May 7th.
My darling Mother,—
The dates put at the top of each letter are the dates on which the letter is commenced, and, as each letter is written bit by bit, it is usually several days before it is sent off; as a rule I forget to put the date at the end on which the letter is despatched. Father said that one of my letters was heavily censored lately, but the censor was myself. I think I explained that I write my letters in a book now, and fill everything in the form of a diary and send the duplicate on to you censored by myself.
I received the parcel of socks all right, and thanked you for them in a letter written in March. Socks are always welcome to the men. I keep about 15 pairs for myself, and the men like as many as they can get. At last we have got away from the Bomb School. We moved back to our Brigade a few days ago (May 3rd) to the billet we were in before at Eperlecques, only to move off again the next day in the afternoon.
Kitty and I went into St. Omer for tea and to get our hair cut, to get mess things, fruit, &c. We started to walk about seven or eight miles on a scorchingly hot day, but fortunately managed to go almost all the way in two ambulances we commandeered.
We had a very pleasant time, and then went to the canteen and bought stuff, which our servants took away in a handcart. Then we went and had our hair cut, and I bought a new auto-strop safety razor as a birthday present to myself. After we had done everything we wanted we went down to the station to meet our batteries, who had marched in with Brigade Headquarters, and for three hours we messed about, shoving great lorries on to trucks by hand, and then while we had dinner (an omelette) in quite an English buffet, our men brewed tea in a large loading shed. And, finally, at 11-15 our men bundled into the usual trucks, labelled Hommes 32-40 Chevaux (en long) 8 (1 horse—4 men), while Kitty and I had a French second class carriage, in which we slept fitfully, and ate chocolate biscuits and oranges intermittently throughout the night.
The next morning we arrived at a station near Amiens and proceeded to unload g.s. waggons, &c., again. When that was finished we marched a mile down the road and halted for breakfast. We had ours in an estaminet—coffee, omelette, &c. After breakfast I went to the river and had a topping bathe; no weeds or anything to trouble you, only two garrulous old French soldiers, who stood on the bank and watched and gave me encouragement. At about 11-0 we set off. A blazing hot, dusty day, pushing handcarts about 12 miles, without any lunch, and arrived at St. Gratien at about 5-0. Arrived there we found Wren, the Brigade Signal Officer, absolutely at sea as to where our billets were, so we foraged round for ourselves. After being kicked out once or twice we finally settled our men and bagged a Battalion Headquarters for ourselves. The Brigade lent us blankets as our valises had been left behind with guns, ammunition, &c., for the Division to bring along.
We moved off again the next afternoon about three miles to Rehencourt, and there found a terrible muddle. A.S.C., two brigades R.F.A., our Brigade Headquarters, all trying to billet in one small village. We found a large billet marked up for our two batteries, and the machine gun company, and, while we were trying to fit in, an A.S.C. Colonel, who was town major, came bustling round looking into every barn and calculating how many they would hold. He would go into each little hencoop and chalk up about 100 men on the door, and, finally finished up by looking round for a loft for 14 officers to sleep in, in which he proposed to jumble up ten machine gun officers and four of ourselves. When he had gone we put our men in (not according to his scale). We bagged the house for ourselves and the machine gun officers went out and discovered billets for themselves.
We have a priceless little mess-room papered in yellow and white, old oak-carved chairs, oak table, shaded lamp, &c., and a bedroom with one bed in it.
Madame was in tears at having so many soldiers all over the place, but we soon pacified her, and did all she wanted, and now she cannot do enough for us, especially as I send Fuller, my servant, who is a gardener, to work in her gardenevery day. I will give you a rough plan of the house, as it is typical of the farms we are in:
Typical Farm
We get a lot of food from Madame—Fowls, eggs, milk, lettuce, asparagus, &c. We have very good meals. We seem to have the best billet in the place. Brigade Headquarters, of course, spotted the best billet, a chateau, and went there; unfortunately it is owned by a mad French Countess, who ran about locking all the doors in front of them. They could not get into the house at all at first and had to eat and do everything in the garden. Finally, they got assistance from a French General and got bedrooms, but they have their meals in the passage, and their office in a stable. Madame came at 8-0 the first night and ordered the general and all of them to bed. But they were not obedient.
