A/101 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
Monday.
My darling Mother,—
I have not written for the last day or two; that is, my writing has not been continuous as it usually is, because in billets we do little, and have little we can do. All the guns are in the trenches, so we have nothing to amuse ourselves with; half the battery is in with my second in command. We have only had three killed in the battalion so far, two men and one officer, and about half a dozen slightly wounded, almost all on working parties, on which trench mortar batteries do not go. If you are with the battalions you come out for four days rest, but it is a very deceptive rest; you usually have to send large working parties up at night-time to work on the trenches. Our rest, fortunately, is really rest. The only things we have to do is to take rations up to the dump for the rest of the battery, draw our own rations, and get our mails from the Field Post Office. I have a fair amount to do. There is a sort of Will o' the Wisp person called the field cashier, from him a whole army corps draws the pay for its men, and he goes to various places. His best game is to hide himself in a wood miles away from anyone, and, then just before you succeed in reaching him, he flits away to the other end of France; it takes about a week to catch him, if you are lucky—I have been trying for six days now. Another way I manage to fill up my time: Suppose I want some rifle oil I send an indent in marked urgent. Then the indent goes to the Practical Joke Department of the Division, and the indent is returned to you, telling you to apply elsewhere. You apply elsewhere, and are told to apply to the cheese department. If you are persevering you get the right department at last, and your indent is returned to you again with either a demand for the authority for the issue of what you require—and by then you have forgotten what you wanted, and have "borrowed" someone else's—or telling you that what you want is not one trouser button, but button, trouser, one, and you let it go at that. So the rest of my time is spent indenting and receiving indents, and finally bearding some divisional authority in his den, and discern him trying to find some way out of supplying you with the article. I then smile in my most charming manner, and treat thematter firmly. It's like answering Margaret's questions, or getting her to go to sleep. The last "Tatler" you sent me has a large picture that will cover a lot of boards in my dug-out. I am becoming very careful now. When I first got in the trenches I used to get bored with a periscope, and put my head and shoulders up and have a good look round. The Bosches opposite us are rather sleepy. But now I am becoming quite careful; No Man's Land isn't very interesting, so a periscope is good enough. I take good care of myself nowadays since the little machine episode on the road. I expected when I first went up to the trenches to find them smelling of dead men, and to find No Man's Land a sort of quagmire covered with dead bodies, but in front of us it is a nice green field with no dead bodies on it; the only excitement is right on the right of our line, where there is one dead German in the middle. I believe a small charge is made for looking at him through the periscope there.
There's something I notice, and that is that there are certain magnificent gentlemen, you will have seen, who wear red round their hats—the Staff. In England you see the red about 60 miles off. Behind the lines here there is no mistake about seeing it. But in the trenches, the red is carefully covered over with a nice khaki band.
The Aunts sent me a topping parcel the other night, a pair of socks, worked by Auntie Lil, that I have on now, a cake, made by Auntie Agnes, I have in me now, and a book and some chocolate, the last has been censored and the other is being so. I wrote and thanked them. If you see them please thank them again and give them my love. Fancy I have been out here about nine weeks and I am still writing long letters about nothing at all, and I see no chance of my falling off in this respect, mother mine, because I know that you like to receive, even the most ridiculous letters I send. I received letters this week from David Smythe, who, after being rejected several times, has at last managed to get into the Black Watch in the ranks. From Eric Davies, who has now got a commission. From Jasper Holmes and Kenneth Rudd. I was very pleased to receive them. Roly, I hear, has been wounded. Pat I have not heard from for some time. I also had a letter from Miss Crocker from Paris. Ask May to write to Miss Smyth some time and give her my love, and ask her to write to me and send me her address. I am thinkingof you all to-night, Father in the dining room, Charlie not in yet; you and May having your supper before you go to bed, and Amy, probably in bed already, at Ripon. I hope Arthur is all right again, and Lovel is enjoying himself. Good-night, little mother; God bless you. I should like to walk in and surprise you all; perhaps in two or three months I may do so, and find you all out at a meeting or some other thing.
With much love to all,
From your loving Son,
ALEC.
March 7th (Tuesday).
