Part 2
MY DEAREST MUMMY & DADDY,—Thanks for your ripping letter again last night. We get the letters here by the ration carts which come up at night-time, so the actual post comes in at about midnight. I read yours this morning at 2 A.M. when we were ‘standing to’ in the grey light of dawn waiting a possible German attack, which is in all cases preceded by Gas here. You are splendid about everything—getting a Respirator and all that—of course we are all dealt out special ones here, which, if properly adapted, the Gas has absolutely no effect on. To-day has again been quite calm—just the usual exchange of artillery-fire and rifle-fire. This is the programme of the day at present here: Work all night at strengthening the position (sand-bags etc:)—barb-wire—and getting in provisions, water—etc. under cover of darkness. Day-time, 2 A.M. (dawn about) we stand to arms for ½ hr whilst the listening posts (consisting of 3 men and a N.C.O.) are brought in. These last are simply what they imply—i.e. men who lie down and keep their ears and eyes open for any movement on our front—posted well out in front of our trenches. If an attack is to be made it is almost certain to come off then—like the other day. From then till dark (about 8.30 P.M.) we lie very low and _sleep_ as much as possible. This last is not always very easy—and depends entirely on (1) the condition of the trench, (2) the activity of the German artillery—! I have slept about 6 hrs since we came in, I should think. You can imagine that one gets very fat, sleepy and dirty under these conditions. Meals? Well—‘rations’ consist of bully-beef (which will go at a German’s head before I eat it)—cheese—jam—and bacon—tea and sugar. The last three ingredients (good word!) I find most suitable.—‘Am I _late_ for meals?’ Well—there is no fixed time—and one simply seizes a bite when one can. The men make small fires in the corners of the trenches and are very good at doing my bacon and tea (without milk!) for me, when things are quiet. These trenches are, you must understand, still in the most elementary condition—and by the time we have made them comfortable we shall probably be leaving for somewhere else in the line. They always seem to give the Essex the dirty work to do—and _that_ is because they do it so well. I want you to have an idea of things—now the country is flat—you know that—and we face slightly up hill—with the German trenches about 550 yards away. Between the two positions are several farmhouses—in ruins—which provide cover for German snipers sometimes. These are shelled continuously—as they are used by both sides for distinguishing marks to get a range off. The rest is green country—hedges and everything as it might be found on the Sussex downs. Even _cows_ are wandering about just behind the trench here—and we are wondering how to get rid of them! Of course you mustn’t imagine a straight line—the firing lines of both forces curve all over the place—so that at some points it is very hard to distinguish between them. There is a small stream running between the lines, from which we get some of our water, and in the evening sometimes for 2 or 3 minutes the guns will stop and it will be quiet and country-like except for the ominous ruins dotting the landscape and the flames of —— in the background—where some place has caught alight.
There is very little actually to do in the trenches, except sit tight and see that the men do so also. I can’t be bothered to _wash_ or anything like that—though I _did_ have a shave the other day for a wonder! You should see my puttees! and my ‘bags’ are torn to ribbons round the knee——I have _just_ heard a typical type of Tommy ‘wit’ remark ‘Fritz is quiet!’ I have Tommy all round and behind me here—lying in all attitudes in a trench that is not more than 2 ft. wide anywhere! Again—this very moment at a bullet whizzing over I hear ‘Ah! Fritz!!’ Men with such spirit in them as this will go through H—— and come out the other side _com_fortably! This game of lying low, doubled up in an open trench reminds me so much of Kipling’s
‘Long afternoons of lyin’ still and ’earin’, as you lay, the bullets swish from ’ill to ’ill like Scythes among the ’ay.’
—out of ‘Piet’—I think....