Greig came in the other night and was very jealous of our billets, seeing he had missed his chance and had judged by externals and had caught a whited sepulchre.
The second night an A.S.C. friend came to dinner and the menu was:—
Soup. Salmon croquettes. Asparagus. Stuffed chicken and sausages. Fruit, custard and cream. Sardines on toast. Coffee.
Soup. Salmon croquettes. Asparagus. Stuffed chicken and sausages. Fruit, custard and cream. Sardines on toast. Coffee.
Not bad for active service. One of us sleeps in the bedroom, Brand, Kitty, Carroll and I sleep on folding beds and big mattresses in the mess-room. All borrowed from Madame when we had charmed her tears away.
Yesterday I had a very good birthday. Please thank everyone very much for the parcels, especially yourself. They were topping and very welcome. Who was it sent all the chocolates? I could not quite make out.
I was very pleased; my servant gave me a box of Abdulla cigarettes, and the Battery, or rather the Sergeant for the Battery, presented me with another box.
In the afternoon, Brocklebank, my A.S.C. Captain, took me down to Albert in his car. It is rather knocked about, and the church has a huge figure of the Virgin Mary hanging down at right angles to the church tower; it looks very curious, why it has not fallen I do not know.
Then, after finding the people we wanted, we went up on to a hill with glasses to look at the trenches. Before, as you know, the trenches we were in were breastworks, moulds of earth in perfectly flat country, and we rarely saw the Bosche trenches except through a periscope. But here, from the top of the hill, we saw on a hill a mile or two away long lines on the hillside, where the chalk had been thrown up in building the trenches, and opposite them other white and brown lines, where the German trenches were, white lines in all directions—a sort of maze upon the hillside our trenches and their's—and behind that hill other hills in the distance, much like Salisbury Plain and Aldershot. There is a very noticeable difference in the country here in districts occupied by the English. Civilians here are in their farms right up to the firing line. In fact, in one instance, an old woman was known to live for ten days in her cottage, once a lonely country spot in the open fields, but now with a boundary on each side, one where the Germans held their front line and one where our front line existed. Ten days in No Man's Land! But here all things are different. One rarely sees a French civilian; even here, some twenty miles back, one sees very few, and in Albert one sees none. The trenches are also better.Miles and miles of wire and lines of trenches extend behind Albert, whereas North there is rarely more than one real line of trenches. The French are much more business-like and more thorough.
In the evening we returned to dinner, and again we had a very pleasant one in celebration of my birthday. After dinner we played cut-throat auction, and so to bed.
To-day Carroll has gone on leave. If I am lucky I may come home in a week or two. If so, I wonder if it would be possible for us to go up to Lowood or somewhere of the sort for a week, as I am longing for some decent country—tennis, &c.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
May 10th.
May 11th.
My darling Mother,—
To-day we transported all our worldly belongings in handcarts from our former billets to a village about six miles nearer the firing line. The village is called Bresle. It is quite a nice little village in a hollow, only it is crowded with troops—three Battalions and various other units all billeted in it. Consequently, though the men still have room for their usual billets in barns, &c., some have very little spare room, whilst most of the officers are billeted in tents, hiding from aeroplanes, under trees. When we arrived we had to get parties to move our tents into a field under a hedge and some trees. We have three tents—one we use as a mess—and the men looted wood and doors and made a splendidly fine table round the tent pole, also a form to sit on. Another tent we all three—Kitty, Brand and myself—sleep in, and a third we have handed over to the servants. I myself have a folding bed that Captain Brockbank, of the Divisional Supply Column, had made for me, and I hope to be fairly comfortable. Our little camp is in the corner of a cultivated field, behind the farms on the hills rising from the village. When we had finished putting up our tents, we lay down for a late lunch of bully-beef sandwiches and cake and watched Mademoiselle and the family digging the field. Then at the other's instigation I offered Mademoiselle a piece of the cake you sent me as my "gateau de marriage," telling her I had been married vingt-cinq anees. It is always well to conciliate the native. To-night I went to tea with the Battalion, several spare officers have arrived out from our depot Battalion. They all have tents in a sort of orchard.
