Chapter II: Letters From the Front (2)

"They arrived by the first post after we had returned
from our little trip. We were at Hill 60; it was so
interesting and rather exciting, although we were there
chiefly, I think, to improve the trenches, which were
very shallow and dangerous when we arrived.

"The men worked splendidly--all night and most of the
day, and, when we left, the trenches were vastly improved
and quite habitable. We also made some entirely new ones.
We are now kept for this sort of job only, and we go out
working at nights and sleep by day.

"I must explain to you about 'standing to.' A proportion
of the men are always awake in the trenches to guard
against surprises, for as the most likely times for an
attack are at dawn and at dusk, everybody has to be awake
and ready then. Of course it does interfere with your
sleep, and you do not get very much as a rule in the
trenches, but that is why you are not there for more than
about three days at a time. In the 'supports' you 'stand
to' so as to be ready to reinforce the front line quickly
in case of an attack. Out in 'Rest Billets,' I am glad to
say, it is no longer necessary.

"I am so sorry, my friend Fletcher has just gone off
this morning for a rest cure. I shall miss him awfully.
He is about five miles away and I am going to ride over
to-morrow to see him. But later on he will probably go
back to England. His nerves are all wrong and he needs a
rest,

"Good-bye for now, and very best wishes to you
both.--Your very loving brother,

RAYMOND"

"I hope you get my _communiqués_ regularly from home
(swank). Some one must have the time of their lives
copying out all the stuff I write. I hope, however, there
are a few grains in the bundle of chaff (I'm fishing
again)!

"You say, Norah, that you don't think the château was
as quiet as I described. Well, provided I mentioned our
gun, that went off at occasional intervals close behind
it with a terrific report, it was just as I described--a
peaceful summer afternoon. I know that people think that
everything in Belgium is chaos and slaughter, but it
isn't so. For instance, where Fletcher is, is a charming
country place with trees and fields and everything
in full green. Simply ripping. If I had only had a
motor-cycle to see it from instead of a trotting horse I
should have enjoyed it even more!

R."

"_Wednesday, 19 May 1915, 12.50 p.m._

"You must know that we have now only three officers in
our Company. I am very sorry indeed to lose Fletcher. He
went off for a rest cure yesterday morning to a place
about five miles from here. He is my greatest friend
in the Battalion, so I miss him very much and hope he
won't be long away. He will probably go back to England,
however, as his nerves are all wrong. He is going the
same way as Laws did and needs a complete rest. I am
going to ride over to see him this afternoon with the
Captain. I am afraid it won't be 'good going' as the
roads are thick with mud. The slightest rain, and they
are as bad as ever.

"I told you that I was Mess President (M.P.). I am
sure you would smile to see me ordering the meals, and
inspecting the joints. I don't know anything about them,
and when the cook calls me up specially to view a joint I
have hastily to decide whether he means me to disparage
it--or the reverse. However, I am usually safe in running
it down."

"_Thursday, 20 May 1915, 9.10 a.m._

"We rode over and saw Fletcher yesterday and had tea
with him. He is with about twenty other similar cases
in a splendid château (this one is not ruined and has
magnificent grounds). Unfortunately this is probably
the very worst possible treatment he could have. He has
nothing to do, no interest in anything, and no society
except people who, like himself, want cheering. He does
not read, he does not even walk about the grounds. He
cannot sleep much, and he said he did not know exactly
_what_ he did. Under these conditions I know it will not
be long before he is sent home. Brooding is just the very
worst thing for him. He sees all the past horrors all
over again; things which, at the time, he shut his mind
to. The best treatment (even better than home, _I_ think)
would be to send him back for a month or so to Crosby. He
would then have plenty to occupy his mind and would have
cheerful companions...."

"_6.20 p.m._

"I have attached a list of a few slang terms and curious
expressions in use in this Regiment and I believe
universal at the moment. Some of these are amazing, and
it is difficult to trace the origin. 'Drumming up' is
one, and 'wind up' another. I saw an old Belgian cart
yesterday, a three-wheeled affair. It had been overturned
on its side and the spokes of the lowest wheel had been
broken. Well, some one had 'drummed up' on them--every
one had disappeared. These men here will 'drum up' on
anything. 'Drumming up' on a thing does not mean lighting
a fire _on_ it but _with_ it.

"When we were at that place where we were for a week,
there was a most peculiar state of affairs. The Germans
were holding a small piece of trench joining, and in line
with, ours. They were only separated from us by double
barricades--their and ours. They corresponded to the meat
in a sandwich. [A sketch is omitted.] When I say 'ours'
I mean the English. I was not actually in this trench,
but in the one just behind. The trench on one side of the
'meat' was held by one of our Companies, and the other by
another Regiment...."

"_Friday, 10.20 a.m._

"My nickname in the Mess is 'Maurice' (with a French
pronunciation); I am called after the small boy in the
grocery shop here. The good dame always says 'Oui,
monsieur le lieutenant!' 'Non, monsieur le lieutenant!'
to everything one says; she gets in about six to the
minute. Well, we used to imitate her after our visits
to the shop, and one day she called out 'Maurice'; so
Fletcher calls me 'Maurice,' and I reply, 'Oui, monsieur
le lieutenant.'"

