Chapter II: Letters From the Front (1)

I shall now, for reasons explained in the Preface, quote extracts from letters which Raymond wrote to members of his family during the time he was serving in Flanders.

A short note made by me the day after he first started for the Front may serve as a preliminary statement of fact:--

_Mariemont, Edgbaston, 16 March 1915_

Raymond was recently transferred back from Edinburgh to
Great Crosby near Liverpool; and once more began life in
tents or temporary sheds.

Yesterday morning, Monday the 15th March, one of the
subalterns was ordered to the Front; he went to a
doctor, who refused to pass him, owing to some temporary
indisposition. Raymond was then asked if he was fit: he
replied, Perfectly. So at 10 a.m. he was told to start
for France that night. Accordingly he packed up; and at
3.00 we at Mariemont received a telegram from him asking
to be met at 5 p.m., and saying he could spend six hours
at home.

His mother unfortunately was in London, and for many
hours was inaccessible. At last some of the telegrams
reached her, at 7 p.m., and she came by the first
available (slow) train from Paddington, getting here at
11.

Raymond took the midnight train to Euston; Alec, Lionel,
and Noël accompanying him. They would reach Euston at
3.50 a.m. and have two hours to wait, when he was to
meet a Captain [Capt. Taylor], and start from Waterloo
for Southampton. The boys intended to see him off at
Waterloo, and then return home to their war-business as
quickly as they could.

He seems quite well; but naturally it has been rather a
strain for the family: as the same sort of thing has been
for so many other families.

O. J. L.

First comes a letter written on his way to the Front after leaving Southampton.

_"Hotel Dervaux, 75 Grande Rue, Boulogne-s/Mer, Wednesday, 24 March
1915, 11.30 a.m._

"Following on my recent despatch, I have the honour to
report that we have got stuck here on our way to the
Front. Not stuck exactly, but they have shunted us into
a siding which we reached about 8 a.m., and we are free
until 2.30 p.m. when we have to telephone for further
orders to find out where we are to join our train. I
don't know whether this is the regular way to the Front
from Rouen. I don't think it is, I fancy the more direct
way must be reserved for urgent supplies and wounded.

"My servant has been invaluable _en route_ and he has
caused us a great deal of amusement. He hunted round at
the goods station at Rouen (whence we started) and found
a large circular tin. He pierced this all over to form
a brazier and attached a wire handle. As soon as we got
going he lit this, having filled it with coal purloined
from somewhere, and when we stopped by the wayside about
10 or 11 p.m. he supplied my compartment (four officers)
with fine hot tea. He had previously purchased some
condensed milk. He also saw to it that a large share of
the rations, provided by the authorities before we left,
fell to our share, and looked after us and our baggage in
the most splendid way.

"He insists on treating the train as a tram. As soon as
it slows down to four miles an hour, he is down on the
permanent way gathering firewood or visiting some railway
hut in search of plunder. He rides with a number of other
servants in the baggage waggon, and as they had no light
he nipped out at a small station and stole one of the
railway men's lamps. However, there was a good deal of
fuss, and the owner came and indignantly recovered it.

"As soon as we stop anywhere, he lowers out of his van
the glowing brazier. He keeps it burning in the van! I
wonder the railway authorities don't object. If they do,
of course he pretends not to understand any French.

"He often gets left behind on the line, and has to
scramble into our carriage, where he regales us with his
life history until the next stop, when he returns to his
own van.

"Altogether he is a very rough customer and wants a lot
of watching--all the same he makes an excellent servant."

LETTERS FROM THE FRONT IN FLANDERS

"_Friday, 26 March 1915_

"I arrived here yesterday about 5 p.m., and found the
Battalion resting from the trenches. We all return there
on Sunday evening.

"I got a splendid reception from my friends here, and
they have managed to get me into an excellent Company,
all the officers of which are my friends. This place is
very muddy, but better than it was, I understand. We are
in tents."

"_Saturday, 27 March 1915, 4.30 p.m._

"We moved from our camp into billets last night and
are now in a farm-house. The natives still live here,
and we (five officers) have a room to ourselves, and
our five servants and our cook live and cook for us
in the kitchen. The men of our Company are quartered
in neighbouring farm buildings, and other Companies
farther down the road. We are within a mile of a village
and about three or four miles to the southward of a
fair-sized and well-known town. The weather is steadily
improving and the mud is drying up--though I haven't seen
what the trenches are like yet....

"I am now permanently attached to C Company and am
devoutly thankful. Captain T. is in command and the
subalterns are Laws, Fletcher, and Thomas, all old
friends of mine. F. was the man whose room I shared at
Edinburgh and over whose bed I fixed the picture....

"We went on a 'fatigue' job to-day--just our Company--and
were wrongly directed and so went too far and got right
in view of the enemy's big guns. However, we cleared out
very quickly when we discovered our error, and had got
back on to the main road again when a couple of shells
burst apparently fairly near where we had been. There
were a couple of hostile aeroplanes about too.... Thank
you very much for your letter wondering where I am. 'Very
pressing are the Germans,' a buried city."

[This of course privately signified to the family that he was at Ypres.]