To-night we dined off boiled eggs, tea, and soup, in that order, in our mess-tent, and we are now going to bed.
On Sunday I went away in a waggon to Railhead to Mericourt to catch a train at 7-30 to go on another course at G.H.Q.—Hezdin, near Etaples. On the train I met Bowkett, from the Tyneside Scottish, and we travelled together. While we were waiting at Amiens to catch a connection we met another man, who was going on the same course, and whom we avoided, as he seemed a terrible person. We arrived at Hezdin about 6-30, reported at G.H.Q., and then walked up to a chateau, where we were billeted. There we saw the Adjutant, who gave us a room together with two decent beds. Thechateau is a topping big place in pretty grounds and has most of the furniture left in it. We had a large mess-room, with doors opening into the terrace, and an ante-room. The next day, as our time was slow, we missed our breakfast and only just came down in time for parade at 9-0. In the evening we went down to Hezdin to the hotel to dinner, about four of us. The next day we had breakfast in bed, and were in time for the lecture at 9-0. In the morning, gun drill and firing. The other people in the course were very interesting people, and an awfully nice lot. There was an Australian whom, of course, we all called Anzac—a small strongly-built man, with a military moustache, named Hart. He had a very amusing manner of taking off old Army Colonels and 'varsity men, from what he called Okker and Camer, and whom he described as always going about with a towel round their necks, a blazer and pumps. He would always talk to order. To set him off we had the man we saw on Amiens station, and whom we all call George, for no known reason, and whose real name was Arthur. Like Anzac, he had been all over the world, and was very quiet and melancholy. He used to talk in a pathetic high voice, and teach us Chinese, and tell us how he was arrested as a spy in Armentières, and of his experiences. The other chevalier, you knew at sight, came from Oxford. Bouchier, of the Royal Scots, a small, dark Englishman, who was born in Tipperary, and was known to our society as Arthur Bouchier, the passionate Scot from Tipperary. Sutherland, Black Watch, a decadent specimen from the Coldstreamers; Pinto Pike, and a Canadian Captain called Clarke. The others were Lloyd (Cheshire), Robinson (King's Liverpool), Laying (Gloucesters), Granville (Royal Fusiliers), who was in the same Battalion as Wynn, who was chaplain of Jesus, and Cuthbertson, the girl of the footlights; Steed, a pianist, Propert, and others. Our instructor, Higgins, was a topping chap, with the Military Cross. We had an awfully jolly time on the course.
On Friday we again went into Hezdin for dinner, several of us.
On Saturday morning we saw most of them off, and Bowkett, George Bouchier and I remained. In the afternoon Bouchier and I went and had a hot bath at an old nunnery by the river. Dinner at the hotel, where we spent a comfortable night.
On Sunday morning we set off at 6-0 to catch the 6-24 train, and we arrived at Amiens about lunch-time. On the station I met half a dozen officers from the 8th Suffolks, and talked to them about various mutual acquaintances and of what the Battalion was doing. Then in the town Bowkett and I met a man named Grey, who had come out from our Reserve Battalion to the 8th Suffolks, and we went and had lunch in the Hotel du Rhine with him and several other officers, two of whom I had met at Cambridge. A topping dinner, including ices and strawberries.
When we returned to the station we discovered that the train we were supposed to go on was a crowded leave train, full of people returning from leave, so we waited till the next. Arriving at Mericourt I had to walk to Bresle, but got the assistance of one motor waggon and a mess cart, and arrived at Bresle only to find that the Battery was moving in an hour to Albert, and was going in the trenches that night. I went to have tea, and meanwhile the Batteries went on. Then, very luckily, I found a friend and a car that whisked me past the Batteries trudging with handcarts on into Albert. Arrived in Albert I went on to see Rigby, whom we were taking over from, in a small billet, but found that we were getting a big billet in the hospital—a huge, great place, with large rooms built in 1904, and toppingly fitted up, but now practically empty. All our men sleep in two big double rooms, and Kitty and I in one room, the others in a room 100 feet by 25 feet. Our mess-room is a large, clean, dry, tiled room, with one huge window; we furnished it with tables and chairs, chiefly taken from the old billet, which we are not using. Fuller keeps the room smart with wild flowers.