SOME MILITARY TERMS

WATER-PARTY A fatigue party carrying water.

TO HAVE WIND UP (to rhyme with 'pinned up')--To be
uneasy, 'on edge.'

DRUMMING UP Making a fire for the purpose of warming food.

BLIGHTY England.

A BLIGHTY WOUND A wound that necessitates invaliding
home. PUCCA Real, genuine.

RALLY UP A short period of considerable firing in the
trenches.

DUG-OUT A cramped dwelling-place, usually above ground.

STAND-TO An hour of preparedness at dawn and at dusk when
every one is awake and wears his equipment (in trenches
and supports only).

STAND-DOWN The finish of 'stand-to.'

KNIFE-RESTS Barbed wire in sections.

CUSHY A 'soft' thing.

TO GO SICK To report oneself ill to the doctor.

TO GET DOWN TO IT To lie down, go to bed.

CRIBBING OR GROUSING Complaining.

R. L. 20.5.15

[_To a Brother_]

"_26 May 1915_

"I expect you have read it, but I want to recommend to
you _Simon Dale_, by Anthony Hope.

"We had the gas over here on Monday morning about 3 or 4
a.m. Although it was coming from a point about four miles
away, as we learnt afterwards, it was very strong and
made our eyes smart very much.

"We have got hold of some liqueurs from Railhead, a large
bottle of Chartreuse and one of Curaçao.

"Good-bye and good luck."

"_Saturday, 29 May 1915, 8.30 p.m._

"We have again done a little move, this time with bag and
baggage. We are now on the outskirts of 'No. 1,' and due
west of it. The men have built themselves dug-outs along
a hedge and we (C Coy. officers) are installed in an
untouched château. Quite comfortable. Fine lofty rooms.
We only use part of the house. We have the kitchen, and a
large dining-room on the ground floor. We sleep upstairs
on the first floor (our valise on hay). At least, Thomas
and I do, the Captain and Case have moved down and sleep
on large fat palliasses in the dining-room! We have
the rest of the house empty to ourselves to-night, but
various headquarter staffs seem to come in turn and
occupy two of the other ground floor rooms occasionally.

"We have been out two nights digging on the opposite side
of the town, but we have not been ordered out to-night,
so far.

"I notice I have now been gazetted back to 15 August, the
same as most of my contemporaries.

"There has been a suggestion made that I should take a
course of machine-gun instruction in order that I might
act as understudy to our present Machine-Gun Officer
(M.G.O.) who is Roscoe, and is the successor to Wyatt.
I agreed, but it may have 'fallen through' owing to the
move. If it comes off I shall go for a fortnight's course
to a place which I will call No. 3 [probably St. Omer.]

"I got a letter from you to-day about 5 p.m. I was so
glad.

"No, I am not making things out better than they really
are. I like to write mostly about the pleasant parts, of
course. We have our unpleasant moments, shelling and so
on, but no very bad times as yet. Being on tenterhooks is
quite the worst part.

"As regards Fletcher being worse than us, of course he
came out much earlier. He left Edinburgh for the Front
on 4 January, and Laws left on 31 December. He has had
some awful times and the winter campaign, and in any
case the length of time one is exposed to the mental
strain and worry makes a difference. I do my best to
keep cheerful and happy all the time--I don't believe in
meeting trouble half-way. If there was some indication
of the termination of the war it would help matters--the
unending vista is apt to be rather disheartening at
times. I am very glad Italy is in--at last.

"By the way, Fletcher has not been sent to England
(Blighty) after all. He is at Versailles, in the No. 4
General Hospital there, having a nice time if he can
enjoy it. This hospital is the Trianon Palace. The
Captain had a letter from him in which he sent his love
to 'Maurice' and 'his lordship' (that's Thomas)."

"_2 June 1915, 4.45 p.m._

"Our interpreter is a Belgian, and is a very nice man. He
does our shopping for us in the town, which is ten miles
or so away, and (as now arranged) he makes the journey
twice a week. It is very funny to hear him talk, he
picks up the soldiers' idioms and uses them in the wrong
places. One he is very fond of is the expression 'Every
time'! He puts such a funny emphasis on it.

"The last member of our Mess is a man who has just come
out and has not long had his commission. He used to be
Regimental Sergeant-Major to our 1st Battalion and has
had about twenty-six years' service, so he knows his job.

"Unfortunately, however, his arrival is not an unmixed
blessing. The Captain is seized with enthusiasm and wants
to make our Company the finest Company in the Battalion.
The result is that we have now nothing but parades and
much less rest than before. When we were turned into a
pioneer battalion the Colonel told the men that they
would go digging at night and would do nothing else
except for rifle inspection. Now, however, we have in
addition an hour's drill of various sorts in the morning
and a lecture to N.C.O.s in the afternoon, at which all
subalterns have to attend and take notes. On the day
following a rest night we have to be up about seven
o'clock, and be on parade while the men do half an hour's
physical exercise before breakfast. Then we have an hour
and a half's drill afterwards and the lecture. And these
parades seem to be growing. I am afraid they will wear
us all out and the men as well. Thomas feels it most
and is very worried--although he is Senior Subaltern in
the Company he is left right out of things. I am afraid
of his going like Laws and Fletcher did. Some 'rankers'
are very good fellows. They bring tremendous experience
with them, but, on the other hand, we bring something
too, and when they ride the high horse they can be very
unbearable....

"I got a supply of paraffin to-day; D Company has bought
a huge barrel of it, and I sent over a petrol tin for
some. They gave me nearly two gallons and asked if I
could let them have a window in exchange! I hunted round
and found quite a good loose one and sent it across with
my compliments. The reason they have bought up so much
paraffin is because their Captain has presented pocket
Primuses to his men. Each section of twelve men has
one between them with one man in charge of it. It is a
killing sight to see their Company sitting in a field and
drumming up!

"The Belgian cooking stove is rather a curious thing.
It is of the same design in every house apparently. It
consists of a metal urn to hold the fire; this has a
removable lid for which you can substitute a kettle or
pan which just fits the round opening. The urn stands
about 3 feet from the wall and has a flat-shaped iron
chimney leading into the main chimney. This iron chimney
can be used for heating pots or for warming plates. The
base of the urn is an ash collector. You will see that
there is no oven; this is built separately and is a brick
affair with a separate fire to it. [Sketch.]"

"_Thursday, 3 June 1915, 1.30 p.m._

"I am all right again to-day; you mustn't pay any
attention to my grumbles, it just depends what I feel
like; and I am going to stir things up about these
parades. We had a fine time last night--very exciting.
We went through the heart of the city and it is still
very much on fire. The enemy keeps sending an occasional
shell into it to keep it going. Just on the far side is a
graveyard, and this has been 'crumped' out of existence
nearly! It is an unpleasant place to pass now.

"The town is almost unbelievable. I don't think anyone
would credit that they could do so much damage and not
leave a single house untouched, without entering the
place at all. [Ypres again, probably.]

"Our digging last night was near a small road much used
by transport (which is very audible at night). As the
enemy can hear the rumble of the horse-drawn carts quite
plainly, they kept on sending shrapnel over, and we had
quite a warm time of it. We were quite glad to get away
again. (No one was hit while we were there.)

"I was very interested in father's pamphlet on 'War and
Christianity,' and I have passed it on to the others. I
like the way he gets right outside and looks at things
from above. It is a very soothing thing to read.[4]...

"I had such an interesting talk with the interpreter
yesterday (his rank is the equivalent of one of our
Sergeant-Majors). He was a merchant in Morocco, and
chucked up everything and came and joined the Belgian
army as a private. He fought at Namur, Antwerp, and other
places, and is most awfully keen. He was offered the
job of Interpreter to the British Army, and, thinking
he could help more by that means and also partly for
monetary considerations, he took the job. He understood
he would be fighting with us in the trenches, but they
have put him on to shopping for us! He is awfully
disappointed. He rides up when he can, and when we went
up to Hill 60 he went up with our transports and showed
them the way and helped them a lot, although shells were
falling all round. He is a most gentlemanly man; his name
is Polchet....

"I had a letter from Violet and another from Margaret
yesterday. I understand they have gone up to Edinburgh
now; I shall like to go up there too 'after the war.'
I believe Violet is getting _my_ room ready for me in
their house. I like everything very plain, just a valise
and a little hay, and then you see if I am hungry in the
night----....

"P.S.--I had a most interesting letter from Oliver. His
discussion of Italy's motives is fine. I like hearing
what people think of events; we are apt to get very
warped views out here unless we have the other point of
view occasionally."

"_Sunday, 6 June 1915, 12 p.m._

"The Mess was thrown into the greatest state of
excitement yesterday by the arrival of kippers! How
splendid!

We had a grand breakfast this morning, quite like the
summer holidays again--breakfast after a bathe--with Alec
of course!...

"By the way, I did not present the last lot of asparagus
to the Mess--this was not because we didn't appreciate
it, but because I felt so sorry for M. Polchet (our
interpreter), and I wondered if he had any green stuff or
luxuries. So I sent it over to him. And do you know what
he has done? He has just sent me a shallow wooden box
with a thick cotton-wool pad in it. In the pad are six
hollows, and in each hollow is a ripping nectarine. Isn't
it fine of him?

"We have roses picked every day for the Mess-room; it
does improve it. The other evening we had a specially
nice meal. We sat round the polished table with candles
in the centre and bowls of roses round them (as a matter
of fact the bowls were old tinned-fruit tins, but what of
that). The food was very special, though I can't remember
what it was, but to crown all there was in the room just
across the passage ... a real fiddler with a real fiddle.
I really don't know how he managed to bring a fiddle out
here; he is a private in the Royal Garrison Artillery,
and plays simply beautifully. He has long hair and just
a suggestion of side whiskers, and large boots, and, but
that he would not be complimented, looks like a Viennese.

"He started off by playing Grand Opera--I believe--and he
gave us the Intermezzo from 'Cavalleria Rusticana.' Then
he gave us 'Gipsy Love' and the 'Merry Widow,' and so on.
He finished up with American ragtime. We sent him in a
bottle of whisky half-way through the performance, and
the music got lighter thenceforward. It was most amusing
to notice the effect. When we looked in later the whisky
was standing on the table, and he was walking round it
with his fiddle, playing hard and apparently serenading
it!