"_1 April 1915, 1.15 p.m._

"We dug trenches by night on Monday and Wednesday, and
although we were only about 300 to 500 yards from the
enemy we had a most peaceful time, only a very few stray
bullets whistling over from time to time."

"_Saturday, 3 April 1915, 7 p.m._

"I am having quite a nice time in the trenches. I
am writing this in my dug-out by candle-light; this
afternoon I had a welcome shave. Shaving and washing is
usually dispensed with during our spell of duty (even by
the Colonel), but if I left it six days I should burst my
razor I think. I have got my little 'Primus' with me and
it is very useful indeed as a standby, although we do all
our main cooking on a charcoal brazier....

"I will look out for the great sunrise to-morrow
morning and am wishing you all a jolly good Easter: I
shan't have at all a bad one. It is very like Robinson
Crusoe--we treasure up our water supply most carefully
(it is brought up in stone jars), and we have excellent
meals off limited and simple rations, by the exercise
of a little native cunning on the part of our servants,
especially mine."

"_Bank Holiday, 5 April 1915, 4.30 p.m._

"The trenches are only approached and relieved at
night-time, and even here we are not allowed to stir
from the house by day on any pretext whatever, and no
fires are allowed on account of the smoke. (Fires are
started within doors when darkness falls and we have a
hot meal then and again in the early morning--that is
the rule--however, we do get a fire in the day by using
charcoal only and lighting up from a candle to one piece
and from that one piece to the rest, by blowing; also I
have my Primus stove.) ... We are still within rifle-fire
range here, but of course it is all unaimed fire from the
intermittent conflict going on at the firing line....

"I have a straw bed covered with my tarpaulin sheet--(it
is useful although I have also the regular military
rubber ground sheet as well)--and my invaluable
air-pillow. I am of course travelling light and have to
carry everything in my 'pack' until I get back to my
valise and 'rest billets,' so I sleep in my clothes.
Simply take off my boots and puttees, put my feet in a
nice clean sack, take off my coat and cover myself up
with my British Warm coat (put on sideways so as to use
its great width to the full). Like this I sleep like a
top and am absolutely comfortable."

"I have been making up an Acrostic for you all to
guess--here it is:

LIGHTS. My first is speechless, and a bell Has often
the complaint as well. Three letters promising to pay,
Each letter for a word does stay. There's nothing gross
about this act;-- A gentle kiss involving tact. A General
less his final 'k,' A hen would have no more to say. Our
Neenie who is going west Her proper name will serve you
best.

WHOLE. My whole, though in a foreign tongue, Is Richard's
name when he is young. The rest is just a shrub or tree
With spelling 'Made in Germany.'

"That's the lot. The word has ten letters and is divided
into two halves for the purpose of the Acrostic.

* * * * *

"My room-mate has changed for to-night, and I have got
Wyatt, who has just come in covered in mud, after four
days in the trenches. He is machine-gun officer, and
works very hard. I am so glad to have him.

"By the way the support-trenches aren't half bad. I
didn't want to leave them, but it's all right here too."

"_Thursday, 8 April 1915_

"Here I am back again in 'Rest Billets,' for six days'
rest. When I set off for the six days' duty I was
ardently looking forward to this moment, but there is not
much difference; here we 'pig' it pretty comfortably in a
house, and there we 'pig' it almost as comfortably in a
'dug-out.' There we are exposed to rifle fire, nearly all
unaimed, and here we are exposed to shell fire--aimed,
but from about five miles away.

"On the whole this is the better, because there is more
room to move about, more freedom for exercise, and there
is less mud. But you will understand how much conditions
in the trenches have improved if comparison is possible
at all.

"My platoon (No. 11) has been very fortunate; we have had
no casualties at all in the last six days. The nearest
thing to one was yesterday when we were in the firing
trench, and a man got a bullet through his cap quite
close to his head. He was peeping over the top, a thing
they are all told not to do in the daytime. The trenches
at our point are about a hundred yards apart, and it is
really safe to look over if you don't do it too often,
but it is unnecessary, as we had a periscope and a few
loopholes....

"I am awfully grateful for all the things that have been
sent, and are being sent.... I will attach a list of
wants at the end of this letter. I am very insatiable
(that's not quite the word I wanted), but I am going on
the principle that you and the rest of the family are
only waiting to gratify my every whim! So, if I think of
a thing I ask for it....

"By the way we have changed our billets here. Our last
ones have been shelled while we were away--a prodigious
hole through the roof wrecking the kitchen, but not
touching our little room at the back. However, it is not
safe enough for habitation and the natives even have left!

"Things are awfully quiet here. We thought at first that
it was 'fishy' and something was preparing, but I don't
think so now. It is possibly the principle of 'live and
let live.' In the trenches if we don't stir them up with
shots they leave us pretty well alone. Of course we are
ready for anything all the same.

"Yes, we see the daily papers here as often as we want to
(the day's before). Personally, and I think my view is
shared by all the other officers, I would rather read a
romance, or anything not connected with this war, than a
daily paper....

"Was the Easter sunrise a success? It wasn't here. Cloudy
and dull was how I should describe it. Fair to fine
generally, some rain (the latter not to be taken in the
American sense).