At 11-0 p.m. o'clock I went up to the trenches with Carroll and half the Battery, who were going in for the night—the men in one big dug-out and Carroll in one with two machine gunners. I returned home and got to bed about 3-0 a.m.
The next morning I was wakened before seven by the guns waking up for their early morning hate just under my window. There are Batteries dotted about all over the place here—18 pounders, howitzers of all sizes, and naval guns. You almost trip over them wherever you go. There are two 6in. howitzers hiding in our back garden. I went up to the trenches to look round the next morning (Monday).
The trenches here are very different from what we have been used to—long narrow trenches, not breastworks, dug down in the chalk, a veritable labrynth of trenches, going in all directions, up hill and down dale. They are very deep, and very few rifle shots are fired. Sniping is done with field guns and trench mortars. The line is very curious, moving forward and backward. In one place in our line a village runs out and there is a German salient. In front of the salient lots of mines have been exploded and no trenches remain, merely holes that bombers hide in, where the trench bulging again we share our parapet with the Bosche. I don't go there often, as you have to crawl, and you usually crawl into the wrong trench and find yourselves wandering in the Bosche lines. The Germans send over a lot of oil cans filled with old razor blades and rubbish, which do a good deal of damage, and are rather unpleasant. However, we are educating them not to send them over too often, as we send over two to their one with our mortars, and in time we shall get them under our thumbs I hope. We always have one man by each gun firing almost continuously. We have dug-outs well back with wire beds in them, also rats! Here we have big underground dug-outs 20 feet underground, some of them down long stairways. The country is very hilly and wooded in parts; our part of the line has two hills and one valley, it is rather like Salisbury Plain, or a flat edition of Derbyshire.
Carroll has been in, and I have gone up in the daytime.
I am going to relieve him this afternoon; I shall only be in a few days. I hope to come home on leave about June 4th.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
P.S.—I have not got your letter, but I have received all the letters and things sent, I think.
My darling Mother,—
I am writing this in my dug-out. It seems very comfortable at present. We have one large dug-out in which Carroll slept with two machine gunners. I was going to sleep there too, and as I have a new officer, Ingle, with me he was going to sleep there. But by the greatest stroke of good fortune I spotted this one just near. It is the best dug-out I have ever had. The other dug-out is swarming with mice and rats, who scratch earth into you all the time, and come and expire on you at night. One fell down and died on the table while we were having tea. But in this I have only seen one mouse so far, and it has got about ten feet of solid earth over it. I sleep on a comfortable folding bed, in my clothes, of course. It is well back six or seven hundred yards from the firing line. The firing line is more unhealthy than other trenches we have been in. They will keep sending the oil cans I told you of over into the front line. If you manage to get away from them round a traverse they come rolling round the corner after you; I don't love them at all. I have got "Printer's Pie," and I am just going to put up some pictures and am then going to bed. I relieved Carroll, and have been messing around since. I went down to the firing line for an hour or two to go to each emplacement and see how the men who were firing the guns were getting on, and then came back and observed their fire just outside my dug-out; there is our observation post from which you can see our own lines and the Bosche lines for miles. I have just been down to one of our ammunition dug-outs, seeing 100 rounds put in that a fatigue party had brought up. Friday 10 to 12. Good-night, Mother mine.
Had a comfortable night, but, as it was rather cold, I have had my sleeping bag brought up for to-night, so I shall be all right. Fuller was late this morning, so I had to wait impatiently for my boots and puttees to be cleaned before I could get up, consequently we did not have breakfast till nearly 10-0 o'clock. After breakfast Ingle and I went round all our emplacements. We had quite an interesting time, as in one place where the trench is not occupied, and up which we have to go to one emplacement, one of our field gun batteries put four shots into the trench about 10 yards behind Ingle and knocked him over, then a rifle grenade landed nearly at my feet and kindly failed to go off. We returned in time for alate scrappy lunch at 2-30. When I was intending to have a nap and a read when one of the Northumberland Fusiliers officers, Bowkett, turned up with Kitty to see the line, as he is probably taking it over from us in a few days, and I had to wander right around all the emplacements again. After tea I went down to see how our guns were getting on and found the infantry were very pleased with them, as one gun had managed to destroy a Hun machine gun emplacement, and the others must have done considerable damage, as they so much raised the Hun's ire that he shelled them all unsuccessfully.