Daddy—your letters are absolute life to me out here. I want to say this, as I want you and Mummy to understand what it feels like to get a letter like I did this morning—or rather last night—just when another day was coming on—it is like whisky to a Scotsman—much more, because it lasts!! I am going to write _every_ day if I possibly can—just a break here and there you must expect. I am writing no other letters at present, and have only had two from anyone else but you—but I really don’t require anything but yours—just a line from either of you. I am feeling as fit as anything—teeth and everything splendid. I’m coated with dirt, but what does that matter? You can look like a scarecrow here for all anyone cares! Things are very quiet this evening—and I think something big must be going on further down the line. You _did_ get that letter which I sent from hospital with the [_Daily Mail_] _map_ in it—didn’t you? Because that shows you exactly where I am without my saying anything here. The papers should tell you the rest.
Well—toodle-oo—do write, won’t you—it is just like as if one was at Eton—letters etc:! Remember ‘always merry and bright!’
Much love to you both—and G.M.[5]
Ever yr own loving son,
OSCAR.
(26)
May 28th, ’15. 5 P.M.
... Another quiet day to-day, and tonight we go into reserve trenches—which is very tame—and from there probably to billets for rest after about 4 days—so have no anxiety about me, my dears, for another 8 days at least.... Well—we both spent our Whit Monday as circumstances permitted, didn’t we? I had the most thrilling day of my life, anyhow, and the moonlight night wasn’t quite like Oxshott Woods!... I am hearing priceless things whilst I write: such as these: ‘All change here for Liverpool Street’ as the guards are being relieved: and ‘You want a shave, Bill—_out_side and you’ll get a —— close one!’
... This is a wretchedly written epistle, but you must remember that I am sitting in a very cramped position in my temporary dug-out—consisting of a niche in the trench, 6 ft. long by 2 ft. wide! I believe I told you this before, but there is nothing like rubbing it in! I got quite a sleep last night, turning in here about 12.30 A.M. and sleeping till 4 A.M.—best I’ve had so far.
The routine is always—for both sides—work by night—sniping and sleep by day. Now there is just desultory rifle-fire going on—perfectly safe as long as you keep down. We have had no more casualties since Monday’s affray.
... My platoon sergeant is a fine chap ... a sound fellow. Unshaven for 1 week he looks just like an old pirate with one of those ‘Swiss Caps’ on his head.
(27)
May 30th, ’15. 7 P.M.
MY DEAREST MUMMY & DADDY,—Got _both_ papers last night and your ripping letter when I returned from a tedious digging expedition just in front of the enemy lines—most welcome they were! Now I hope all letters and parcels will behave themselves, though I must admit none of the parcels have arrived as yet. I hope for a different discovery when we return to ‘billets’ however, which will probably be tomorrow or next day. I am out of the trenches now and on the bonny banks of a Canal 2 miles back from the firing-line—In _Reserve_, in fact. We left the trenches Friday night—had a quiet day here yesterday, in which I was able to get a shave and wash—and last night I had to go with the aforementioned digging-party right in front of our lines, and fill up some trenches which _a_ regiment evacuated the other day in face of the Germans. This was to prevent them getting them for their own use. It is weird work—standing out there between the two firing-lines in the semi-darkness—with _flares_ (which the Germans send up continuously all night) showing one up plainly, as they show everything else up in the vicinity. They use fire-works for these, of course. There was a big attack going on made by the French on our left, so all was quiet in our actual area, though you never know when the enemy aren’t going to hear the sound of the shovels and open fire. Then the moon shining over all makes the gutted, stark farm-houses scattered over the fields stand out grotesquely—for all the world as if you were standing at the Coliseum end of the Forum in Rome and looking into it. You know the lines in which ‘Plains which the moonlight turns to sea’ comes? I can’t find a better line to describe the appearance of this perfectly level battlefield stretching for miles on either side—and the dig-dig-dig—with an occasional whistle which has to be smothered. What a chance for a budding Kipling!
It was great work getting those papers last night—_so_ quickly—That is a top-hole wheeze in Punch—there is also a good parody (is that the right word?) on H. Belloc.