"I wonder if you got my Acrostic [see previous letter]
and whether anybody guessed it; it was meant to be very
easy, but perhaps acrostics are no longer the fashion and
are somewhat boring. I always think they are more fun to
make than to undo. The solution is a household word here,
because it is only a half-mile or so away, and provides
most things."

[The family had soon guessed the Acrostic, giving the place as Dickebusch. The "lights" are--

D um B
I o U
Cares S
K lu Ck
E dit H.]

[_To a Brother_]

"_Billets, Tuesday, 13 April 1915_

"We are all right here except for the shells. When
I arrived I found every one suffering from nerves
and unwilling to talk about shells at all. And now I
understand why. The other day a shrapnel burst near our
billet and a piece of the case caught one of our servants
(Mr. Laws's) on the leg and hand. He lost the fingers of
his right hand, and I have been trying to forget the mess
it made of his right leg--ever since. He will have had it
amputated by now.

"They make you feel awfully shaky, and when one comes
over it is surprising the pace at which every one gets
down into any ditch or hole near.

"One large shell landed right on the field where the
men were playing football on Sunday evening. They all
fell flat, and all, I'm thankful to say, escaped injury,
though a few were within a yard or so of the hole. The
other subalterns of the Company and I were (_mirabile
dictu_) in church at the time.

"I wonder if you can get hold of some morphia tablets
[for wounded men]. I think injection is too complicated,
but I understand there are tablets that can merely be
placed in the mouth to relieve pain. They might prove
very useful in the trenches, because if a man is hit in
the morning he will usually have to wait till dark to be
removed.

"My revolver has arrived this morning."

"_Sunday, 18 April 1915_

"I came out of the trenches on Friday night. It was
raining, so the surface of the ground was very slippery;
and it was the darkest night I can remember. There was a
good deal of 'liveliness' too, shots were flying around
more than usual. There were about a hundred of us in our
party, two platoons (Fletcher's and mine) which had been
in the fire trenches, though I was only with them for one
day, Thursday night till Friday night. Captain Taylor was
in front, then Fletcher's platoon, then Fletcher, then my
platoon, then me bringing up the rear. We always travel
in single file, because there are so many obstacles to
negotiate--plank bridges and 'Johnson' holes being the
chief.

"Picture us then shuffling our way across the fields
behind the trenches at about one mile an hour--with
frequent stops while those in front negotiate some
obstacle (during these stops we crouch down to try and
miss most of the bullets!). Every few minutes a 'Very'
light will go up and then the whole line 'freezes' and
remains absolutely stationary in its tracks till the
light is over. A 'Very' light is an 'asteroid.' (Noël
will explain that.) It is fired either by means of a
rocket (in the German case) or of a special pistol called
a 'Very' pistol after the inventor (in our case). The
light is not of magnesium brightness, but is just a
bright star light with a little parachute attached, so
that it falls slowly through the air. The light lasts
about five seconds. These things are being shot up at
short intervals all night long. Sometimes dozens are in
the air together, especially if an attack is on.

"Well, to go back to Friday night:--it took us a very
long time to get back, and at one point it was hard to
believe that they hadn't seen us. Lights went up and
almost a volley whistled over us. We all got right down
and waited for a bit. Really we were much too far off for
them to see us, but we were on rather an exposed bit of
ground, and they very likely fix a few rifles on to that
part in the daytime and 'poop' them off at night. That is
a favourite plan of theirs, and works very well.

"We did get here in the end, and had no casualties,
though we had had one just before leaving the trench. A
man called Raymond (in my platoon) got shot through the
left forearm. He was firing over the parapet and had been
sniping snipers (firing at their flashes). Rather a nasty
wound through an artery. They applied a tourniquet and
managed to stop the bleeding, but he was so weak from
loss of blood he had to be carried back on a stretcher.

"I had noticed this man before, partly on account of his
name. Last time I was in the fire trenches (about ten
days ago) I was dozing in my dug-out one evening and the
Sergeant-Major was in his, next door. Suddenly he calls
out 'Raymond!' I started. Then he calls again 'Raymond!
Come here!' I shouted out 'Hallo! What's the matter?' But
then I heard the other Raymond answering, so I guessed
how it was....

"While at tea in the next room the post came and brought
me your letter and one from Alec. Isn't it perfectly
marvellous? You were surprised at the speed of my last
letter. But how about yours? The postmark is 2.30 p.m. on
the 16th at Birmingham, and here it is in my hands at 4
p.m. on the 18th!

"I was telling you about the difficulties of going to
and fro between here and the trenches, but you will
understand it is not always like that. If there is a
moon, or even if there is a clear sky so that we can get
the benefit of the starlight (which is considerable and
much more than I thought), matters are much improved,
because if you can still see the man in front, when he
is, say, 5 yards in front of you, and can also see the
holes instead of finding them with your person, all that
'waiting for the "tail" to close up' is done away with....

"Last night Laws, Thomas, and myself each took a party of
about forty-five down separately, leaving the remainder
guarding the various billets. Then when we returned
Fletcher took the rest down.