A/101 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
My darling Mother,—
I have just received your letter and a parcel with a topping waistcoat; I don't think I could ever be cold with it on. Thank you very much indeed for it. I received the slacks, &c., in the trenches. I have got enough clothes now to keep me warm at the North-Pole. I would be very glad indeed of socks for my men—I have 23 men if you can send for all. I got the papers last week; they are not due yet this week. I have two Tommy's cookers. I have got rid of my camera; they are very strict about not having them out here, so I got rid of mine directly I came out, and, of course, had no opportunity to take any photos. We all got rid of them the first day out here. Please tell Ellen that I will never forgive her if she is not at home to welcome me back when I come. I don't know where the Pals are. Winnie ought to know exactly where I am. If not mention a few places S. of 5 if you can remember. We got into rest a few miles behind the firing line. We are also S. of 1 S of 2 and 3.
I am going into the trenches to-night for two or three nights and then for about a week's rest. I have just had a week's rest. I cannot tell you the exact number of days, as I should have to censor it myself if I did.
I must stop now.
Much love to all, From your loving Son,
ALEC.
A/101 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
My darling Mother,—
It is Sunday afternoon, 2-30, and I am just finishing dressing. We came out of the trenches yesterday; we were only in three or four days, as the brigade has to hold these trenches for longer than was first intended—my second in command is in now. I shall have about 11 days rest now. We arrived at our billet at about 11 o'clock last night tired and hungry, and found everyone in bed; however, one of the girls got up and made me an omelette, consisting of five eggs, and some coffee, and the men had beer and coffee. Then I read some letters from Father, Amy and Roly Wait, and then to bed. I have got an awfully comfortable bed. I will write later; this is only to let you know that I am safe and happy.
Much love to all. In haste,
From your loving Son,
ALEC
A/101 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
Sunday.
My darling Mother,—
My letter this morning was interrupted by a message from the War Office, brought per Second-Lieutenant Lake, of the gunners, that I had to go to get some tea at the officer's tea room at ——. Now for enlightenment. You have one son younger than myself, take the first two letters of his name. Then think of the opposite of a woman crying. If you cannot understand this take it to Uncle Ted, or some detective, and you will find out something you are very anxious to know. It is a good conundrum. Tell me if you get it. To resume. At about 10-0 this morning Fuller came in and started lighting fires, cleaning up the room, and cooking my breakfast. At 10-45 five officers came to see me—I was where? Two guesses allowed. Still in bed. 10-46 message from Brigade Headquarters asking for a return. I daresay you have seen a picture taken from the "Bystander" of a scene at Loos during the September offensive. Colonel Fitz Shrapnel in his dug-out with a telephone at Battalion Headquarters, his dug-out being blown to pieces, a shell bursting on the top of it. He received an urgent message from G.H.Q. "Hello, hello! Please let us know, as soon as possible, the number of tins of raspberry jam issued to you last Friday." Just like the staff. They will stand up in the middle of an attack to know when your return of trained farriers will be in. I am afraid I forgot most of my returns. I should get, if I were you, "Fragments from France," by Capt. Bruce Bairnsfather, price 1s.; it is very interesting and amusing and very true. To continue:—From 11-0 till about 12-30 I ate my breakfast and talked to these two, and then shaved, washed, &c., and other such details, dressed and lunched off some potatoes at 2-0, being all I wanted when Lake called for me. We had a pleasant tea in a farm about one mile from here (see riddle), and bought some books and things and so back home. I went out to dinner immediately with another battery in another brigade in our division, and we were just enjoying our coffee when we were disturbed by a divisional test alarm. I rushed back, but was thankful to find we were not included in the amusement. To-day the papers would describe as "Artillery active on the Western front." They have been putting a lotof shrapnel over into the front trenches, and did some damage with one shell to my battalion, who are in at present. They always seem to shell when I am out (touch wood). I am beginning to hope I am a safe mascot against shells. I will write about the last few days in the trenches to-morrow. We had one awful attack on my dug-out—by mice—I hated it. I can sleep through machine gun fire (I mean the noise of it) and shells as long as they are not too close, but mice, ugh! they wake me up at once and I hurl the nearest thing I have at the noise. Fuller came in the other morning to find my dug-out strewn with Very pistol cartridges; I found they were useful not only for sending up lights but also for frightening mice. The rats are more gentlemanly, so far, they keep themselves to themselves, they have their own dug-out and have left mine alone so far.
