope I shall not want it, as half the winter is over. Good-bye.

Yours....
G----.

IN BILLETS.
_January 16th, 1915._

Am off in a moment on duty, winding up with luncheon at my General's before I go to the trenches. Following out that note from the Saddler's Co. I have written to ask for some comforts for my men. Not clothes, but what do you think? Coffee and milk in tins. Then this morning I have been practising bomb-throwers. This Christian device is made of a jam-tin or crock filled with gun-cotton and nails, and has a fuse attached to it. The fuse is lighted and thrown by hand into the enemy's trench, where it explodes and does much execution. Cheerful, is it not? Another plan of mine was rather unpleasant. I told you that I pumped the water out of our trenches into the German ones, and that they replied, and then dam-building began. Finally, we burst their dam, and some men working on it fled. Our people were about to fire, seeing them running, when an old soldier called out: "Do not shoot, for they cannot run far in that mud." The poor things finally stopped, panting, and they had to be shot down as they stood. Such is war. Very hideous, and I loathe it, but what will you? I am sure fighting is the thing I hate of all others, but I object more to these Huns coming over to England and knocking our women and children about.

IN TRENCHES.
_January 17th, 1915._

Here I am back again in my trenches. During the three days we did "support" the enemy blew up several houses in this road with shells. Now they are being shelled by our guns, and I am afraid the scamps will fire on us again when the gunners go to dinner. We got in quite peacefully last night, and after something to eat, politely called "dinner," I flew off to see and direct my trench working parties. Starting about 8.30 o'clock, I arrived home between 1 and 2 a.m. Was up again at 5.30 on parade. At 7.30 the General came out. I had a working party of 50 Royal Artillery men as well as my own. We dug away hard whilst the Germans sent occasional bullets amongst us and threw rockets to try to show us up: we lay down then to prevent having machine guns turned on us. But now that we are making the dry parapets I advocated, things are much better in every way, and everyone is more cheery. In building these parapets, the materials have to be carried across drains and even disused trenches, the ground in some places being seamed with old diggings. Last night I saw two men fall into these ditches in the dark, and we had to fish them out. One fell about six feet into about four feet of water. The whole thing was most weird, with the rockets flying and bullets going, and working parties shovelling for dear life in the darkness. We all tumbled about into shell-holes or ditches in turn, where the water is very cold. I suppose the utter hopelessness of it all prevents one getting ill. The mails are late, so I have not received your letter to-night. This morning, when walking with the General, we came upon a Frenchman, woman, and boy in the fire zone 600 yds. from the German trenches wheeling two large wheelbarrows full of household goods which they had removed from some local houses to take back to another ruin where they were living, out of shell fire. Of course the stuff was theirs, but these poor things always forget that, besides their own safety, they bring fire on the houses near them, so we had to send them roughly away; but I did feel so sorry, and in the end persuaded the General to promise them a pass for to-night so as to get the wheelbarrows away. Practice makes perfect, for I spoke to them more or less in fluent French! I never told you what a comfort the watch you gave me has been. It keeps excellent time, and is most reliable. I must try and get some sleep to-day, as I foresee another busy night, and my feet are so cold, the result, I suppose, of two long tramps in ice-cold water. May the war soon cease!

_P.S._--Heavy firing, Ypres way.

IN TRENCHES.
_January 18th, 1915._

Here we are in a snowstorm! I received your note of 14th last night. Not bad, when it has to get to London, leave our base, and come part of the way to the trenches upon foot for safety. I really sent the account of our Christmas luncheon to you. It was an R.A. captain who lunched with us, and afterwards wrote to his people about it. They published the letter, and I found it in _The Times_ I got from you, and sent it forward through Major Baker via Mrs. Baker. There is not much news. We are still alive.... My ruin looks out directly towards the Germans (I hear a bullet hitting it now). As the place where the window was is quite open, I have had it filled up with bags of earth piled one above the other, and I sleep with my head under these and hope for the best. Last night we had two adventures. Our "friends" pitched a high-explosive shell after dark with such a true aim that the pieces flew all about our ruin, in and out of the rooms. They followed this with three more, but they were farther off. The second thing was that my Sergeant-Major, Master Cook, and Sergeant-Bugler, all trembling with cold, poor dears! shut themselves up last night with a charcoal fire, and we found them about four o'clock insensible from the fumes, and had a certain amount of difficulty in bringing them round. Here in war time these people do different things. For instance, the Master Cook has a party of bomb-throwers formed from among the cooks. The Sergeant-Major, instead of drilling the Battalion, arrives up with 8 mules and three ammunition carts, whilst the Sergeant-Bugler, instead of discoursing unsweet music on a bugle, converts his buglers into a corps of messengers to bring me letters or to take them out to my companies.

I was round again last night, not much shot at personally, though chance bullets flew overhead in an embarrassing way, hitting the ground in various places. Capt. Tee had a couple of narrow escapes yesterday while he was out with us. I was inspecting our dressing station arranging about our little cemetery with the doctor and Capt. Wright, when a bullet cut the grass beside us in a most uncalled for manner. So it goes on, and so I hope the war will shortly wind up. I expect things are not very cosy in Germany either!...