"It was a glorious night, starry, with a very young and
inexperienced moon, and quite dry and warm. I would not
have minded going down again except that I would rather
go to bed, which I did.

"Do you know that joke in _Punch_ where the Aunt
says: 'Send me a postcard when you are safely in the
trenches!'? Well, there is a great deal of truth in
that--one feels quite safe when one reaches the friendly
shelter of the trench, though of course the approaches
aren't really very dangerous. One is 'thrilled' by the
whistle of the bullets near you. That describes the
feeling best, I think--it is a kind of excitement."

"_Thursday, 22 April 1915, 6.50 p.m._

"I have received a most grand periscope packed, with
spare mirrors, in a canvas haversack. It is a glorious
one and I am quite keen to use it, thank you very much
indeed for it. Thank you also for two sets of ear
defenders which I am going to test when firing off a
'Very' light. A 'parachuted' star is fired from a brass
pistol with a bore of about 1 inch and a barrel of about
6 inches. The report is very deafening, I believe--though
I haven't fired one yet.

"The star, by the way, though it lights up the country
for some distance, is not too bright to look at.

"I have just remembered something I wanted to tell you,
so I will put it in here.

"When walking to and from the trenches in the darkness,
I find it is a great help to study the stars (not for
purposes of direction). I know very little about them,
and I saw a very useful plan in, I think, the _Daily
News_ of 3 April, called 'The Night Sky in April.' It was
just a circle with the chief planets and stars shown and
labelled. The periphery of the circle represented the
horizon.

"If you know of such a plan that is quite easily
obtainable I should be glad to have one. The simpler the
thing the better.

"The books you had sent me, which were passed on to
me by Professor Leith, are much appreciated. They
circulate among officers of this Company like a
library. At the time they arrived we were running
short of reading-matter, but since then our Regimental
Headquarters have come to the rescue and supplied each
Company with half a dozen books, to be passed on to other
Companies afterwards.

"I enclose an acrostic that I made up while in the
trenches during our last spell. It seems to be a prolific
place for this sort of thing."

ACROSTIC

(One word of five letters)

LIGHTS. The lowest rank with lowest pay,
Don't make this public though, I pray!
Inoculation's victim, though
Defeated still a powerful foe.
When Government 'full-stop' would say
It does so in this novel way.
The verb's success, the noun's disgrace
And lands you in a foreign place.
A king of kings without a roar,
His kingdom that no anger bore.

The final goal--the end of all--
What all desire, both great and small.

R. L., _19 April 1915_

[The solution of this is the word _Peace_ given
twice--once inverted. The first 'light,' which is not
'public' is 'Private'; the second is 'Enteric'; the third
is a sign employed in Government telegrams to denote a
full-stop, viz., 'aaa'; the fourth is 'Capture'; and
the fifth (with apologies) is 'Emp,' and some occult
reference to Edward VII, not remembered now; the kingdom
without anger being Empire without ire.--O. J. L.]

"_Friday, 30 April 1915, 4.10 p.m._

"I wish you could see me now. I am having a little
holiday in Belgium. At the moment I am sitting in the
shade of a large tree, leaning against its trunk, writing
to you. The sun is pouring down and I have been sitting
in it lying on a fallen tree, but it makes me feel lazy,
so I came here to write (in the shade).

"Before me, across a moat, is the château--ruined now,
but not by old age. It is quite a handsome building, two
storeys high. It is built of brick with a slate roof;
the bricks are colour-washed yellow with a white band 18
inches deep under the roof; there are two towers with
pointed roofs that stand to the front of the house,
projecting slightly from it, forming bay windows. These
towers, from the roof down to the ground, are red brick,
as are the fronts of the dormer windows in the main
building.

"The larger and taller tower is octagonal and stands
in the middle of the front, the smaller one is square
and stands on the right corner. On each side of the
main building are flanking buildings consisting on this
(left) side of a brick-built palm-house and beyond that
again a glass-covered conservatory. The other flank has
a conservatory also, but I have not explored as far as
that. The front of the building is about 70 to 80 yards
long.

"The main entrance is on the other or northern side. It
is reached by a drawbridge over the moat. The house on
that (north) side is not so much damaged. It has long
windows with shutters that give it a continental air. I
can't sketch it, so I have given you a rough elevation
from the south. I am sitting to the south-west, just
across the moat.

"The place is in an awful mess. In some parts it is
difficult to tell how the original building went. One can
see into several of the rooms; the outer wall has fallen
away, exposing about three rooms and an attic. In one
room the floor has dropped at one corner to some 8 feet
below its proper level, and a bed is just above poised on
the edge of the room, almost falling out where the room
is sectioned.

"There is no glass in any of the green-houses--it is all
on the floor. The palm-house is full of green tubs with
plants in them, mostly overturned.

"In the garden the trees are blossoming, some of the
fruit trees are covered with white blossom; but many,
even of these, are lying flat and blossoming in the moat.
The drive runs down to the road on the south side in an
absolutely straight line, flanked by tall trees. But many
of these are down too. I was lying on one just now. The
garden is in good order, though getting a little out of
hand. There is a small plantation of gooseberry bushes
that looks very healthy. Shell holes are all about,
however.