By the way, the "Tatler" and "Punch" have not arrived this week, or rather last week; I have only had one copy of each so far. It must be the fault of the bookseller who is sending them, as if posted they would come through all right. I have just had three days in, and I did not enjoy the first two, as I had a sort of chill, and only ate a plate of porridge each day, and, added to that, there was one of our battalions of our brigade in which I do not like. The last day I was all right, and the Scots were in, so I enjoyed myself. I usually attach myself to the nearest company mess, as I have told you, and mess with them, but with the battalion that I was in with for two of the three days I preferred to mess alone, and it is not nearly so nice. To-morrow we go into Divisional Reserve for about a week or a little more. I shall have a topping billet in the town just close to here; a nice mess-room with a piano, and a good bedroom. I am thinking of turning Presbyterian (not seriously) because the padré—Black—is such an absolutely tophole chap, I see a good deal of him. He is attached to the 16th Scots, of whom also I see a lot. Padre Black was offered R.J. Campbell's Church after Campbell, but refused it. His brother, Hugh Black, is rather famous I think. Anyway, the Padre's a topper. He is like a ray of sunshine in the trenches. He come striding along, head up, not stooping as all those who don't live in the trenches (and some of those who do) do, with a cheery word for everyone, and a memory for anyone he knows. A curious thing is that, as you may know, dotted all over the roads in France, are crosses andprie dieu, and I have seen scarcely one touched; you can see villages inruins and in the middle of it all a shrine untouched, not a flower, not a piece of tinsel, not a bit of gold paint damaged. You become sort of superstitious sometimes out here, and when there are shells I always try to get behind the nearest one, and I know I am safe. I have seen no Wesleyan Padres out here at all. We have in our brigade one Church of England, one Catholic, and a Presbyterian for the Scots.
To-day I had company, one Northumberland Fusilier and one 15th Scots, to lunch, three men to tea, and I have just had dinner with our quartermaster and our interpreter, a Frenchman—roast duck.Bon.
This is rather a mixture of a letter. The next time I am in the trenches I will describe it in detail if you like, but it is all just the same, sometimes you long to get out and over the parapet and have a go at the blighters and settle the matter, instead of potting at each other from behind mud heaps, especially when you see a man killed by a stray bullet; we have only had a few, thank goodness. Well, I must to bed.
Much love to all,
From your loving Son,
ALEC.
P.S.—We are now changed to 101/1 T.M.B. not A/101 any longer.
101/1 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
My darling Mother,—
As you see, the name of our battery is changed. We are in billets at present, in divisional rest, none of the Brigade is in the trenches. We do not do very much. This afternoon we fired about 30 rounds for practice. Rest is chiefly a social and bathing time. We had a good wash yesterday. Two visitors came to lunch to-day and two are coming to dinner. Will you look in the papers every day at the "Gazette" and tell me when I become a First Lieutenant; my name went in a month ago. I never see the papers. Again this week, I have not received "Punch" or the "Tatler." I am afraid this will be a short letter, as I have little news, and I don't want to write just for the sake of filling pages; when I have news it is easy to write, and to you is, I know, interesting reading. But, as you know, the happy and the righteous are generally uninteresting, and we are very contented at present. We fire most of the day for practice, and, as I say, entertain a lot of officers, and go out to meals. I know almost all the officers in three Battalions in the Brigade now. It's been beautiful and warm this last week. If things go on as they are doing at present I should not like the war to stop. It is very nice being out, and I really enjoy the trenches.
We went into —— (do you know where now?) the day before yesterday, and went to the Divisional Pierrot Troupe, a sort of Follies. They are quite good, and have a sort of theatre, in a disused college—College des beaux Arts. It is always crowded with officers and men.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
101/1 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
Sunday.
My darling Mother,—
I am afraid that I have rather fallen off in the writing line lately, but we have been leading a very pleasant but humdrum life, and the evenings have been rather busy; at present, five rowdy young subalterns profane the air with discordant music and facetious witticisms, so it is difficult to write ("Mack, you will never write a letter," "Do lend me a hundred sandbags," "Orders from Brigade," &c.).