Thanks so much for the Fishing cutting—the Canal here seems full of some kind of fish, though _I_ have not tried my hand at them. Excellent work re Khaki Breeches. I am in need of a 2nd pair badly now—Thoughtful Mummy! I have discovered a weird ‘bloke’ for a servant—His name is Crump—surely you can work a wheeze with that kick-off?? He has a wonderful knack of getting things to eat—he has bought eggs, butter, and milk from the town here (you should be able to guess what town) and is altogether a useful one, I’m thinking!
I have a priceless ‘booby’ to live in here. You have to crawl in on your ‘innards’ but when you get there it is _very_ cosy with straw to lie on. All the men have boobies to live in too—funny little holes in the ground—all round my _big_ hole—for all the world like a rabbit-warren!
Our C.O.—Jones—has been promoted Major—he is a jolly good soldier too.
It is another heavenly evening, and with the ruins of —— against the sky—what a picture—by heavens!—what wonderful sights there are to see here if one keeps one’s eyes open—sights which _can’t_ have ever been much surpassed in any war before. There! they are shelling the town now—great 12 in: shells in the middle of it—and then at night a dull glow will gradually appear in the sky, which will redden and spread as more shells are poured in. Mind you I am in the outskirts of this place myself at this moment—so I am writing with the very thing before me.
Of course, people will come in their thousands to see these historic places in a year or more’s time—but what a sight to see _before_ the common crowd can!! No one in the world but one or two w: correspondents and a few Regiments like my own can see this and other wonderful sights up here. For instance—the very fields in front of the trenches we have been occupying have been the scene of the most famous engagements of the war so far as we are concerned—how much more I could ‘gas’—but won’t, because I shall be letting some cats out! I have _got_ the best part of a 6 in: German shell which exploded just outside my ‘booby’ last night whilst I was away—my servant had a near escape. It is beastly heavy, but I will hang onto it somehow. I am not allowed to send it home to you unfortunately.
Well—I love your letters—write away when you have time—everything merry and bright as ever.
Love to G.M.
Ever your own loving son,
OSCAR.
_N.B._
When are you off to Masongill—I want to know.
_To Hugh de Havilland, his Eton Tutor._
_N.B._ Couldn’t you somehow concoct a new ‘stink’ for us to apply v: the Germans here? You have the laboratories of Eton to work in and it might send us through to the Rhine! Why not all the Science masters put their heads together and make a real good-un—a corker!
I can introduce the new invention to the Brigadier and be promoted on the spot!
A. O. H.
(30)
June 2, ’15. 6.15 P.M.
Here we are again in billets and at the same farm-house as we were at before. This is very convenient, as we know our way about the place—the same squalling kids, etc.!...
Another heavenly day of sunshine—the country here looks more ripping than ever—and it is a glorious slack here after our ten days in the trenches....
It seems queer to be back here again—in the comparative quiet of the country. We came here by a night-march last night—arriving 2 A.M. this morning. I slept in my barn again—topping to get out of one’s clothes for a change—I shall have a bath tomorrow!
(33)
June 5, ’15. Saturday, 5 P.M.
We go up to the trenches again tomorrow (Sunday) stopping for the afternoon on the way at the good old château—much like the one Uncle Innes is billeted at I fancy.
Well, the inspection went off alright today—It was the General commanding the 2nd Army Corps (which we are in) who inspected us—and he came up to me and shook me by the hand and congratulated me on having the best platoon in the Company—Thereupon a man in the front rank fell almost into his arms—fainting—and had to be assisted off. The General, however, was a sportsman and took no heed of the occurrence—I was furious, but it was distinctly funny otherwise. As for the hand-shake—I certainly shan’t wash my right fist till I come out from the trenches again after that!
Before leaving the old man (extraordinarily young for his post really) said a few kind words to the officers and left us all feeling we could take on old man Kluck himself!
(35)
June 8, ’15.
... Funny kind of day today—as quiet as the grave—hardly a shot fired this afternoon—our friend Fritz is never so crafty as when he is quiet—always up to some dirty game or other—so we expect some jollification soon!