"The house, although it is not on an eminence, commands
a good view to the southward and has a fine view of the
German lines, which are slightly raised just here. The
enemy evidently suspected this château was used as an
observation post, as indeed it may have been.

"We came out of the trenches on Wednesday night into
Reserve Billets, and I was placed with No. 9 platoon
(instead of my own) in a little house not far from this
château. We are not allowed to leave it by day, or rather
we are not allowed to show ourselves on the south side of
it, as it might draw shell-fire on to it. But I managed
to sneak away to the north under cover of a hedge without
any risk of being seen.

"After being relieved in the trenches on Wednesday, and
marching back and having a meal with the other officers
of C Company in the Reserve Billets (a brewery), it was
one o'clock before I got to bed in our little house. And
we had to 'stand to arms' in the morning for an hour
while dawn was breaking (we always do, and at dusk too).
So after this I went to sleep till 2 p.m. I sleep in an
outhouse with no door, on straw laid on a brick floor.
My ground-sheet on the straw, my coat over me, my feet
in a sack and an air-cushion under my head, and I can
sleep as peacefully as at home. The place is swarming
with rats and mice, you can hear them directly you lie
still. They go 'plop, plop, plop,' on the straw overhead,
as if they were obliged to take long strides owing to
their feet sinking into the straw. Immediately over my
head, I should judge, there is a family of young rats by
the noise. Occasionally they have a stampede and a lot of
dust comes down on my face.

"But one gets used to this, and muttering 'Nom d'un
chien!' one turns the other cheek. By the way, they say
these rats 'stand to' at dawn, just as we do.

"I am terrified of a rat running over my face, but my
servant sleeps with me, so I console myself that the
chances are just even that they won't choose me. I wish
he wouldn't snore though--he's lowering the odds.

"Last night we had to turn out for fatigue parties. I
took a party down to one of the fire trenches with 'knife
rests.' These are sections of barbed wire entanglement.
They are made by fixing cross-pieces on the ends of a
long pole. The tips of these cross-pieces are joined
together with barbed wire laid parallel to the centre
pole. Then the whole is wound with more barbed wire laid
on spirally, thus: [a sketch]

These are slung out in front of the trenches and fixed
together. They are now fixed also to the trench, because
the Germans used to harpoon them and draw them over to
their own side!

"Well, we set off about 11 p.m. and took twenty-two
of these down. We didn't exactly bless the full
moon--although it showed us the holes and obstructions in
the way. Still, we had no casualties and made good time.
We got back about midnight. So I only slept till 12.30
this morning! Of course I had to get up for an hour at
dawn. I used the time to brew myself some cocoa. I am
getting an expert cook, and can make that 'Bivouac' cocoa
taste like the very finest chocolate....

"Just before going into the trenches I received another
of those splendid parcels of cabbage and apples. The
apples are simply splendid. The cabbage is good, but I
never cared very much for it--it is medicinal in this
case. However, it is great to have such a fine supply
of green stuff instead of none at all. The Mess does
appreciate it.

"I have been supplying our Mess (C Company) with butter.
And the supply sent up to now has just effected this
with none to spare. But I don't know whether you want to
do this, and that is why I suggested cutting down the
supply. I don't want you to think any of it has been
wasted though--it hasn't, and is splendid stuff....

"In the trenches one is not always doing nothing. These
last three days in I have been up all night. I had a
working party in two shifts working all night and all
three nights, digging communication trenches. I used to
go to bed about 4.20 a.m. and sleep till lunch-time, and
perhaps lie down again for a bit in the afternoon. That
is why my letters have not been so frequent.

"It is extraordinary that what is wanted at the moment
is not so much a soldier as a civil engineer. There are
trenches to be laid out and dug, and the drainage of them
to be thought out and carried through. Often the sides
have to be 'riveted' or staked, and a flooring of boards
put in, supported on small piles.

"Then there is the water-supply, where one exists. I have
had great fun arranging a 'source' in my trench (the
support trench that I have been in these last three days
and that I have been in often before). A little stream,
quite clear and drinkable after boiling, runs out at
one place (at about 1 pint a minute!) and makes a muddy
mess of the trenches near. By damming it up and putting
a water-bottle with the bottom knocked in on top of the
dam, the water runs in a little stream from the mouth of
the bottle. It falls into a hole large enough to receive
a stone water-jar, and then runs away down a deep trough
cut beside the trench. Farther down it is again dammed up
to form a small basin which the men use for washing; and
it finally escapes into a kind of marshy pond in rear of
the trenches.

"I quite enjoyed this job, and there are many like it;
plank bridges to be put up, seats and steps to be cut,
etc. One officer put half a dozen of his men on to
making a folding bed! But it was not for himself, but
for his Captain, who has meningitis and can't sleep. The
men enjoy these jobs too; it is much better than doing
nothing.

"I will creep back to my quarters now and make myself
some tea on my 'Primus' (no fires are allowed).

"A cuckoo has been singing on a tree near me--in full
view. (It left hurriedly when one of our guns went off
close behind the château.) The first time I have ever
seen one, I think. It is amazing how tame the animals
get. They have so much ground to themselves in the
daytime--the rats especially; they flourish freely in the
space between the trenches.

