Chapter XII: One Young Man Again in the Trenches

On his return from leave Sydney Baxter writes:

_January 29th, 1916._

"I am writing this in a small estaminet which is much
overcrowded, and in the conversation can only be described
as a din. Madame is hurrying round with coffees and fried
pommes de terre, whilst monsieur is anxiously trying to find
out if we are moving to-morrow. He is much disturbed, no
doubt thinking of the drop in the number of coffees après
demain.

"I am keeping very fit and well, and much to my surprise
have not experienced any of the 'fed-up-ness' I anticipated
on my return from leave. To my mind, there is only one
experience to equal a leave from Active Service--that is the
final home-coming. My leave was pure delight from one end to
the other."

Sydney Baxter's Division was soon again on trek to a new position. He writes:

"We had stayed in, and passed through, many villages, had
even had a fire at one, burning down one or two barns, and
yet life was uneventful. Marching most days, or, when
billeted, doing platoon drill, playing cards, reading or
writing in the cafés or our barns. Company concerts were no
good. We had heard all of our soloists' répertoire, which
was _not_ very extensive. There came the day when we marched
into Doullens. Strange were the sights of large shops and
smartly dressed townsfolk--we were more used to the
occupants of obscure villages. The Sergeant-Major came along
with the message, 'Smarten up and keep step through the
town.' We needed no bidding. A soldier doesn't want it, you
know, when he becomes the object of admiration and the
recipient of smiles from the brunettes of France. On past
the Hôtel de Ville we swung--this was a G.H.Q., and 'Eyes
left!' was given as platoons passed the guard. Staff
officers, resplendent in red-tabbed coats and well-creased
slacks, seemed to be showing the populace what fine soldiers
they were, while the M.M. Police stood at the corners
directing traffic as only the members of that unit can. Into
the Rue d'Arras we turned, and outside an Ecole de Filles we
halted. There was our billet, the best we ever had. In the
playground stood our cooker. Upstairs we were packed into
the classrooms, with just enough room allowed to stretch
one's legs and to turn over should one wish. We had our
stew, and quickly rushed off to see all the town. In the
square a military band was playing 'Nights of Gladness,' and
we found a crowd gathered round the bandstand, many of them
civilians. We stayed and enjoyed the performance, and at the
Marseillaise and our own National Anthem every khaki-clad
man from private to general stood at attention, and the
latter at the salute. It was a grand spectacle, and one felt
proud to be a soldier. We went and had a look at the shops
and into the church, until nearly 5 o'clock, when we debated
amongst ourselves as to whether we should go back for tea or
wait till 6 o'clock when the cafés open.

"Running into a group who had been endeavouring to break the
camera, we asked them what they were going to do. 'Why, go
to the Y.M.C.A., of course,' they replied. 'Is there really
one here? What luck!' We all followed the guide. It was in a
market hall, but liberally placarded with the familiar Red
Triangle, and so there was no mistaking it. Like most other
canteens of the Y.M. it had a long counter and about twelve
small tables. The ever-refreshing cup of tea and the good
old English slab cake were in plenty, and we asked for
nothing better.... It was quite exciting to sit and have tea
at a table. Afterwards there was a concert. The artists were
A.S.C. men, and, although very markedly amateur, we enjoyed
the evening, which was decidedly a change from our usual
evening of cards. Unfortunately we marched away next day and
so were unable to get full advantage from that depôt. It was
one of the Y.M.'s smaller ventures and lacked many of the
usual articles of comfort that their huts are renowned for.
However, it served its purpose. Troops were able to procure
English cigarettes and chocolates, and at the same time have
a good tea and a jolly evening. A toast to the Y.M. should
always be drunk in hot tea, for supplying it to us in
France. It's one of the chief blessings the Association
confers on the army."

The battalion was soon in huts some way behind the firing line.

Sydney Baxter writes to one of his friends in the office:

"Glad to hear everything is O.K., and that you are still
smiling. Thank God for that. Whatever happens, still keep
smiling. The greatest tonic out here is to know the girls
are working so hard, and all the time willingly and
smilingly. We know you all miss the boys as they do you, and
to read that our friends at home are enjoying themselves is
enjoyment to us. We are out to have the harder tasks, and we
want you all at home to have the benefits. That's why we
feel so bitter against the Air Raids.

"Well now, I am glad to write the usual formula. I am very
fit and well, and not having such a bad time; things are
fairly quiet this side, but not for long, I hope. Everyone
is expecting a move and looking forward to it in the sense
that it will help to finish the war.

"We have had much rain the last few days, and, as these tiny
huts we're in are not waterproof, we wake up in the morning
soaked and lying in puddles. It's the limit, I can tell you.
However, we are on active service and so are not afraid of
H2O. Now, as to my Eastertide. My Good Friday brought
with it duty. I was on Police Picket, much the same as a
village policeman. Our duties are to see every soldier is
properly dressed with belt and puttees before going out, and
that there are no suspicious persons around, that all lights
are extinguished by 9.30, etc. It's not a bad job, but on a
Good Friday it's tough.

"Sunday was as usual,--Church Parade in the morning, and
free in the afternoon, when we had a cricket match. Monday
was the worst day of all. We were called out at 8.30, and
from then to 12.30 had to clean up the roads, scrape mud out
of ditches, and make drains in our village streets. Nice
occupation, wasn't it? The afternoon was not so bad, but we
might have had a holiday. Instead we had to go and throw
live bombs for practice purposes. The evening, as usual, was
free. That ends my Eastertide, and in spite of what sounds a
far from good one I enjoyed it immensely and count myself
lucky to be out of the trenches for it.

"I ought to have mentioned earlier that we are in a village
behind the firing line, in reserve; we shall be having our
turn of trenches in a few days, and so we are making the
best of our time out. The weather is glorious, and we are
having a good time. I do not doubt that there will be some
hard work shortly along the front, but it's difficult to say
what will happen. Only the folk in charge know. We only
obey, and really it's just as well to be in the dark and so
escape the worry beforehand."

The death of his chum George was often in Sydney Baxter's thoughts. He writes:

_May 21st, 1916._

"I have heard from ----; he also mentions to me the
opportunity of revenge. I can quite understand and have felt
that a life for a life would wipe out the debt, but when my
mind dwells on these things I always try to think what
George would have me do, and I know his answer would be:
'Why, the German was only doing his duty. I should have done
the same myself.' That is true. We fire, but we little know
what suffering we cause. We do our duty and the Germans do
theirs. It rests with the Heads as to clean methods or not."

The turn in the trenches soon came, and it was a rough turn too. The following are extracts from letters written to his mother:

_June 6th, 1916._

"I have been unable to write before, as we have been having
an extremely busy and horrible time. From the day we entered
the trench till now has been one series of heavy
bombardment, an absolute rain of shells everywhere--a whole
week of it. How so many managed to come out alive I don't
know.

"We lost four killed in our platoon, including one of my
section, a splendid chap, cool and jolly. Three of us went
to see him buried yesterday--we had a short service. His
brother is with us, a boy of eighteen, and is naturally very
cut up. We have now sixteen graves where there were none a
fortnight ago. Ten whom I knew personally are gone--such is
war.

"All of us have had a shaking up. To many it has been their
first dose of real grim warfare, and it has been a sore
trial for us to lie out in front with shells bursting all
round and no cover. The natural tendency is to run back to
the trench and get under cover. However, I managed to pull
through, and feel much more confident of myself, and the
Captain apparently is pleased, for on the strength of it all
I have been made a lance-corporal--only do not yet get paid.
That will come later. Of course, this is no big honour, but
coming at such a time as this it shows they have some
confidence in one's ability.

"There are so many senior in front of me that the
possibility of further promotion is somewhat remote. One of
our majors has got the D.S.O., one of our company
lieutenants a Military Cross, and a lance-corporal a D.C.M.,
and so we have not come out without honour.

"I am feeling O.K. myself, and by the time you get this
shall be back on a month's rest right away from the line,
and until I write again you will know I am out of danger.
Your parcel arrived whilst in the trenches, and was very
welcome indeed. As far as cash goes, don't worry. Don't send
any money, and don't worry; there's no need."

_June 8th, 1916._

"We are now out on rest right away from our line, in our old
village. We are not sorry, as you can imagine, and to sleep
in our own little beds once again is lovely. I had a bath
this morning, a nice change, and feel quite fit.

"Having now my first stripe, I have to go to No. ----
Platoon. They are a nice lot of fellows, and I shall be all
right there with my old friend, another corporal, while an
old section comrade of Crowborough times is platoon
sergeant.

"As to wants--if you have an old shirt at home I could do
with it. But I don't want a new one sent. Also a pair of
strong laces, a nail brush (stiff)--that's about all, I
think.

_June 11th, 1916._

"Things are very active along the line, although very little
appears in the papers. Our sector has been subject to heavy
bombardments, and our first night in the trench saw three
separate strafes, and the succeeding days brought a big list
of casualties, which by now run well into three figures. The
first strafe, which lasted ten minutes according to our
artillery observers, brought 1,100 shells of all sizes from
the Huns. I was half buried three times, and but for my
steel helmet would have had a nasty scalp wound, whereas all
that resulted was a dent in the hat and a headache for me."

There follows the last letter Sydney Baxter wrote to his mother before the great Somme offensive. He was facing the possibilities himself and trying to get her to do so too. I have not cared to print this letter in full. Those who have written or received such a letter will understand why.

"My DEAREST OF MOTHERS,

"Owing to increased activity at the front, I hear our
letters are to be stopped and only picture, field, and plain
postcards can be sent. Therefore you must not worry if you
only get such. _If_ I can get a letter through _I will_. I
do not disguise the fact that things are warmer, for you can
read that in the papers, and anything may happen any day.

"Thanks for the shirt, laces, brush, cards, and notebook
which I received this afternoon; I had just returned after
taking a party to another village on fatigue. The P.O.'s
have arrived regularly, thanks, dear. I had a good lunch
to-day, steak and chips and fruit after, at a little café
where we went this morning. It was O.K.

"As you will have noticed in the papers, our artillery has
been very active along the front, and it's when the Hun
replies that most of the trouble comes in, for the Huns
won't take it quietly for a minute and will send some
souvenirs across. It remains to be seen what will happen.

"I like my platoon very much, and I have had a very happy
time these last few months.

"I often think of the time to come, après la guerre, when we
shall have the old tea-time chats, a smaller house and less
running about for you, of the time when I shall take up my
Church secretaryship again and also my work in the City. I
wonder what they will put me into?

"Well, mother mine, don't worry about me. I'm all right and
will be home sooner than you think, even if I last the war
through and--I might, you know, unless I get wounded. And if
I get that I shall be home sooner, and if I get the only
other alternative, well, dear, it's merely a reunion with
the others, and a matter of waiting for you. But it remains
to be seen.

"Well, mother darling, I must now close. I'll drop you both
a line every day, so don't worry."

The next line that both received was from a hospital.

One Young Man Gets a "Blighty"