We had a pleasant dinner, and the rest of the evening I have spent worrying over returns, new emplacements, trench maps, &c., and so to a well-earned rest.
I am beginning to find my way about a bit now, but there is a veritable maze of nice white chalk trenches. We are in a sort of valley, and in the middle of the valley is a slight rise on which the village of La Boiselle once existed, and which now forms the German salient.
Sunday, 28th, 1-0 a.m. Wakened up by Parker, of the Lincolns to tell me that gas cylinders have been seen being taken in La Boiselle, and that, as the wind is in the right direction, there may be a gas attack. I hope not; however put on boots and puttees. I warned the men, putting one sentry on duty, as also the servants. I have a beastly headache, and I am very tired; I wish people wouldn't see such things. They are very quiet, too, to-night, which looks suspicious.
May 29th. Awakened very tired about 8-0 o'clock, dressed by putting on my boots, sponge bath, shaved while I had my breakfast in my dug-out. Then I went with my sergeant to see about new emplacements. Started on a new one with a corporal and four men working, also myself. In the afternoon I received a scheme for construction of six new emplacements, and I had to go to try and find positions. I managed more or less to do so, and returned in time to start working out ranges, compass bearing, angles, &c., only to find I had to go down to two emplacements again to place them accurately by the map. Busy all evening with indents, returns and chiefly with schemes for emplacements. Bed at last—12 midnight.
Yesterday we worked on emplacements till about 2-0, when I returned for lunch, and was strafed by the DivisionalGeneral for having my guns in the firing line; afterwards a disturbed lunch, during which we were shelled and our men's dug-out pushed in with a 5.9 howitzer, though 16 men in the dug-out were unhurt. The Bosche was busy all day with 5.9's, blowing most things in. In the afternoon I went up to see the Brigadier, who was very nice, and attempted to solve all my difficulties. I then had dinner with Carroll and Brand, and returned to the trenches, and so to bed.
This morning I wakened at 7-30 Tempest came in, laying claims to my dug-out, claiming it for Barker, but we said "No." Breakfast at 8-0. At 9-0 I prospected with Wilson-Jones and found a topping place for a new emplacement, which we set up forthwith, also making on the other two new ones. Lake and another man came to lunch. This afternoon and evening we have been doing more work on the emplacements. I am getting a bit tired of these trenches; they are much too dangerous, and I hate suddenly having to crouch against a traverse when a big shell comes and crouches on the other side of it. I shall now retire to my little couch. Good-night, Mother dear.
June 1st. Working all day on emplacements, putting headcover on, &c. This evening, about six o'clock, I was called upon to reply to German trench mortars, but just as we had reached the bottom of the communication, they opened gun fire on the communication trench, wounding several men, while we lay at the bottom of the trench, while they whizzed over in sort of sheets of shells. They soon quieted, but one burst was enough. I went down to the front line about 10-0 to look round, and coming back they were unpleasant again—big stuff too—but to our left. The shells are something terrific here; I think it is one of the hottest parts of the line.
June 2nd. Working all day on emplacements. In the evening we were called upon to retaliate for German mortars, and pumped hell into them for a few minutes (excuse the word, it is the only one I can think of), and soon shut them up. I was relieved by Carroll.
June 3rd. Went up to the trenches, to see how the emplacements were getting on, with Kitty. In the evening the Tyneside Scottish relieved us, going up to the trenches at 2-0 a.m. instead of 2 p.m. We had an awful crush of them in our mess for several hours, and I had great difficulty in pushingthem off up to the trenches. I took them there just to be in time for a terrific bombardment on the trenches, whilst the Germans tried unsuccessfully to raid our trenches. They used tear gas on us, sent over in shells, and it makes you weep. When I returned they were shelling near our billet, and we had to spend the whole of the rest of the night in the cellars, and only got to our bed at about 6-0 in the morning.
June 4th. Carroll and Brand went back to rest with the two new batteries, and Kitty and I remained in reserve, as they wanted us to take part in a raid that we were going to do, and, though our own brigade was in rest, our batteries were selected as a compliment to take part in the raid, which we learned was to come off on Monday, June 5th, so we tried to go to bed early on Sunday after our troublous Saturday night. However, we learnt that the division on our right was doing a raid, and the Bosche started retaliating on Albert, the town we were in, so we had to spend another night in the cellars.
June 5th. We spent the day getting ammunition up, 400 rounds, registering our guns, &c. We found our emplacements damaged by the bombardment of the night before and had to make one new one. We meant to return to our billet for lunch at 2-0, but we actually came back at 6-0—in time for high tea. At 8-30 we paraded, six men from each battery to work four guns, and got to the trenches to find everything quiet. We prepared our ammunition, &c., and were finished just before 11-0, at which time all our artillery suddenly burst forth into a hundred thunderstorms, and absolutely rained shells on the German lines like hail. At 11-20 we started, and put over about 70 rounds from each gun, and finished at 11-35, and returned to the third line as soon as possible to collect there to take our guns out. I quite enjoyed it all; there was a huge row on, and you could not tell if any German shells were coming at you, there was such a noise. It was quite exciting. I was surprised to find that it is really not nearly half so bad when both sides are hard at it and our own getting decidedly the best of it, as when occasional shots keep arriving.
We were glad to get out all right at 1-30 and back to our billet. The next day (Tuesday) we moved back to Bresle, and arrived there in the evening. Kitty and I had to go up to the trenches to collect some things, then we had tea, and came along in motor wagons, &c.
At present we are back where we were in tents; it rains fairly often, and, as a rest, we have to parade at 6-45 for field days. I am going to the Suffolks to-night.
I am awfully sorry this letter has been so long, but I have been made O.C. group of four batteries, and I have had to work all day and most of the night.
I am very fit and well, and hope to be home on June 15th. Old Wroxan, who shared a room with me at Cambridge, was killed the other day—he had only been out about a month.
Socks, cake and all sorts of nice things received.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
B.E.F., 10th.
My darling Mother,—
As I told you in my last letter we are now resting, and we are doing it very vigorously indeed. There are two kinds of rest for Infantry in the British Army, and they are (1) A good rest, and (2) a thoroughly good rest. A good rest is when your brigade is in the trenches, and your battalion or unit is out. Then between shells in the trenches you rest. You begin the cure at 7-0 in the morning, if you are lucky, and continue it all day and all night on working parties.
When you are having a thoroughly good rest you rise at 6-0 a.m., parade at 6-45 every day, and charge across country, practicing the assault for the day that has always been coming (is always in a fortnight) and never comes off—the great Spring Offensive. That's what we have been doing the last few days, walking five or six miles out, then walking two miles or so across country, and then marching home. Every day we receive orders in the afternoon that the brigade will go somewhere, to the trenches or to some other village, but they are always cancelled in the evening.
Fortunately, to-morrow is Sunday, and we are to have a day's rest. I hope it will not be cancelled.
Last night I had dinner with "C" Company, my old Company; we had a wonderful dinner. This evening we went to our brigade theatre. It is an old barn, and we all sit on the floor—Colonels, Majors, Subalterns and privates. There are cinematograph films, songs, &c., and it is very cheering; Kitty, Dougal and I went together to-night. The chief talk is all about leave, everyone being in hopes of it, and all except the staff being put off from week to week until you almost despair of it. Dougal is just talking about hopping into a big hot bath and a feather bed, but if we had never done without them we should not value them quite as we do now.
Wednesday, 14th. The Day of Days, the heaven of every British soldier. Leave, that Will-o'-the-Wisp which everyone possesses, but which evades all but the staff, and the very lucky. A long journey from Mericourt, starting at 9-30 to Havre. Lunch off omelette and coffee during an hour's halt in the dignified perambulations of a French train at Bouchie. At Havre we rushed to get cabins, but found plenty, and we soon went to bed—Payne and I (Bernard Thompson on the sameboat)—and we slept until wakened one hour out of Southampton. Breakfast off a cup of coffee, and then train again.