"I was inoculated again on Friday evening because it is
only _really_ effective for about six months, and there
is going to be a lot of enteric about, I expect. This
apparently is just the very place for it--flat low-lying
country, poor water supply, and the soil heavily manured.
So I have been feeling rather weak and feverish after it,
but I am better again now. I have to have it done again
ten days later--but the second time is not so bad.

"Talking about roses, Thomas picked a beauty this morning
(before I got up) and brought it to me in bed. It is in
front of me now, and is 5 inches across, and has a very
fine smell."

"_Wednesday, 16 June 1915, 1.30 p.m._

"We made an attack early this morning, and our Company
waited here to receive the prisoners. Poor devils, I do
feel so sorry for them. One officer of sixteen with six
weeks' service. Old men with grey beards too, and many
of the student type with spectacles--not fit to have to
fight.

"You remember 'Very Pressing are the Germans'; well,
that's where I am, right inside the walls. Quite
shell-proof, but very dank.

"I have got the machine-gun job, and am going for a
fortnight's course, starting on the 26th of June."

"_Monday, 21 June 1915, 4.30 p.m._

"We have had an extremely trying time lately, and I am
very sorry to say we have lost Thomas.

"He was hit on the head by shrapnel on the night
after the attack--I expect you saw the account in the
papers--and died about an hour later, having never
recovered consciousness.

"It was a most fatal night--the whole battalion was
ordered out digging to consolidate the captured
positions. We got half-way out, and then got stuck--the
road being blocked by parties of wounded. We waited on a
path alongside a hedge for over an hour, and though we
could not be seen we had a good deal of shrapnel sent
over us. To make matters worse, they put some gas shells
near, and we had to wear our helmets though the gas was
not very strong. It was exceedingly unpleasant, and we
could hardly see at all. It was while we were waiting
like this that Thomas got knocked out.

"We are all sorry to lose him, and I miss him very much,
but it is nothing to the trouble there will be at his
home, for he is his mother's favourite son.

"I have written to his mother, but I have not told her
what makes us feel so mad about it--namely, that we did
no digging that night at all. When we got to the position
we were so late, and there was still such confusion there
due to the attack, that we marched back again and just
got in before daylight. We might just as well never have
gone out. Isn't it fairly sickening?

"The next night we went out again, and we had a very
quiet night and no casualties. The scene of the battle
was pretty bad, and I put all my spare men on to burying.

"Altogether we are very thankful to have a change from
'pioneering,' and get back to the trenches!

"Our chief trouble here is snipers. We are in a wood, and
parties going for water and so on to our headquarters
_will_ walk outside the trench instead of in it, just
because the trench goes like this. [A diagram is
omitted.] They take the straight course along the side
in spite of repeated warnings. There is one point that
a sniper has got marked. He gets our men coming back as
they get into the trench just too late. We had a man hit
this morning, but not badly, and a few minutes ago I had
to stop this letter and go to a man of B Company who had
got hit, and rather more seriously, at the same spot. I
have put up a large notice there now, and hope it will
prevent any more.

"I am sorry this is not a very cheerful letter, but we
have all been rather sad lately. I am getting over it
now. Luckily one absorbs these things very gradually;
I could not realise it at first. It was an awful blow,
because, especially since Fletcher went away (he is now
at home), we had become very friendly, and one is apt
to forget that there is always the chance of losing a
friend suddenly. As a matter of fact, Thomas is the first
officer of C Company that has been killed for seven
months.

"When we were up in this wood before, digging (about a
fortnight ago) B Company lost Captain Salter. I dare say
you saw his name in the Roll of Honour. We were just
going to collect our spades and come in, when he was shot
through the head by a stray bullet.

"What a very melancholy strain I am writing in, I am
so sorry. I am quite well and fit. We have mislaid our
mess-box coming up here with all our specially selected
foods. The result is we are on short commons--great fun.
I am eating awful messes and enjoying them. Fried bacon
and fried cheese together! Awful; but, by Jove, when
you're hungry."

LETTER FROM RAYMOND TO THE MOTHER OF AN OFFICER FRIEND OF HIS WHO HAD BEEN KILLED

"_2nd S. Lancashire Regt., B.E.F., Front, 17 June 1915_

"DEAR MRS. THOMAS,--I am very sorry to say I have to tell
you the very worst of bad news. I know what Humphrey's
loss must be to you, and I want to tell you how much it
is to all of us too. I know I have not realised it yet
myself properly. I have been in a kind of trance since
last night and I dread to wake up.

"He was a very fine friend to me, especially since
Fletcher went away, and I miss him frightfully. Last
night (16th to 17th) the whole Battalion went out
digging. There had been an attack by the English early
the same morning, and the enemy's guns were still very
busy even in the evening. Our road was blocked in front
owing to the moving of a lot of wounded, and while we
were held up on a little field path alongside a hedge
we had several shrapnel shells over us. To add to the
horrors of the situation they had put some gas shells
over too, and we were obliged to put on our gas helmets.
While Humphrey was standing with his helmet on in the
rear of our Company talking to the Captain of the Company
behind, a shell came over and a piece of it caught him
on the head. He was rendered unconscious, and it was
evident from the first he had no chance of recovery.
He was immediately taken a little way back to a place
where there was no gas, and here the doctor dressed his
wound. He was then taken back on a stretcher to the
dressing-station. He died there about an hour after he
had been admitted, having never recovered consciousness.