"Things are fairly quiet and easy here just now."

[In one of his letters to me (22 April 1915), he said he had plenty of time now to watch the stars, and would like a set of star maps or something in order to increase his knowledge of them. Accordingly, I sent him a planisphere which I happened to have--an ingenious cardboard arrangement which can be turned so as to show, in a rough way, the stars visible in these latitudes at any time of day and any period of the year.--O. J. L.]

"_May Day 1915, 3.20 p.m._

"Thank you very much for the planisphere and for your letter. I have often seen the planisphere before, but never appreciated it until now.

"As to the 'Very' pistol, I quite agree that the 'barrel'
is too short. If it were longer the light would be thrown
farther, which would be much better. As it is, it falls
between us and the Germans.

"The German lights, which I now learn are fired from a
kind of mortar and not by a rocket as I thought, are much
better than ours; they give a better and steadier, fatter
light, and they are thrown well behind our trenches.
However, ours are much better, and theirs are worse than
they used to be....

"They have not turned the gas on to us here, though on
some days I have smelled distinct traces coming down wind
from the north. I should say it was chlorine rather than
SO_{2} that I smelled. I don't know whether the ammonia
preventive would be better than the soda one. In any
case, the great thing is that one is provided. The soda
method is the one in use, I believe, in the chlorine
works at Widnes and elsewhere."

"_Tuesday, 3 May 1915, 12.40 p.m._

"For the first three days we are out here in new
billets--officers in a comfortable little house. Last
three days of our 'rest' (!) we are going into a wood
quite close to our 'Reserve Billets.' We are in 'support'
in case of a sudden attack. Roads are so much knocked
about by shells that traffic is limited and restricted.
So we might not be able to support quick enough unless we
were close.

"Everything is still very much upset, due to the
penetration of our (French) line. They have been shelling
our village from the rear (!) and most of the companies
have had to quit. _We_ (C Company) are well back now....

"Two of our platoons went digging last night. Mine was
one. We left here about eight o'clock, and I got back
at 1 a.m., and then I sat up with another subaltern
(Fletcher) after I had had some supper until the other
man (Thomas) had come in and eaten. We went to bed
at 3 a.m. Breakfast at nine this morning, and we are
_resting_. However, I am going to have an absolutely
slack day to-day. A bath too, if I can manage it....

"Last night the moon got up very late and was quite
useless. They fire more when there is no light, they get
scared--at least uneasy; they fire off 'Very' lights
constantly, and let off volleys. We lie absolutely flat
while this goes on. It is a funny sight; the men look
like a row of starfish!"

"_Tuesday, 11 May 1915, 9.15 a.m._ (_really Wednesday
the_ 12_th. I had got wrong_)

"We are within view of a well-known place [no doubt
Ypres.--O. J. L.], and the place has been on fire in
three or four places for about two days, and is still
going strong. A magnificent spectacle at night. The place
is, I believe, a city of ruins and dead, and there is
probably no one to put a fire out. Probably, too, a fire
is rather a good thing than otherwise; the place must be
terribly in need of purifying.

"I was awfully interested in father's dream.[3] Your
letter is dated the 8th, and you say that the other night
he dreamt that I was in the thick of the fighting, but
that they were taking care of me from the other side.

"Well, I don't know about 'the thick of the fighting,'
but I have been through what I can only describe as a
hell of a shelling with shrapnel. My diary tells me it
was on the 7th, at about 10.15 a.m. Our Company were
ordered forward from one set of dug-outs to others nearer
the firing line, and the formation adopted was platoons
in single file, with intervals between. That is, four
columns of about fifty men each, in single file, with
about 20 to 50 yards between each column. I was the third
platoon, though I was not with my own but with No. 9.
Fletcher brought up the last one, thus:--

(My platoon is No. 11.--No. 9's platoon commander, Laws,
is in England on sick leave, as his nerves are all wrong.)

"Well, anyhow, we had not gone far before the gunners
saw us, and an aeroplane was flying along above and with
us. They sent over some 'Johnsons,' but these all went
too far; we were screened by a reservoir embankment.
However, we had to pass through a ruined village and they
knew it, so they put shrapnel over it. Still we were
unaffected. But when we came out into the open on the
far side, we caught it properly. Shell after shell came
over and burst above us, and when I and about three men
behind me had just turned a corner one burst above, in
exactly the spot I should have wished it to if I had been
the enemy. I looked up and saw the air full of flying
pieces, some large and some small. These spattered down
all round us. I was untouched, but my servant, who was
immediately behind me, was hit on the knee, but only
wounded slightly. He was rather scared. I led him back
round the corner again and put him in a ditch. The rest
of the platoon got in too, while I was doing this. I
thought that was the best thing they could do until the
shelling ceased, but Fletcher shouted that we must get
on, whatever happened.

"So I called the men out again, and, leaving a man with
the wounded, we set off. I don't believe it was right,
but we just walked along. It felt rather awful. (When
one is _retiring_ it is important not to let the men
'double,' as they get out of hand; but in this case we
were advancing, so I think we might have done so.) I felt
very much protected. It was really a miracle that we
weren't nearly all 'wiped out.' The shrapnel seemed very
poor stuff. As it was, we had one man killed and about
five or six injured, all more or less slightly.

"We moved up into a support trench that same evening, and
after a couple of days we moved a few yards farther to
these trenches, which are also support trenches. Things
are very quiet, and I am enjoying myself very much. If it
wasn't for the unpleasant sights one is liable to see,
war would be a most interesting and pleasant affair.

"My friends the other officers of C Company have given
me the honorary position of 'O.C. Works.' One is always
'O.C. something or other' out here--all but the Colonel,
he is 'C.O.' Orders for the day read: "O.C. Companies
will do so-and-so.' Then there are O.C. Details, O.C.
Reinforcements, etc. 'O.C.' of course stands for 'officer
commanding.' Well, I am 'O.C. Works,' and have a fine
time. I just do any job I fancy, giving preference to
trench improvement. It is fine to have at one's disposal
a large squad of men with shovels (or without). They
fill sandbags and carry them, they carry timber and saw
it, and in short do anything that is required. One can
accomplish something under these conditions."

_"6 p.m._

"We have been told that we are being relieved to-night,
and that we are going back to our old place (No. 2). So
everything should be as before, once we are back. We may
not manage to get _all_ the way back to-night, as we
cannot travel by daylight as most of the road is under
direct observation. If daylight catches us we shall
encamp in dug-outs _en route_.

"I am rather disappointed that we are going to-night, as
Fletcher and I were going to rebuild our dug-out here.
We both got very keen indeed and had laid out the plan
carefully. (He has been an architect.)

"I had another disappointment when I was back in
the wood (as supports). It reminds me of one of our
Quartermaster-Sergeants in Edinburgh. He is an Irishman,
O'Brien. I found him on the platform while we were
waiting to see a draft off; he looked very despondent.
I asked him how he was, and was surprised when he
replied, 'I've had a reverse, sorr!' It turned out that
he had applied to headquarters for an improvement in his
position, and was told he _didn't deserve any_. It had
almost broken his heart!

"Well, _I_ had a reverse. I was given the job of building
a hut and was nearly through with it when we were ordered
away. If we get back to the old wood again I shall go on
with it, in spite of whatever the present tenants may
have done in the way of completing it (our guns are now
'going at it' hammer and tongs).

"I did enjoy laying the sandbags and building a proper
wall with 'headers' and 'stretchers.' I got a very
good testimonial too, for the Sergeant asked me in all
seriousness whether I was a brick-setter in civil life. I
was awfully proud.

"_Later_

"(I had to leave off here because we were ordered to
'fire-rapid' in between periods of our artillery fire,
and I had to turn out to watch.)"

NOTE BY O. J. L.

The dream referred to, near the beginning of this long letter to his mother, Mr. J. Arthur Hill remembers that I told him of, in a letter dated 7 May 1915, which he has now returned; and I reproduce it here:--

"To J. A. H.

"_7 May 1915_

"I do not reckon that I often have conscious intuitions;
and when I have had vivid dreams they have not meant
anything, though once or twice I have recorded them
because I have them seldom. I happen, however, to have
had an intuition this morning, before I was more than
half awake, which, though not specially vivid, perhaps
I had better record, namely, that an attack was going
on at the present moment, that my son was in it, but
that 'they' were taking care of him. I had this clearly
in mind before seeing the morning papers; and indeed
I do not know that there is anything in the morning
papers suggesting it, since of course their news is
comparatively old. One might have surmised, however, that
there would be a struggle for Hill 60, and I know that my
son is not far off Ypres. (By the way, I have been told
that the Flemish Belgians really do call it 'Wipers'; it
does not sound likely, and it needs confirmation. I know
of course that our troops are said to call it so, which
is natural enough.) O. J. L."

I now (August 1916) notice for the first time that the coincidence in time between dream and fact is rather good, especially as it was the only dream or 'impression' that I remember having during the war. Practically I do not dream.

But as this incident raises the question of possible presentiment I must deny that we had any serious presentiment about Raymond. My wife tells me that her anxiety about Raymond, though always present, was hardly keen, as she had an idea that he would be protected. She wrote to a friend on 22 March 1915:--

"... I ought to get him back safe. I have a hole in my
heart and shall have till he comes back. I only saw him
for the inside of an hour before he left, as I was away
when he came home for six hours...."

At the same time I must admit that on the morning of 15 September 1915 (the day after Raymond's death, which we did not know of till the 17th) I was in an exceptional state of depression; and though a special game, to which I had been looking forward, on the No. 1 Course at Gullane had been arranged with Rowland Waterhouse, I could not play a bit. Not ordinary bad play, but total incompetence; so much so that after seven holes we gave up the game, and returned to the hotel. To make sure of the date, I wrote to Rowland Waterhouse, asking him when that abortive match occurred, since I knew that it was his last day at Gullane. He replies:--

"Violet and I left Gullane for Musselburgh on Wednesday, 15 September. Our final match ended that morning on the eighth tee" [which that year was on the reservoir hill].

One more dream I may as well now mention:--

After the family had returned home from Scotland and elsewhere, near the end of September 1915, and begun to settle down, Alec, who had felt Raymond's death exceedingly, told me that the night before he heard the news--or rather the early morning of the same day, 17 September--he had had an extraordinarily painful and vivid dream, quite an exceptional occurrence for him, and one of which he had spoken to a manageress in the hotel near Swansea where he was staying, describing it as the worst he had ever had in his life. He did not know that it had any significance, and neither do I, as the dream, though rather ghastly, was not about Raymond or anyone in particular; but it seemed an odd coincidence that the ill news should be, so to speak, on the way, at the time of a quite exceptional and painful impression. The person to whom he told the dream handed him the telegram a few hours later. He has written the dream down, but it need not be reproduced.

No real provision is involved in any of this, unless it be that of an hour or two in my own impression, in May; but for general remarks on the question of the possibility of prevision Chapter V in Part III may be referred to.

"_Friday, 14 May 1915_

"I had a glorious hot bath yesterday; Fletcher and I
went up to the brewery here. The bath is zinc, and full
length, and we have as much water, and as hot, as we
like....

"I spent some time too stemming the leaks in the roof
of our shed. With my _two_ waterproof sheets I have
rigged up a kind of chute above my bed, so that any water
that comes through the roof is led down behind my head.
I don't know what happens to it there. I thought of
leading it across on to the man next me, as the Germans
used to do in the winter campaign. They fitted a pump
in their trenches and led the delivery pipe forward, so
that the water used to run into ours--only the plan was
discovered....

"I wonder if you saw the appreciation of the soda cake
on the back of my letter from the woods. M.P. stands for
Mess President. Fletcher was M.P. and was a very good
one. I am now, as he has done it for a long time and is
tired....

"As cheerful and well and happy as ever. Don't think I am
having a rotten time--I am not."

"_Sunday, 5.40 p.m., 16 May 1915_

"We had a very fine piece of news yesterday. Over three
weeks ago we were called out one night and were urgently
required to dig a certain new trench behind our lines.
The men worked splendidly and got the job done in a very
short time (working of course in complete darkness). The
next day the Brigadier-General inspected the trench and
sent in a complimentary message about it to our Colonel.
The day after he complimented us again--for the same
piece of work! Well, we have had several such jobs to
do, and just recently we have been to Hill 60, where the
bulk of our work was deepening the trenches and improving
the parapets. We were lent for this purpose to another
Division (the Division that is at the moment occupying
that area), and were away from here exactly a week. We
got a splendid testimonial from the General of this other
Division, who told our Colonel he had got 'a top-hole
battalion.' Arising out of all this, we have now been
selected as a 'Pioneer Battalion,' We are relieved from
all ordinary trench work for some time to come. We simply
go out at night and dig trenches or build parapets and so
forth, and have the day to ourselves. This was arranged
yesterday, and last night we went out and returned here
at 1.30 a.m. The work is more or less under fire, but
only from stray shots and nothing very serious. Our
Colonel is awfully pleased that we have done so well; and
we are all pleased with the new arrangement. One great
advantage is that we can settle down in our billets and
are not continually having to pack up everything and move
off. We can now start and make tables, chairs, beds, a
proper door for the hut, a glass window, and so on....

"As to aeroplanes, when one passes overhead a whistle
is blown and every one either takes cover or stands
perfectly still. The men are forbidden to look up. Then
the whistle is blown several times when the danger is
past. I am afraid, though, these regulations are more
honoured in the breach than the observance.

"We had quite a nice informal service here this afternoon
sitting in a field. The chaplain has the rank of Major
and has been out here seven months.

"Yesterday the Captain, Fletcher, and myself went for a
ride on horses. We went about five miles out, stopped for
about twenty minutes at a little inn (the last in Belgium
on that particular road), and then came back again. The
country was perfectly lovely, though I did not appreciate
it as much as I otherwise would have done, as I had a
trooper's saddle and the Captain would trot. I got most
awfully sore going out, and thought I should never be
able to get back. However, I discovered a method at last,
and that was to go at a full gallop. So I alternately
went at a walk and 'hell for leather,' and got back in
comparative comfort. I thoroughly enjoyed it; it was
very bad for the horse, I am afraid, on the stone setts
(_pavé_), but sometimes I could get him on to the softer
bits at the side. I was terribly afraid some one would
think the horse was running away with me and 'block' him,
so I had to look as pleased as possible. And really I
_was_ pleased, it was such a blessed relief after that
awful trotting. I trotted along in rear of the other two
until I could stand it no longer, and then I encouraged
my nag and hit him until he broke into a canter, and
then I roared past the others, who cursed like anything
because theirs wanted to gallop too. My horse's cantor
changed imperceptibly into a full gallop, and I 'got down
to it' and felt like a jockey. After about half a mile I
would walk until the others came up and passed me, and
then I would go off again. All the same, I am very sore.

"Good-bye for the present; it is lovely hot weather and
we are all well--fit--and happy."

"_Tuesday, 18 May 1915, 5.15 p.m._

"MY DEAR NORAH AND BARBARA,--I don't expect I am far
wrong in attributing my ripping present of dates and figs
to you two. I did enjoy them, and they are not finished
yet.