Winnie met me at Waterloo, or rather I met her, gazing forlornly at streams of strange soldiers. All morning at Harold's offices and shopping, lunching at the Criterion, &c. Then on to Win's to tea and back in bare time to the Savoy to change for dinner. Then to "To-night's the night"—topping seats and a good show.
The writer of these letters arrived in England June 15th, 1916, and returned to France June 22nd. The Spring Offensive, of which he wrote, was launched at 7-30 on July 1st, 1916, and on that day he was killed near La Boiselle—"A corner of a foreign field that is for ever England."
Writing of him a fellow Officer said:—
"The last time I saw him was on Friday afternoon, June 30th, in the cellars of the Chateau. He was gaily talking to his Officers and giving them one or two final instructions. 'Have some tea of dog biscuits and bully beef' he said to me just as I had finished a wash. I said 'Good-bye' to him, and then crept along the dark passage to the Chateau.He was one of the real enthusiasts for war amongst us as a regiment. Most people had joined because it was their duty—he joined because he was a soldier by nature as well. If there was to be a scrap he was sure to be in it. He wanted to go out before the battalion on July 1st, but the C.O., of course, would not hear of it.At Armentières I was told that when the Corner Fort was bombarded he was hit on his helmet by a huge piece of shell, but just carried on. I feel certain he died in the forefront of the battle, for his pluck was proverbial. "Whoever else gets the wind up—Mack won't" I heard an Officer of the regiment say one day during a bad spell in the trenches.I do not believe he was afraid of death, and I am sure he fell as far forward as the German leaden hail would let anyone get alive."
"The last time I saw him was on Friday afternoon, June 30th, in the cellars of the Chateau. He was gaily talking to his Officers and giving them one or two final instructions. 'Have some tea of dog biscuits and bully beef' he said to me just as I had finished a wash. I said 'Good-bye' to him, and then crept along the dark passage to the Chateau.
He was one of the real enthusiasts for war amongst us as a regiment. Most people had joined because it was their duty—he joined because he was a soldier by nature as well. If there was to be a scrap he was sure to be in it. He wanted to go out before the battalion on July 1st, but the C.O., of course, would not hear of it.
At Armentières I was told that when the Corner Fort was bombarded he was hit on his helmet by a huge piece of shell, but just carried on. I feel certain he died in the forefront of the battle, for his pluck was proverbial. "Whoever else gets the wind up—Mack won't" I heard an Officer of the regiment say one day during a bad spell in the trenches.
I do not believe he was afraid of death, and I am sure he fell as far forward as the German leaden hail would let anyone get alive."
Another one wrote:—
"I saw a good deal of him during the last few days before July 1st, as his battery was encamped with us. He was in the highest spirits, though he knew he was to occupy a most exposed position in the attack.He was as brave as any man I know, and his loss is tremendous. I, as well as all his friends out here, sympathise most deeply with his family, whose consolation must be that he died a gallant soldier's death."
"I saw a good deal of him during the last few days before July 1st, as his battery was encamped with us. He was in the highest spirits, though he knew he was to occupy a most exposed position in the attack.
He was as brave as any man I know, and his loss is tremendous. I, as well as all his friends out here, sympathise most deeply with his family, whose consolation must be that he died a gallant soldier's death."
Typographical errors corrected in text:Page 12: Moher replaced with MotherPage 37: fraid replaced with afraidPage 44: Boches replaced with BoschesPage 48: intersting replaced with interestingPage 55: we we replaced with wePage 64: Epeleque replaced with EperlecquesPage 73: greatet replaced with greatestOn Pages 78 and 79, the author uses a common British phrasing "Breakfast off a cup of coffee" and "Lunch off omelette". This is not a typo.
Typographical errors corrected in text:
On Pages 78 and 79, the author uses a common British phrasing "Breakfast off a cup of coffee" and "Lunch off omelette". This is not a typo.