We are at present in a very pleasant billet just a few miles south of where we were before; we ought to be in the trenches, but as there are no dug-outs for us yet we are building them before we go in, or rather we are talking of making them at present. For eight days or so we were in divisional rest, during which time we fired for practice most days, entertained people to meals, and went in to the town near to see the divisional pierrot show. Two or three days ago we suddenly had orders to move to the section on our right, so Greig, Uncle Fred's friend, told me to ride his second horse, and to come and look round with him at the billets, &c. We had a very pleasant ride. The next day we came along, bringing our things on handcarts, and one big horse waggon; we came to take over this billet—it is a huge, big farm, square with a long courtyard, and a long tower at the gateway. The men sleep in huts round and in barns; we have a large mess-room, with a sort of camp beds on which we sleep. We have a huge fire, which we keep going, and we have piles of crockery and tableclothes, &c., which we have "borrowed." The first night there was an officer of the Company we relieved who had apparently a little too much to drink, and, unfortunately, got thrown from his horse three times and was found unconscious in a ditch, and has quite wrongly been charged with being drunk, and is going to be court martialled. I am a witness for the defence; we have with us at present two officers of his company who have to stay behind for the court martial. The first day we were in we slept in huts, but it was so terribly cold that the night after we shifted our beds into the mess-room. The first day, Carroll and I went a tour of the trenches; they are topping trenches, we sought andfound many things to devour and destroy. Finally, we came to a road, where we asked the way, and were directed to go up it. We went up it until we came to a low barricade, and looking over it, to find our trenches just below and the Bosche trenches about 200 yards peeping at us. Crack, crack; we returned to try again, only to find ourselves up in the firing line. Finally, we succeeded in getting home all right rather tired. We had a pleasant dinner, and got a large wood fire made with ammunition boxes. The next day being Sunday we had breakfast at 10-0 in pyjamas and fur coats, and went a walk in the afternoon.
To-day we went up to the trenches and worked hard (?) all day emplacing guns, and making dug-outs, &c. I lunched and tea'd with the Scots, and returned in the pouring rain.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
101/1 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
Sunday, April 2nd.
My darling Mother,—
I am afraid that in the last week or two I have not been writing so well, but as you know when you become used to a life, and nothing exciting is happening, there is little news, and there is not much that strikes me as interesting to tell. When you begin to accept things in the ordinary course of things, it is difficult to feel that trivial occurrences of every day will be of interest to others. One consolation you can have is that the more uninteresting and the fewer my letters are the more harmless my life. If there was anything doing I should become as verbose again as ever. However, I will try to give you what news I have.
In the first place the weather is beautifully hot. I got up this morning, much to my disgust, to see the Brigade Major at 9-30, and since then I have been sitting in the large yard in the sun reading "A Knight on Wheels," by Ian Hay, with only two interruptions—to inspect my men, and to pull our ambulance, which had broken down, back to the billet. It is glorious weather; you can hear the birds and the faint hum of an aeroplane, with occasionally the noise of anti-aircraft shells bursting round one, just a faint crump and tiny little fleecy white clouds clustering round a black speck in the sky. It is a perfect almost summer day. There is one point about shell fire that may interest you. A battery of guns fires on a target, say a farm house. The guns are a long way back, and, of course, cannot see their target. An officer or some observer will be well forward up a big tree, in a church steeple, or a ruined farm house, or, perhaps, in an aeroplane, and will direct the battery. Consequently, once a battery gets on to a point, that point alone is the dangerous one; you can stand on a road, about 200 yards away and watch the whole show quite safely. The other afternoon we were coming down the road and the Bosche was shelling a point about 200 yards beyond. His shells came over the road and always sounded to be going to drop on the road. Of course, they never did. A shell is awfully deceptive; you see a large black cloud of smoke arise from the ground and bits fly, while you still hear the shell in the air, so often you try to get out of the way of a shell thathas already burst somewhere else, until you know what happens. It is rather funny to see the explosion of a shell, while you apparently hear the shell just going over your head. Our mess at present, commonly known as the Anarchists, consists of those who take and those who give life—three Trench Mortar Batteries and one Field Ambulance. We have a very pleasant mess. Although the Brigade is in the trenches at present we are not sleeping in the front line. There are no dug-outs for us, and we have a lot of work to do, so we go up every day and make emplacements and sleep in comfort at our billet; we have a pleasant life, because we get pleasant sleep in pyjamas, and plenty of exercise to keep us fit. We have just had lunch, and are lying out in the field in the sun—it is rather pleasant. There are only about two things we want, and they are a gramophone, which Winnie is getting for us, and a tennis court, which does not seem probable at present. We are very impatient for the gramophone to arrive. Kitton is with me at present; he is a topping chap, and is in command of the other battery in the Brigade.
Last night I had to take some ammunition (200 rounds) up to the trenches, also two dug-out frames and 2,000 sandbags; we get through in the battery about 500 sandbags a day. They are brought up to the dump, and from there we push them up tramway lines on trucks, across the open up to the firing line, and then along it in the open behind to the place where they are wanted. Stray bullets and machine guns make it rather exciting; we had one man wounded—the bullet went right through his calf just about half an inch under the skin, a tiny little wound, but he will only be a few days. I hope Amy is quite better again.
I was made a First Lieutenant on March 1st. It is possible that I may be made a Captain sometime in the future. There is talk of making all Battery Commanders Captains. I am afraid that soon we will be moving further south; we are very comfortable here, and I am enjoying myself greatly. I am not feeling up to writing much; I am going to read or sleep.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
101/1 Trench Mortar Battery,
101st Brigade, B.E.F.
Wednesday.
My darling Mother,—
I did not quite know what was the meaning of the telegram the other day. It was dated April 1st, which made me rather suspicious, and it did not arrive here till April 4th. I wired immediately, but it is difficult to do so; I wrote last Sunday and once the week before; I hope you have received them all right. You can be quite happy about me now, as after this afternoon I shall be quite safe for some time. This afternoon I had my first real taste of heavy shell fire, and I was glad to find that I did not object to it half as much as I thought I should. We were doing a pre-arranged strafe into a German salient—two trench mortar batteries and all our artillery on to their first and second lines, &c. We put over about 4,000 lbs. of shells from the two mortar batteries in ten minutes and absolutely crumpled about 150 yards of their trenches. There is no trench there now—just a mass of earth, great girders, pointing jauntily skywards, timbers drooping over where the parapet was, and the front of the trench, where any remains, leaning in a tired fashion against the back of it. Of course, directly we started the Germans got going with all their artillery at us. "Jack Johnsons," so-called howitzers—I have never heard such a noise. I was observing in our salient; they had cleared all the infantry out except the machine guns. I had my eyes glued to a periscope, and never noticed most of the stuff coming over till I had to go along a deserted trench to give orders to my guns, and they put over in one place four shells from big howitzers into the stream within 10 yards of me. I enjoyed it; it was topping to see the Bosche parapet crumpling away, lighted every half second or so with a weird flash, covered with smoke, and the earth rocking with the concussion. They must have lost a lot of men; we lost only about three killed and a dozen or so wounded, none in my battery I am glad to say. In about half an hour all was quiet again, and I was observing the damage through a topping periscope, which magnifies ten times, when I saw four German officers crawling among the debris and distinctly saw them from the waist upwards. I had no rifle worse luck, and when I found a sniper they had gone. Fancymissing four German officers. They had grey uniforms and grey caps on and Sam Browne belts. That is what we have been working for, for the last week making emplacements to guard against their shells. At present we are rather being messed about; we are supposed to be going back for about a month's rest, which no one wants—a rest means twice as much work as you do in the trenches, and no excitement. After that we shall probably go to somewhere unpleasant. We are being relieved here by men who were in the same place as Lovel.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
(After this date the names of places are inserted from a diary which was sent home later.)
April 14th.
My darling Mother,—
I am afraid I have not written to you for several days, but I have not been able to do so as we have been marching every day. We were relieved in the trenches by the Australians from Anzac. They are a very casual lot and did all manner of absurd things in daytime, thinking it so much safer than Gallipoli, but I hope they have learnt wisdom now. The first day we moved only about five miles independently to a new billet; we had two rooms with a big bed in each, and we slept two on each bed. That was Monday.