There was a thunderstorm this afternoon which cleared the air a bit—it has been devilish hot—‘where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl’ our friend has it! The flies are awful now—suddenly come on—send me some of that ‘Anti-Midge’ stuff which _Hardy’s_ sell—My face is like St. Andrew’s golf course now—and _lots_ of bunkers at that!...
... Had a royal lunch today—potted meat and bread and butter—coffee (j: good) and cream—and tinned peaches and cream! I wish we had some more of the latter—just the thing in this crawling heat. We had my ‘Barrack Room Ballads’ out this afternoon and Monypenny pored over them awhile.
My servant Crump is an extraordinary fellow—I am told he was educated at Charterhouse and enlisted at the beginning of the war!
(36)
June 9, ’15. 10 P.M.
MY DEAREST MUMMY AND DADDY,—No post last night so I daresay I shall get something tonight.
Another quiet day today—rained a bit this evening. Crump got me some fresh eggs and milk from a neighbouring farm behind the Canal—priceless servant, what? The _flies_ are awful during the day here now—‘Muscatol’ quickly please! Tomorrow night we go into the front line trenches which are barely 70 yards from our friends—There are _no_ trenches to speak of and we are fired on from every quarter of the globe—but _that_ is why they are sending the _Essex_ there—remember! Tonight we are working away at the trench just in front of us—the men are working splendidly—and the whole place is swimming with _mud_ and water already!
... Monypenny and I and de la Mare lay and basked all day in our shirts drinking hot tea and cursing at the flies. This evening I had my Section Commanders up (remember—4 Sections—about 10 men—to a Platoon) and told them a few things. It is by cursing the N.C.O’s that one gets any efficiency out of the men—It is just like H. de H.’s at Eton over again—House didn’t swing together if the younger members of ‘Debate’ didn’t control their juniors—who _were friends of theirs_.—So the young N.C.O. finds it hard to drop on the men from whom he has just been raised in rank—and ‘the backbone of the Army is the non-commissioned man.’ R. K.
Thanks to my worthy Sergeant Clarke—in charge of Platoon—my men are learning discipline and how to keep their heads—by _degrees_—but it is very hard work, as they are really all _very young_ and inexperienced—straight from the home, so to speak—I am not _quite_ sure how they would do if it was a case of ‘no one cares to face ’em but every beggar must’—(R. K.)—however, as I told my Corporals tonight, we shall see their worth sooner or later. Peake was wounded last night—only slightly in the arm—will be back soon, in fact. I have got some glorious G: shells here—but don’t know how I could ever get them on to the mantelshelf in the Study!! Some more of that _café au lait_, please, and condensed milk and _Menier_ Chocolate—keep you busy!
Well—I must go out again and have a look round—we shall have a great time in this trench out in front—it is in a _swamp_ and there are fifty Canadians in the Parapet!
Toodle-oo!
Much love to you both and everyone else at No. 7.
I so love your letters—both of you.
‘Bon Soir!’
Your loving son,
OSCAR.
(37)
June 10th, 1915.
MY DEAREST MUMMY & DADDY,—No letter last night, but I expect something tonight—perhaps the bed! Today has been again uneventful and we go into the new trenches at 9.30 tonight. It is one mass of mud here now but will soon dry up with the sun. We shall be six days in the new trenches, and then probably straight back to billets. What was my surprise today but to see Monypenny suddenly open a ½ bottle of champagne! He had been given it down at Battalion Headquarters—a present from the C.O.!
Programme today has been 2 A.M.—flop into dug-out dog-tired and very sick at getting no letters by our midnight mail (?)—2 A.M.-3 A.M. ‘stand to arms’—i.e. all respirators ready for instant use and rifles clean etc. whilst a mist slowly lifts from the dewy ground in front and the enemies’ trenches become gradually visible.—Directly they are well in sight the men are allowed to lie down and sleep—all except the sentries. 9.30 A.M. awoke in frowsy, damp booby and had some breakfast made by the redoutable Crump. 10 A.M. had a look round the platoon: saw rifles were clean etc: 10 A.M. onwards slept—or rather tried to, flies awful! Later in the morning Monypenny showed us where we were going tonight and what we should have to do there—then nothing more till tonight—just drowse and curse at the wet and the flies and read ‘Michael Strogoff’—also listen to the Germans shelling buildings on our right and left and wondering for how long he is going to leave us alone!