"If he had to die, I am thankful he was spared pain
beforehand. It made my heart ache this afternoon packing
his valise; I have given his chocolate, cigarettes, and
tobacco to the Mess, and I have wrapped up his diary and
a few loose letters and made them into a small parcel
which is in the middle of his valise.

"The papers and valuables which he had on him at the
time will be sent back through our headquarters, the
other things, such as letters, etc., in his other pockets
I have left just as they were. I hope the valise will
arrive safely.

"He will be buried very simply, and probably due east
of Ypres about three-quarters of a mile out--near the
dressing-station. I will of course see he has a proper
cross.

"Humphrey was splendid always when shells were bursting
near. He hated them as much as any of us, but he just
made himself appear unconcerned in order to put heart
into the troops. Three nights ago we were digging a
trench and the Germans thought our attack was coming off
that night. For nearly three-quarters of an hour they put
every kind of shell over us and some came very close. We
all lay down in the trench and waited. On looking up once
I was amazed to see a lone figure walking calmly about as
if nothing was going on at all. It may have been foolish
but it was grand."

"_Tuesday, 22 June 1915, 4.45 p.m._

"Well! What a long war, isn't it? Never mind, I believe
it will finish up without much help from us, and our
job is really killing time. And our time is so pleasant
it doesn't need much killing out here. The days roll
along--nice sunny days too--bringing us nearer I suppose
to Peace. (One hardly dares even to write the word now,
it has such a significance.) There have been cases where
the war has driven people off their heads (this applies
only, I think, to the winter campaign), but I often think
if Peace comes suddenly that there will be many such
cases.

"It really is rather amazing the unanimity of everybody
on this subject, and it must be the same behind the
German front-line trenches.

"I should think that never in this world before have
there been so many men so 'fed up' before. And then the
women at home too--it is wonderful where the driving
force comes from to keep things going on.

"But still--I don't want to convey a false impression. If
you took my last letter by itself you might think things
were very terrible out here all the time. They are not.
On the whole it is not a bad time at all. The life is
full of interest, and the discomforts are few and far
between. Bad times do come along occasionally, but they
are by way of exceptions. It is most like a long picnic
in all sorts of places with a sort of constraint and
uneasiness in the air. This last is purely mental, and
the less one worries about it the less it is, and so one
can contrive to be light-hearted and happy through it
all--unless one starts to get depressed and moody. And it
is just that which has happened to Laws and Fletcher and
one or two others. They had been out long and had seen
unpleasant times and without an occasional rest; none but
the very thick can stand it."

"_Saturday, 26 June 1915, 6.40 p.m._

"Here I am installed in the school [Machine Gun] which
is, or was, a convent. Fine large place and grounds.
Two officers per bedroom and a large Mess-room; about
twenty officers up for the course (or more) which starts
to-morrow (Sunday). Your solution of the Thompson
acrostic [St. Omer] was perfectly right, we _are_ far
back. This convent is about two miles from that town.

"I am so pleased to be in the 'pleasant, sunny land of
France,' amid absolute peacefulness. We had a curious
journey. Last night I slept at our transport (and had
a bath!). I got up soon after six, mounted a horse
just before eight (after breakfast). My servant and my
valise, also a groom to bring my horse back, came in a
limber. And that excellent man Polchet rode all the way
to _Divisional_ Headquarters with me, although it was
about six miles out of his way. We got to Headquarters
at a quarter to ten--a motor-bus was to start at ten
for here. It started at 10.30 with me, my luggage, and
my servant (I don't know why he comes last) in it. The
Harborne motor-buses in the Harborne High Street weren't
in it. We got shaken to a jelly--we were on top. We went
back about two miles to pick up some of our Division,
and having done so, we set off to pick up some of the
14th Division, at a point carefully specified in our
driver's instructions. This was about five miles away,
in our proper direction. But when we got to the spot we
discovered they (the Division) had left it a week ago
and gone to a point quite close to where we had just
picked up the 3rd Division men. I telephoned in vain;
we had to go all the way back. We found the place with
difficulty (we found all our places with difficulty as
we had no maps), collected the men, and came all the way
out _again_. Then we came straight here, which was about
fifteen miles at least. We got here at 4.30 p.m.! Six
hours' motorbussing! and the bus's maximum was 25 m.p.h.
at least, I should judge. Luckily it was a glorious day,
and I sat in front with the driver and enjoyed it all....

"I told you leave was starting--well, it has now started.
Three of our officers have gone--and all together! They
are only getting three clear days in England--but still!

"I am going to find out when this course finishes--I
think it lasts for sixteen days--and then I am going
to apply for my leave to follow on. I wish--oh, how
I wish--I may get it; but of course many things may
intervene.

"If it does come off I hope there will be a
representative gathering to meet me at dinner. That is,
I hope Violet will be back from Edinburgh, Lorna and
Norah from Coniston, and perhaps Oliver and his Winifred
will pay a flying visit from Cardiff. Haven't I got an
enlarged opinion of my own importance? I suppose it is
too much to expect the offices to have a whole holiday!"

"_Monday, 28 June 1915, 6.15 p.m._

"The enemy's lines round here do not appear to be
strongly held, in fact quite the reverse--that is,
the front lines. But attacks on our part don't always
pay--even so. Their method, as I understand it, is
simply to lose less men than we do. Accordingly, they
leave very few men in their front trench, but what there
are have a good supply of machine guns and are well
supported by artillery. We precede our attacks by heavy
shelling, and the few men get into well-built dug-outs
until it is over, then they come out and get to work
with their machine guns on the attacking infantry. The
trench ultimately falls after rather heavy loss on our
side (especially if the wire isn't properly cut) and
the few defenders hold up their hands. Some are made
prisoners--some are not. If the enemy want the trench
very badly they try and retake it by means of a strong
counter-attack, trusting that our men and arrangements
are in sufficient confusion to prevent adequate support.
That is why our attacks are so expensive and why we
aren't constantly attacking. The alternative plan is,
I think, simply to shell them heavily--in all their
lines--and leave out the actual attack in most cases....

"I was so interested to hear that Alec had applied for
me to come back. It is not at all impossible, because
I have known two or three cases where officers have
been recalled--one was chief chemist (or so he said)
at Brunner Mond's. He was returning as I came out, and
tried to make one's flesh creep by his tales of war. But
I don't think it is likely to happen in my case. I only
wish it would. I should love to come home again, although
I don't feel as if I had done my bit yet--really. I
haven't been in any big scrap, and I haven't killed my
man even....

"I had a ripping time at the transport; I hope they
enjoyed the peas--they deserved to. They were hospitality
itself. They welcomed me, gave me three meals, lent me
anything I wanted, made room for me to sleep in their
large room (this necessitated the Quartermaster-Sergeant
moving his bed into another room), gave me a warm bath,
and generally made me feel quite at home. They have a
ripping dug-out. Rooms half underground, 7 feet high,
plenty of ventilation, boarded floor and walls, and
a wooden roof supported on square wooden pillars and
covered in earth well sodded on top....

"Talking about the Major (Major Cotton), he used to be
our Adjutant at Crosby--he was Captain then. He came out
as second in command and has now got the Battalion while
our Colonel (Colonel Dudgeon) is away sick. The latter
got his C.B. in the last honours list. He is an excellent
man. Lieut. Burlton, too, got a Military Cross. He has
now been wounded twice; he was the moving spirit of the
hockey matches at Crosby in the old days, and, when he
was recalled to the Front, his mantle fell upon me....

"All the officers here are from different regiments with
a very few exceptions. It is most interesting. At meals,
Way and I sit among the Cavalry, Dragoons and Lancers,
etc. They are fine chaps--the real Army officers of which
there are now all too few."

"_Machine-Gun School, G.H.Q., Wednesday, 7 July 1915, 5
p.m._

"Here I am getting towards the end of my little holiday,
only five more days to go. No word has reached me from my
Battalion on the subject of leave, or of anything else
for that matter....

"If this threatened push on Calais is real, or if the
higher commands have got 'wind up' about it, they will
very likely stop all leave, and then I shall just have to
wait until it starts again....

"I am sure that the fact of our nation being 'down' and
preparing for a winter campaign will materially assist
in shortening the war and rendering that preparation
unnecessary.

"We have an awfully amusing chap here who is in the
Grenadier Guards. He is always imitating Harry Tate.
A great big hefty chap, in great big sloppy clothes
(including what are known as 'Prince of Wales' breeches).
He gets his mouth right over to the side of his face and
says 'You stupid boy!' in Harry Tate's voice. He does
this in the middle of our instructional squads when some
wretched person does something wrong with the gun, and
sends every one into fits of laughter.... [A lot more
about a motor that wouldn't go.]

"My M.G. course is going on very nicely. I have learnt
a very great deal, have been intensely interested, and
am very keen on the work. My function as a reserve
machine-gunner should really be to train the reserve
team and such parts of the main team as are not actually
required in the trenches, in a safe spot behind the
lines! It sounds 'cushy,' but those in authority over
us are not sufficiently enlightened, I am afraid, to
adopt such a plan. The object of course is to prevent
your reserve men from being 'used up' as riflemen, as
otherwise when you want them to take the place of the
others they are casualties and all their training goes
for nothing.

The Cavalry officers here are a great joke. They find
this life very tiring. They are quite keen to get back
again and have been from the beginning. We, on the other
hand, fairly enjoy it and are not at all anxious to go
back to our regiments. That shows the difference between
the lives we lead. Of course they _have_ been in the
trenches and have had some very bad times there, but they
only go in in emergencies and at long intervals....

"Another difference between us is that they keep their
buttons as bright as possible and themselves as spick and
span as can be. The infantry officer gets his buttons
as dull as possible, and if they are green so much the
better, as it shows he has been through gas. He likes his
clothes and especially his puttees to be rather torn, and
his hat to be any old sloppy shape. If he gets a new hat
he is almost ashamed to wear it--he is terrified of being
mistaken for 'Kitcheners'!

"Lord Kitchener and Mr. Asquith came here last evening.
Here, to this convent. I don't know what for; but there
was of course a good deal of stir here.

"Way and I went into the town last night. We hired a
_fiacre_ for the return journey. It came on to rain, so
it was just as well we had a hood. We both thoroughly
enjoyed the journey. The _fiacre_ was what would be
dignified by the name of 'Victoria' in England. But in
France, where it seems to be etiquette not to take any
trouble over carriagework, _fiacre_ is the only word
you could apply, and it just fits it. It expresses not
only its shabbiness but also hints at its broken-backed
appearance.

"We went into some stables and inquired about a _fiacre_,
and a fat boy in a blue apron with a white handkerchief
tied over one eye said we could have one. So I said, 'Où
est le cocher?' and he pointed to his breast and said,
'C'est moi!'

"The fare, he said, would be six francs and the
_pourboire_. Thoughtful of him not to forget that. We
agreed, and he eventually produced the usual French horse.

"The _fiacre_ was very comfortable and we were awfully
tickled with the idea of us two in that absurd
conveyance, especially when we passed staff officers,
which was frequently. Altogether we were quite sorry when
our drive was over."

NOTE BY O. J. L.

On 16 July 1915, Raymond came home on leave, and he had a great reception. On 20 July he went back.

"_Sunday, 25 July 1915, 7.30 p.m._

"I have got quite a nice dug-out, with a chair and table
in it. The table was away from the door and got no light,
so I have spent about two hours to-day turning things
round. I went to bed about three this morning (just after
'stand-to') and slept till nearly twelve. Then I had
breakfast (bacon and eggs). As my former platoon Sergeant
remarked: 'It is a great thing to have a few comforts, it
makes you forget there is a war,'

"So it does until a whizz-bang comes over.

"I have just seen an aeroplane brought down (German
luckily). I missed the first part, where one of ours went
up to it and a flame shot across between them (machine
gun, I expect). I ran out just in time to see the machine
descending on fire. It came down quite steadily inside
our lines (about a mile or more away), but the flames
were quite clearly visible,"

"_Thursday, 29 July 1915, 7.35 p.m._

"Here I am in the trenches again, quite like old times,
and quite in the swing again after the unsettling effect
of coming home! You know I can't help laughing at things
out here. The curious aspect of things sometimes comes
and hits me, and I sit down and laugh (not insanely or
hysterically, _bien entendu_; but I just can't help
chuckling). It is so absurd, the reasons and causes that
have drawn me to this particular and unlikely field in
Belgium, and, having arrived here, that make me set about
at once house-hunting--for all the world as if it was the
most natural thing in life. And having selected my little
house and arranged all my belongings in it, I regard it
as home and spend a few days there. And then one morning
my servant and I, we pack up everything once more and
hoist them on to our backs and set off, staff in hand,
like a pair of gipsies to another field a mile or so
distant, and there make a new home....

"I was very loth to leave my front line dug-out, because
I had arranged things to my liking--had moved the table
so that it caught the light, and so on. It had a built-in
table (which took a lot of moving), a chair and a sandbag
bed. Quite small and snug.

"But still--this new dug-out back here is quite nice.
Large and roomy, with windows with bars in them (but no
glass)--a proper square table on four legs--three chairs
and a sandbag bed. So I am quite happy. The sandbag
bed is apparently made as follows: Cover a portion of
the floor, 6 feet 6 inches by 3 feet 6 inches, with a
single layer of sandbags filled with earth. Over these
place several layers of empty sandbags, and the bed is
finished. If the hollows and lumps are carefully placed,
the former in the middle and the latter at the head, the
result is quite a success. Of course one sleeps in one's
clothes covered by a coat and with an air pillow under
one's head.

"We have had a very gay time in the trenches. I think I
told you how I saw a hostile aeroplane brought down on
fire in our lines. That was on Sunday, and the official
report says both pilots killed. On Monday I went down to
a support trench to have meat tea and a chat with Holden
and Ventris (two of C Company officers). At a quarter to
ten there was a loud rumbling explosion and the dug-out
we were in rocked for several seconds. The Germans had
fired a mine about 60 feet in front of our trench to try
to blow in some of our workings.

"I rushed to my guns--both were quite safe. You should
have heard the noise. Every man in the place got up to
the parapet and blazed away for all he was worth. It was
exciting! One machine gun fired two belts (500 rounds),
and the other fifty rounds. I heard afterwards that
several of the enemy were seen to leap their parapets,
but turned back when they heard the machine guns open
fire. It took a good while for things to quieten down.
Some of our miners were at work when it went off, but
their gallery was some way off and they were quite all
right.

"Last night they actually exploded another one! Aren't
they keen? This was a much smaller affair, but closer to
our trench. It shook down a portion of our parapet, which
was easily rebuilt and entombed temporarily two of our
miners. In neither case were there any casualties....

"I am so sorry the date of the wedding had to be
altered, but I agree it was for the best. I only hope
you remembered to inform the bridegroom--he is often
forgotten on these occasions, and I have known a lot of
trouble caused by just this omission."

LETTER FROM RAYMOND TO MRS. FRED STRATTON, FORMERLY MISS
MARJORIE GUNN

"_1 August 1915, Sunday, 11.20 p.m._

"I am not actually in the trenches at the moment,
though most of the Battalion is. I was in for five
days, and then I was relieved about four days ago by
another officer (Roscoe), who shares with me the duties
of machine-gun officer. So I am in a dug-out about
three-quarters of a mile behind the firing line while he
is taking his turn in that line. (A mine has just gone
off and shaken the ground, followed by a burst of heavy
rifle firing. This makes the fourth mine this week! Two
went off while I was up there, and the whole earth rocked
for several seconds. The first three mines were theirs,
this last may be ours, I don't know; we had one ready!)

"We have been at Hill 60 and also up at Ypres. At present
we are south of that appalling place, but I learn with
regret that to-morrow we are moving again and are going
up north of Ypres. We are all depressed in consequence.

"What an awfully good letter you have written me; but, do
you know, it makes me ache all over when you write like
that about the car. You have only to mention you have got
a Rover, and I am as keen as mustard to come and tinker
with it! Aren't I young?

"But you must know I want to come to New Park in any
case. I am awfully keen to stay there and see it from
inside, and see its inmates again after many years (it
feels like). So after the war (may it be soon!) I am just
going to arrive. I may let you know!

"Your remarks on weddings in general depress me very
much! I hope the bridegroom's lot is better than the poor
bride's. Because my turn is bound to come!

"I am so glad Hester gave a good account of my
appearance. I _am_ very fit, it is the only way to exist
here. Once you begin to get 'down' and to worry, it
is all up with you. You go into a rapid decline, and
eventually arrive home a wreck! But as long as you smile
and don't care a hang about anything, well the war seems
to go on quite all right!

"I enjoyed my few days' leave very much indeed. I had
five days in England and three full days and four nights
at home. I dropped into my old life just as if no change
had occurred. And the time was not long enough to make
the getting back difficult.

"This life is a change for me, as you say. I haven't done
laughing at its humorous side yet. In some ways we get
treated like schoolboys. More so at Crosby than here,
however."

"_Saturday, 7 August 1915, 7.30 p.m._

"I have been having rather a bad time lately,--one of
those times that reminds one that it is war and not a
picnic,--but, thank goodness, it is all over now.

"I think I told you that we were about to move up north
of Ypres, to St. Julien or thereabouts. Well, just before
we handed over these trenches to one of Kitchener's
Battalions, the Germans went and knocked down a lot of
our parapet, and also sent over some appalling things
that we call 'sausages,' or 'aerial torpedoes,' though
they are not the latter. They are great shell-shaped
affairs, about 3 feet along and 9 inches in diameter, I
should think. They are visible during the whole of their
flight. They are thrown up about 100 yards into the air
and fall down as they go up, broadside on--not point
first. A few seconds after they fall there is the most
appalling explosion I have ever heard. From a distance of
100 yards the rush of air is so strong that it feels as
if the thing had gone off close at hand. Luckily there
is a slight explosion when they are sent up, and, as
I said, they are visible all the time in the air. The
result is our men have time to dodge them, provided they
are not mesmerised as one man was. He got stuck with his
mouth open, pointing at one! A Corporal gave him a push
which sent him 10 yards, and the 'sausage' landed not
far from where he had been. Although they have sent more
than twenty of these things over altogether, we have only
had one casualty, and that a scratch. Their effect is to
terrify every one and keep them on tenterhooks watching
for them. Their purpose is to destroy mine galleries, I
believe....

"Monday, August the 2nd, was the day we should have been
relieved, and that night I went up from headquarters
and relieved Roscoe, who had had a bad time in the fire
trenches....

"They were firing armour-piercing shells that go right in
and blow the parapet to blazes; dug-outs too, of course,
if they happen to be near. After punishing the right end
of the left-hand bit of trench, they traversed along,
laying waste the whole of our bit.

"I was in my dug-out with Hogg, another officer. I was
trying to make tea, but every shell blew out the Primus,
and covered us in dust. I made it, however, eventually,
and we had just drunk it when a shell blew the parados
of the trench down, not far from our door, and the next
wrecked the dug-out next door to mine (a man who happened
to be inside having a miraculous escape). We judged it
was time to clear (the machine guns had already been
withdrawn to safety), and got away as best we could
through and over the debris that had been a trench.

"Later in the day I made my way back, and recovered my
pack and most of my belongings. It was exciting work
getting back, because they were sending whizz-bangs
through the gaps in the parapet, and the communication
trenches in the rear were blocked in places, so that you
had to get up on top and 'scoot' across and drop in the
trench again.

"That evening they gave us a second shelling, and one hit
my dug-out fair and square (I had quarters in a support
trench). When I returned next day for the rest of my
things--my equipment and some provisions--I had to put
two men on to dig them out. It took three-quarters of
an hour to get at them, through the wreckage of timber,
corrugated iron, and earth....

"On Tuesday afternoon they sent off another mine,--about
the seventh since we have been in,--but they are all well
in front of our parapet. And on Wednesday they gave us
twelve sausages--the first I had seen.

"The trouble is, we have a number of mine shafts under
the ground between our trenches and theirs, and they are
fearfully 'windy' about them. They keep trying to stop
us mining them, and their shelling is with the object
of blowing down our sap-heads. Their mines, too, go up
short, because they are trying to blow in our galleries;
or else they are so scared they send them off before they
are ready. I think the last explanation is probably more
near the truth, because when one of their mines went up
recently a lot of Germans went up with it!...