IN TRENCHES.
_January 19th, 1915._

Two letters from you last night up to January 16th. Poor little Blanche, having her teeth out! They do hurt! Had more Christmas cards sent on from Aden. A fairly quiet day yesterday, though there is always fighting Ypres way, and we hear it plainly. This morning I was out at four a.m. with the Brigade Major, and took up the running afterwards with the General about 8 o'clock. I assured him that a certain trench was not the place for him, but he said he had a special wish to visit it, so with his usual dauntless courage off we went. Next minute a bullet hit the ground right between us. After that he thought it wise to retire, and we marched away homeward. My feet were practically frozen with the cold water, and I can't say I was sorry to leave. The authorities, however, are issuing some stuff which is supposed to keep the feet warm, so I propose getting hold of some to sample the next time I come to the trenches, and shall tell you of the results. I must write a letter to Mr. Aitchison to-morrow when I arrive in billets and get hold of some notepaper. It looks to me very dull, like rain or snow. I expect more plum puddings and pheasants are waiting for me when I get out. Thank you for them in anticipation. I fancy that Germany has had an awful eye-opener. In her big war with France in July, 1870, which she has lived on for the last forty-five years, the fighting was over in January, 1871. Now it is just beginning for her. Still, I cannot help thinking that peace is in sight somewhere soon.

Yours....
G.B.L.

We go into reserve to-night for 3 days, and need not get up at 5 a.m. Great joy!

IN BILLETS.
_January 20th, 1915._

We marched out of the trenches successfully last night, getting in here about nine o'clock. Then I had to see to my company commanders and a lot of other work too, for a regiment will not run itself properly unless someone looks after it. I was rather amused at a case I had this morning of an N.C.O. charged with letting his rifle become dirty. He admitted the offence, but stated that whilst he was watching everyone out of the trenches, he heard cries for help, and found a small rifleman stuck in a ditch up to his shoulders, and that he was carrying, besides his rifle, a pick and shovel; so the N.C.O. went to his aid and got engulfed too. Hence his trouble about his rifle. The enemy, to prevent our forgetting him, is throwing big shells into the place we are billeted in. As he knows, probably, that the women and children have returned here, he expects with luck to make a big bag of such non-combatants. It was luxury last night getting into bed again without boots, even if one had no other night attire! You will be pleased to hear that your tobacco arrived this morning. The people who sent it were not very bright, for, despite the fact that my address was plainly painted on every box, they had stupidly nailed on other cards marked from Griffith, Solicitor, S. Wales, and addressed to the S. Wales Borderers or 24th Regiment. This was done to at least half of the cases. Apparently they had stuck them on the wrong boxes. Whether this accounts for the delay I cannot say. Anyhow, each box had 15 lbs. of tobacco, and I think there were 16 boxes. Well, then your last lot of plum pudding arrived, and has been issued to be eaten to-morrow. There were 65 tins containing four and a half lbs. each, so I think, my dear, that the men will be grateful to you. There was also a large bale of things like cigarettes and gloves from other associations, but nothing to touch your consignments. We had to turn out of our happy ruin twice yesterday afternoon whilst the enemy threw high-explosive shells our way, and just missed us. Fortunately his supply of ammunition is said to be running short, or he would do worse mischief. I had a very nice letter from my Mother and from Meta yesterday.... Your pheasants have come, also the ham, very well packed. Biscuits a little knocked about, but still edible; many thanks for them all. It is so misty and cold, a typical raw day in your own hunting district. Best of love, and hoping that the war will soon be over....

IN BILLETS.
_January 21st, 1915._

Got some of the French mud off my men yesterday, took the horse out to examine the neighbouring roads in case of a retreat, and dined with the General. He, poor man, finds the times very evil and the enemy very strong. I have written to my Mother to-day, telling her how I propose spending her present to me. By the way, I only got my trophies in time across to England. Four days ago an Army Order came out that nothing was allowed to be taken away, and that all such things found must be taken to the depots. Of course we must do so for the future, though I hope to be able to borrow a Prussian helmet with luck before I come home again. In the meantime, have the other stuff cleaned up and lacquered; it keeps rust off, and saves the servants much trouble. The A. and N. Stores can do this if you cannot get it well done in Newark.... Poor Mrs. Miles! She is dreadfully cut up. Capt. Allgood and Capt. Miles are now gone. I liked them both, but we shall meet again face to face some day.... I only wish that I could impress this more on one's daily thoughts and walk of life. Well, I do not mean to preach, but it comes in my lowland Scotch blood, I suppose!...

_January 22nd, 1915._

Thanks for your note last night of January 19th. As you say, considering war time, this is quick. But at present it is a stationary war, and there is no reason why it should not be so. Once we get on the move, you will see that things will work badly, and we shall be short of food and of mails too. I was glad to get Aunt B----'s letter. Yesterday was an absolute drench. I rode, all the same, for exercise, and on the way back the enemy proceeded to shell the road; at the very extremity of their range, I fancy. It is curious how one takes the shelling nowadays. One becomes a fatalist! "If it hits me, it must hit me; I cannot escape, but I hope it will not" sort of thing. We return to the trenches this afternoon. Our General leaves to-night, but before then he has elected to inspect our billets in the afternoon, and to have a night alarm in the trenches early this evening. All the Colonels have therefore put their heads together to keep things as right as possible for him. Major Baker also goes on leave for about 10 days or so to-night, with various other officers who have well earned a rest. I see you had Zeppelins over you yesterday, or rather the day before; but I think that where you live you are as safe as anywhere in England. It shows what gentlemen these Germans are in the way they treat non-combatants.

To-day is a bright rather beautiful frosty day, and I am going to look at a large church in a village on a road when reconnoitring. I went to see another two days ago, and found only the tower and the walls standing; the Germans had burnt the rest.

_P.S._--The billets we leave to-day are like a very tiny 9th-rate hotel, about as large as the house opposite the blacksmith's forge at Carlton, or a little larger, with another storey added on. Tiny rooms, and stoves in only two of them, which can be used as sitting-rooms. We found a small tub, to our great delight, and this allows us first to wash ourselves and then our things, so we are perfectly happy in it....

IN TRENCHES.
_January 23rd, 1915._