On Tuesday we moved again, about 15 miles, to Havesoskirk. It was raining all day, but we managed to put our packs into our waggon, and so marched the whole five days in Sam Brownes only. That night we had a farm house, with the usual arrangements, and went a few miles into St. Vement for dinner, where we went over the school of mortars and saw several interesting guns, especially the 9.4. Major Dodgson was very interesting and pleasant to us. We had dinner at an estaminet—quite a good dinner, but a mad female served us. On Wednesday we again wended our way farther on our flat feet marching again; also rain again and a very cold wind. When we march it looks rather funny, as we have a long train of handcarts, which are our transport, packed with all sorts of things, including a lot of wood, chiefly composed of ammunition boxes. We had an hour's halt for lunch and tried to get some lunch, but were pushed out of one estaminet by a fat madam who was bustling round, and evidently did not trust us near her very unattractive daughter. Then we went to get some lunch at an hotel piloted by a major, but discovered we only had sovereigns and halfpennies, and so bought chocolate instead. That night we had a topping billet—a house in a lane at Roquetoire standing by itself, which belonged to a French doctor; we had a dining room, the use of the drawing room, and three topping bedrooms with big double beds in each. Kitty and I shared one, Carol and Brand another, and Seddon and Douse, the Brigade Signalling Officer, another. We had a topping time, but, unfortunately, had to wait till 9-30 for dinner, as our servants seem to have fallen on evil days. After dinner we made our confessions in a book ofMadame's, such questions as "Who is the greatest author of the day," "Describe the girl of the period," &c. Afterwards we went in with Madam, a topping old dame, who spoke English very well, and Madamoiselle, who was rather charming but "triste" because so many of her friends had been killed, so "triste" that she never plays the piano now. We had to justify and explain our opinions and confessions, and so to bed, only to get up at 7-0 the next morning so as to get everything packed up to move off at 9-20 a.m. This day (Thursday) fortunately it was not raining, and the Trench Mortar Batteries and Brigade Headquarters moved off independently of the Battalion; we went only about ten miles and arrived at Blendeque for lunch, where we were billeted with the brewer, a most topping and hospitable old man, who offered us drinks before lunch, and attended to us in a most courtly manner. After lunch Kitty and I borrowed two signallers' bikes and biked into St. Omer to get pay—it is rather nice country round here, not flat like it is further forward, but rolling downs and quite a lot of wood, and lanes, rather like Salisbury Plain. You will be relieved to know that the Bosches could not shell us here if he tried, and we are here in army rest for a week or two. In St. Omer we went for money for ourselves and men, and then went to the canteen to get cigarettes, &c.; after that we went to a tea shop to tea. While we were there a lot of the 16th Scots came in, and we had a jolly tea altogether. We then biked back again. I paid my men, and then we had a jolly good dinner. After dinner we went in to enjoy ourselves with our host; he offered us all sorts of drinks, cigarettes, cigars, &c., in a very hospitable manner, and his daughter played the piano and we all sang all sorts of English songs. Madamoiselle sang "Where my caravan has rested," "Chocolate soldier," &c., with a perfect English accent. Then she and Monsieur sang from various operas in French; they both have very good voices, and have been well trained. When we went to bed I said to Madamoiselle "Bon soir," &c., of course, in a hopelessly English accent, and she replied with "Good-night" in perfect English. In bed, unfortunately, Kitty insisted on having all the bed and most of the bedclothes, and in the morning accused me of taking it all. When two people sleep together they always both sleep on the edge, and a mysterious third person seems to come and sleep in the middle and to take all the clothes.
At 8-0 this morning we moved off again and arrived here at Eperlecques at about 12-30, this being our final destination. We are in a big farm, with a nice big mess-room and a nice little bedroom with a big bed for Kitty and myself. To-night we had to go to Divisional Headquarters in the rain, and returned home for a late dinner, and are now sitting in pyjamas and coats with a big wood fire. Two of my men, two corporals, are getting Divisional cards of merit for their work and pluck in the strafe the other day. Well, good-night, little Mother.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
P.S.—Have received a week or two ago the three parcels you mentioned, but absolutely no papers. Would you please send me another pair of pyjamas and lots of handkerchiefs, no more tea or milk, but lots of those Foster Clark's 2d. packets of soup, and cake any time. P.P.S.—I am writing in duplicate to make a diary, and names are censored by me in letters home, but you can see them later. P.P.P.S.—Life is very pleasant.
April 15th.
My darling Mother,—
We got up late this morning for breakfast in pyjamas at 9-0 a.m. and dressed by degrees. This afternoon we had a parade for drill and after we went a walk; the country round is very pretty, like England. Our farm is a nice big white one with a nice orchard; the country is wooded with rather nice little streams. We wandered into the grounds of a chateau, where the A.S.C. were playing soccer against the R.A.M.C., and so through a wood with primroses in it home again.
I am afraid that I have been unable to continue this letter for several days, as we have been busy early and late.
On April 16th we packed up all our worldly goods and removed ourselves to Divisional Headquarters at Tilques for a course in Stokes guns. All the Batteries of the Division, nine in all, were assembled together—three medium and six light batteries. The personelle as follows:—Kitty you know. Brand, his second in command, from the 15th Scots., quite a decent chap, known as the Band Box for obvious reasons. Lloyd Barrow, Captain R.F.A., in charge of one of the medium batteries, a strange fellow, was at Jesus, slightly fierce appearance and manners, an authority on most things, but all right if not taken seriously. Burlingham, in command of another medium battery, just a baby grown up. Badderley, a monomaniac on mortars, who saves 3d. out of every 2d. he receives. Wylie, 9th H.L.I., a Scotchman, and a topping chap. Others: Sutcliffe, Laury, Lake, a decent kid, Bowquet and two others, quite a jovial crowd in all. We all live in a large brewery, all the batteries in barns, &c., and the officers in the house—big, deserted bedrooms, with camp beds or bedsteads, and thousands of doors, secret and otherwise.
We breakfast at 8 and start work at 8-30, and with intervals on to 4 or 5. Kitty has been teaching my battery the Stokes gun, firing dummy shells, &c. Our Adjutant is an A.S.C. man, and James, the Divisional Trench Mortar Officer, is in command. Parcel, with topping cake, received; many thanks! All the parcels you mention in your last letter have been received all right.
We are having appallingly rainy days. Most evenings the men play inter-battery soccer matches.
The officers are going to play the men, but it is wet to-night. I am afraid that there is little of interest in this letter.
Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.
April 23rd.
My darling Mother,—
We are all still together, with not much to do and plenty of time on parade to do it in. I will give you one of my men's description of their billet: "I am situated at present in country not unlike Welphine. Our billet is pretty decent, on the first floor of a large building, which bears a slight resemblance outwardly to a Workhouse. What an existence! Look up 'Dante's Inferno,' and you will get some idea of every soldier's environment." I am afraid that our mess is none too quiet at times itself, though at present they are all quietly playing cards and reading. To-day being Sunday Kitty and I had a holiday and had breakfast in bed at 9-30.
I am just recovering from rather a bad cold; we all have come in for one, and it seems to make most of us rather argumentative on all subjects relating to trench mortars, various regiments, &c., being a motley collection of regulars, New Army and Special Reserve, and Territorial officers drawn from all sorts of regiments and representing every branch of the army except the R.E. We have R.F.A., E.G.A., R.H.A., A.S.C. and Infantry. Rather a cosmopolitan crowd, and we, most of us, all hold different views on every possible subject that turns up, but we manage to agree on the whole.
Last night Brand and I took our beds outside. It is topping weather at present—very hot, but I like hot weather. Our mess-room leads out into a sort of terrace with a wild garden all round. It must have been very pretty before the war, even in its deserted state it is very nice; forget-me-nots and bits of lake and stream everywhere. I feel as fit as a fiddle and am as brown as a berry.
And guess what time I was up this morning—6-0 a.m., and it will be 5-0 a.m. to-morrow for a field day. When you are in rest you do just twice as much work as in the trenches. But the only think I dislike is moving.
I am waiting very impatiently for our gramophone to arrive, it is so topping out in the open at night. I am afraid that I have been a long time writing this letter, but, as you know, we are still in rest, and I have little news. In addition, we have been kept very busy. To-day (Sunday) we paraded at 4-15 a.m. (just think of me on parade at 4-15!) and I wasn't late; we had a field day, lugging heavy guns about in the heat,and firing dummy rounds. Nevertheless, I quite enjoyed it. To-night Lake and I went for a bathe in the river. As I think I have told you the country is very like Cambridge, or rather more like Norfolk Broads, streams everywhere, wide rivers and small streams intersecting all the fields, so that, unfortunately, wherever you take a short cut you have to jump all sorts of ditches, and already three of us, including myself, have bathed in our clothes. Leading off the rivers are smaller rivers, and everywhere by the riverside are small white farms, each owning two or three flat-bottomed boats like large canoes, shaped like gondolas, and they go everywhere in them, and take their horses too.
I hope to come home for leave on the 1st of June, but leave may be cancelled before then. We have an allotment of leave for the Battery, but I cannot take the first leave myself. Thank you very much for the pleasant parcel, with pyjamas and papers, received the other day. Well, good-night, little mother, you can always know that the fewer letters I write the more harmless time I am having, because I have less to tell.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.