Well—must stop now. I do hope these letters are reaching you—and not all in _one_ batch! I still want something—and that is a _revolver holster_ to fit that Smith Wesson revolver we bought together!
Much love to you all—You will now have an idea of what I am up to during the day—at night we simply _work_ at sandbags and barbed-wire etc: so as to protect ourselves by day.
A rotten letter!
Ever your own loving son,
OSCAR.
(39)
Saturday, June 12th, ’15. 6.45 P.M.
... We have really ‘upholstered’ this ‘booby’ of ours very smartly—We have a table and 2 chairs (ammunition boxes) and have adorned the walls with pictures (of actresses) out of a Magazine and the photo of a Frenchman’s ma taken out of a rubbish-heap behind! The whole concern is only about 8 feet by 6 in dimension and de la Mare—myself—and my most worthy Crump live in it.... We sent Crump off on an expedition for _food_ the other day and he was clever enough to buy us 18 eggs, 2 bottles Vin Ordinaire, 2 lbs butter, 3 loaves bread, and a bottle of milk—and bring all these up through miles of communication trench without breaking an h’egg! Imagine him slushing through mud holding the bundle of eggs before him!...
This is really very cosy—and if undisturbed by our friends 150 yards off will continue to be so. We’re going to ask for leave, ‘Moneybags’ and self—to bomb these blighters out of a small trench which they have jutting from their line—in other words a ‘salient’ in their line. This will be more to our liking than sitting being shelled, I’m thinking! After this rain—it will be a ‘sticky wicket,’ but a slow overhand bowler with a hand-grenade should beat the Teuton Batsman—at any rate the _fielding_ will be good—although I shouldn’t like to be silly-point!; that’s my silly point!
(40)
June 14.
For those who can look at this sort of warfare in the right way there are enormous advantages—I feel as if I had lived a century!
(41)
June 14th, 1915. 1 P.M.
MY DEAREST M. & DADDY,—Got the Chronicle, letter and ‘Land and Water’ this morning—also all those letters which went wrong when I was in hospital! I had a ripping letter from Auntie also and a note from Daisy—also the fruit etc: from G.M. so I didn’t do badly. Amongst the lost letters was one from Shane and his wife; several from you both, and a note from Rooke. Shane seemed pretty cheery—he wrote from Salisbury. Have you seen anything of him lately? Well—you all seem to be reading my muckins—the whole contingent at No: 7—the ‘droppers in’ and car-riders etc: so I will extend my descriptive efforts a bit, for as far as I can see the papers talk a lot of rot and give people a very poor idea of the general doings, round _here_ at any rate. Some day I am going to try my hand at a few short stories (shut up laughing!) on the Sniper, the ‘Jack Johnson’ and several other objects of interest—when I have the energy—which is not often. The programme is eat, sleep, and work, and there is not much energy left for writing, though any amount of time _and_ scope. For instance, I simply can’t be bothered to write in Pen and ink—this is a very untidy output!
Enough of this: now let me give you an idea of what the French trenches which we are occupying are like.
First there is a barricade of earth thrown up—about 10 ft. wide by 3 high—the cavity left being the actual trench. Between this mound of earth and the trench is a wall of sand-bags—three to four thick by 10 high. This gives a man 6 ft. of standing room with a stepping stone on which to stand for firing purposes. Behind and jutting out from this parapet are erected what we know as ‘traverses,’ or thick walls of sandbags 15 ft. long by 12 ft. wide (about) to protect the flanks of the trench; thus:
[Illustration]
Behind all are communication trenches, the purpose of which lies in the name and does for ‘dug outs’ etc: