I will write Oakman.
Sorry you have had boils.
Oh, send me two refills for my Orilux light, J. H. Steward,
406 Strand.
Feb. 18, 1917.
JUST had a letter from Father saying you were laid up. Hope
it doesn't amount to much.
Went to Church Service this morning. I can't tell you how
bad it. all is. Out of two Battalions only three men stayed on
to the Communion Service, which was voluntary. The Church
has certainly missed out.
Tell Father that I am sure I should enjoy Judge ------- but
I know the breed. "Watch your spoons."
No time for more.
Feb. 19th, 1917.
THERE has been no English mail for two days, a performance
which is getting all too common.
I devoured the Life of O. Henry in one evening. Not brilliant,
but written by a man who was very painstaking about collecting
facts. While we have produced O. Henry and Conrad we can't be
called sterile as regards literature, by future generations.
I don't think from your last letter you realize what we do
in the transport. The A.S.C. Ammn. Column, R.E., etc., bring
up food, water, fuel, cartridges, bombs, trench mortars, flares,
tools, boards, wire hurdles, netting, nails, pickets, beams,
logs; in short everything you can think of. All of these vast
organizations behind the lines bring these things up, but they
don't deliver them; that and that only is our job. In some places
it is not at all difficult and in some places it is. How we are
going to make out in a few days in the terrible mud we have now
I don't know. But it is the record of our Battalion, that through
the entire war rations have never failed to come up one single
night. It is a fine record and one I shouldn't like to see spoiled.
There are only five officers ahead of me for leave, but as there
is no leave going it doesn't help much.
Campbell is expected any day now. I have been training (?)
all the stretcher bearers of the Battalion while we are at rest.
I have given the Battalion Doctor a hand several nights when
I was up with the rations and lately he has taken to sort of
saving up cases that needed an anæsthetic till I got up.
So I have let myself in for a bit more work. We don't have any
R.A.M.C. men with us, our own men do all the stretcher bearing.
Just going to play some bridge.
Feb. 22nd, 1917.
AGAIN no English post. Getting a bit thick, isn't it?
There are lots of rumors about our being moved away from this
part of the line way off from here. Personally I think they are
well founded, but they are only rumors. Of course the optimists
are happy and the pessimists are saying ------ Well, you can
guess what they would be saying.
Astin has been really ill with a fever for two days, but showed
his pluck and stuck it like a man and is O.K. again. He has come
around to his old form. I really had wind up for fear he might
go "down the line," as there is nothing in the way
of a hospital or even a casualty clearing station near here.
The Battalion is moving tomorrow, but I am with the Transport
again. As long as we are overstocked with officers as we are
now, I haven't any choice in the matter. If we get into the push
I think you will see me back, or if we get into another part
of the line where transport is a cinch I will probably go back.
I think you probably picture this routine trench warfare as
a far more dangerous thing than it is. Why it isn't more dangerous
I don't know, but it is a fact that it isn't really dangerous.
What you can't possibly imagine is the mud. Get on the highest
hill you can find and for miles in any direction you can see
nothing but mud, mud, mud. Mind you, this only applies to places
like this, every yard of which has been fought over. I really
think Dante is the only person who ever lived who could ever
have painted it. As T. A. says, "This is a fine ----- -----
country we are fighting for."
We all have new anti-gas appliances. They are fine. I confess
the old ones got "wind up" with me, as I always thought
I was suffocating in them. The new kind I would just as leave
wear all day.
Played bridge again today with Boumphrey, the Doctor and the
Adjutant, and I had a splendid game.
Cold tongue, pressed meats, sausages seem about the best things
to send.
Feb. 24, 1917.
BACK doing business at the same old stand! But what a change
from before! The mud in this particular spot is beyond belief,
but we are very comfortable!
I must have been a pretty sight last night coming back from
the trenches. The following was my costume --- rubber boots to
the hip (all the troops are wearing them now). These were held
up by my old belt in which was slung my revolver (used for the
unwarlike purpose of despatching wounded mules) and my electric
torch. Farther aloft I wore a Tommy's fur jerkin inside out and
above that my tin hat. Cover the whole, including face, with
a layer of mud one-eighth to one inch thick and you can get a
picture of what I looked like at 4 A.M. this morning.
Never again! Tonight I am wearing low shoes, Tommy's trousers
and tunic, with nothing under them. Wet is just like cold or
heat. If you try to avoid it you are lost. If you make up your
mind not to fight it or think about it you get on quite well.
My God, it is heartrending to see troops coming out of the
front line after a few days in a place like this. How the men
stick it I don't know! Don't ever let anybody tell you an officer
has to go through anything in comparison. In short, whether we
get into the push or not we should all be glad to get clear of
this part of the line.
I don't think I told you that Reddick, the boy I was billeted
with in Cranham Street,(22)
came to see me at . He has a job in the Field Baths. Nice lad,
I am glad he is out of it all.
There hasn't been any English mail for seven days now, and
it is getting on everybody's nerves. I suppose I will get a batch
of stuff when it does turn up.
Everybody has got over talking about America now. It looks
as if I shall lose my bet. Never again will I back a school-teaching,
tee-totalling Presbyterian!
Yesterday morning two of D. Coy.'s officers went sick. I volunteered
to Captain Bangham to go into the line with the Coy. He went
to the Colonel, told him I had volunteered and formally applied
for my return to D. Coy. The C.O. turned him down. It looks as
though I need have no qualms of conscience about holding down
a cushy job!! I must say that, in a childish manner, I was flattered
that Captain Bangham told him I was "too good a man to be
wasted on the Transport." Of course the C.O. curses me out
almost every night, but I am on to him now. I stand up for myself
and don't cringe. I find that he tries to terrorize everybody,
and has no use for anybody that is terrorized.
Sunday, Feb. 25, 1917.
JUST a line before I go out. Am too busy for more. Been on
the jump all day. Here is the best trick Astin has pulled off
yet. He was getting me up this morning when he told me to look
out of the window. I saw a Jock sergeant carrying off a log of
wood from in front of the servants' dugouts. I was going to stop
him, but Astin told me not to. I forgot all about it. About two
hours later Astin asked me if I would come with him a few steps.
I there saw the same Jock just finishing chopping up the same
log, whereupon I went up and told him I had seen him steal the
log and made him bring it all back nicely chopped into kindling
wood! When I spoke to Astin about it his only comment was, "Well,
Sir, I didn't come over with the last draft."
We have just heard startlingly good news from a bit along
the line. You will have heard it before this reaches you.
D. Coy.'s Sergeant-Major was killed last night. I was only
a few yards off at the time. A fine chap; the second Sergeant-Major,
D. Coy., has lost since I have been here. Too bad; he had been
out since almost the beginning. It was only a small grenade,
but it caught him square.
Got a letter today and spurs. Thanks.
Wrote Bill Wendell and letter was returned. I wonder if Mildred
Bliss(23) would know?
Feb. 26th, 1917.
I JUDGE there is a parcel and also a package of cigarettes
on the way, but the post is so bad here at present that I suppose
they may turn up any time in the next two weeks. I am expecting
Campbell any day now.
To tell you the truth I don't write much about the people
I am with because I am not greatly interested. I like and admire
most of them and hit it off very well. I made the discovery years
ago that a real "pukka" Englishman (not the cosmopolitan
type) never really cares for a foreigner, so I play the "Arthur
Ditman game"(24) with
them and it works. It would take a lot to convince me that any
Englishman was a real friend of mine, in the sense of my American
friends, so I don't care any more for them than they do for me
and we get on beautifully. These men are just incidents in my
life, pleasant incidents it is true, but just incidents.
The real reason, though, is that I am so keen on the War,
as an abstract problem, that I haven't much time for interest
in individuals. I am far more interested in all the details of
the War which I see about me than I am in the individuals who
are prosecuting it. For instance, I admire and like the men under
me and would hate to see any of them go West, yet I am more interested
in getting my supplies up than I am in the possibility of casualties.
It would be an incident if several of my men were killed, but
it would be more than an incident if I failed to deliver my rations
and ammunition. In short death doesn't seem as dreadful to me
as failure to do whatever job you are given to do. For each little
failure prolongs the War, each little failure strengthens Prussian
power. You can't imagine how one small failure ties things up
everywhere. It is a very perfect, but a very complicated machine,
this Army, and one broken cog in the mechanism does a surprising
amount of damage.
I will write ------ sometime if I can buck myself up to it.
Did it ever occur to you that I am a bit shy with girls? I don't
know that I am, I don't suppose I am, but I am not quite natural
with them, I don't really believe I know any more about them
than I do about Sanskrit.
Feb. 27th, 1917.
WE are living in stirring times and no mistake. I only wish
I could tell you some of the things I think I know and some of
the things I am guessing about. But I don't really know much
except that I firmly believe the War is at a very critical period,
and that it is a time to be optimistic. As an example I was within
about three kilos of a terrific scrap most of last night (very
quiet where I was), yet I haven't any idea of what happened except
that there are 57 different rumors afloat today.
Another parcel arrived yesterday from Jackson's. Now I am
not crazy nor am I joking! No more parcels! I live very well
without them, and I think everybody has got to go in for food
economy. I don't really care anything for parcels, anyway; so
this is final except for cigarettes which I still want sent.
Also you might send me a flea belt, as I am at present a bit
lousy!
It looks as if my bet about America and March 1st are going
West!
Campbell turned up yesterday, but I only saw him a moment.
Perhaps it was because he was tired from a long walk, but he
looked older somehow. I think he is immensely liked in the Battalion
and is a very, very efficient officer. He would be even better
as an Adjutant or Coy. Commander. I think his age is a big handicap
to him, and he deserves all the more credit for sticking it so
well.
We are hoping to get well back for a rest in a few days. The
men certainly have it coming to them.
I am afraid my pony is going to be taken from me, as he really
is an extra charger that we are not entitled to.
Feb. 28, 1917.
LAST night I got sent on a new sort of job and my regular
party was put under an N.C.O., a nice conscientious chap but
stupid. He tried on a little scheme which always tempted me,
but for which I hadn't fallen. Result two men wounded, one horse
killed, two mules wounded. This chap was leading the horse which
was, as he expressed it, literally blown out of his hands, and
he wasn't touched! Marvellous, wasn't it Everything got all balled
up and I had to go out again after I returned from my own job.
I felt sorry for this poor chap, but he was asking for trouble
and he sure got it, although it turned out very luckily on the
whole. The mule between the two that were hit was loaded with
explosives. I am betting dollars to doughnuts they give the same
spot hell tonight, but I won't be there. Nor will I be near it.
Mrs. Starr's(25) letter
was splendid, but very tragic. I don't know whether I did right
in writing her as I did, but I meant every word I said and somehow
or other couldn't help saying it. Don't get wind up about the
push.
Glad you are enjoying Sandwich. I have written you every day
except one for a long time now, so you can check my letters.
March 1st, 1917.
I GOT a letter from you enclosing one from Mrs. Grenfell,
and one from Mrs. Harris (which I can't read). I am sorry for
the Doctor! This is where he belongs and he knows it. Of course
the R.A.M.C. can't fool with people for a few months at a time
unless through some side-show. This old War is a jealous mistress:
she takes your whole and doesn't leave anything over. My word,
what a regimental M.O. he would make for the front line! The
good he could do would be incalculable. I am just going to write
a long letter to John Evans. I liked Miss Bowdoin. I don't think
I have ever once thought of anything connected with the North
for months. It seems all so remote. In fact everything seems
remote when you are in this show.
Such a nice man named Lorney Campbell of the ----- & -----
Highlanders was killed last night. He was six feet four and a
magnificent man, one of Connie's(26)
clan, but not family I should say. Things are sure warming up
a bit in these parts. In fact as I was coming home shortly after
midnight one of my mule drivers remarked to me, "Well, Sir,
March isn't coming in very lamblike." There are so many
rumors about nowadays that I have given up paying any attention
to them.
It looks as though I have lost all my bets about the U.S.A.
Am glad you are having a good time at Sandwich. What Dad needs
is men and not thinking about boils. I may be prejudiced on the
subject of boils because most people in Newfoundland have them
continuously and never pay any attention to them, and here also
even a good group of boils doesn't even get a man light duty.
A boil isn't a pleasant thing and it tends to make one put in
a good deal of thought on it, but the more thought that is put
on it the more apt another one is to appear. Father "bears"
everything in a way that is incredible to me. It is marvellous,
but it is very nerve-racking to have to "bear" things.
Think of that old classic, "I am an old man and have had
many troubles, but most of them never happened." Boils come
under this heading. Many things, such as me, Father has had to
bear, and Heaven will be his reward, but it doesn't help anybody
to get "wind up" over a boil; and you get more "wind
up" over one of Dad's boils than he does himself.
March 2nd, 1917.
YESTERDAY morning in the entire camp our total supply of cigarettes
was four Woodbines. After the post came in I had 400 cigarettes,
Captain Boumphrey had 300 and Kendall had 200!
Yesterday afternoon Lashmar, one of D. Coy.'s officers, blew
in. He stopped a tiny bit of whizz-bang with his leg, got some
anti-tetanus serum shot in his arm and came here instead of going
to hospital. Of course it amounts to nothing, but he would have
got several weeks off if he hadn't applied to come here. So now
I have the job of looking after his wound.
Of course you know by now of the Huns falling back. I can't
tell you anything, of course, and opinions differ greatly. One
thing is sure, however, it has put any amount of guts into everybody
here. Personally, were it not for the psychological factor, I
think it a clever move on his part. He sure is getting hell along
here and he has terrible wind up, but Miss Krupp is still turning
out plenty.
I saw a few cavalry the other day. My word, they did look
smart alongside of our lads. But you should have heard the remarks
our lads passed to them. Such as, "How did you manage to
get exemption?" "You'd better be careful or Lloyd George
will put you on munitions, then you might get near some high
explosives"; etc.
I haven't the vaguest idea now how long we shall be here.
It certainly seems more than possible that plans may be changed.
Oh, well, I have got over dealing in futures, the present and
my job are quite enough to hold me.
I hear more American rumors, but they are very vague.
March 2nd, 1917.
DEAR ALICE,(27)
As I censor daily many letters from gentlemen to the young
ladies with whom they "walk out," thanking them for
parcels, I know exactly what to say, so here goes!
"I hope this finds you in the pink as it finds me. I
received your most welcome parcel on coming out of the trenches,
and it was a fair treat. Me and me mate et it all at one sitting."
But seriously, thanks! We live, to my thinking, very well,
but still, as the song goes, "Every little bit added to
what you've got ---" I dare say I live quite as well as
you do. I am most curious to know how you are making out. I am
sure you have had your troubles, and what is more I am sure they
are what I call "pesky" troubles. They are the kind
I haven't got the pluck to stick, but I admire anybody who can
stick them. We have our troubles here, principally ones "made
in Germany," but they are not "pesky." I should
love to hear what your work is like, so if you get any spare
time please drop me a line. I should like particularly to know
your opinion (your absolute frank opinion) as to what I ought
to do in case America really does go to War; by that I mean raise
an Expeditionary Force to try to kill a few Huns. As for me going
to organize anything, it is a joke. I couldn't organize a dinner
dance! If America was in danger, of course I should be there,
or if anybody could convince me that America was actually raising
a force for killing Huns I should be there, but I "hae me
doots." You can't imagine how cheap I should feel if I were
to apply to get out of this delightful little party into an army
in training, which would probably never even reach this peaceful
spot before peace was declared. Still, I should swallow hard
and do it if 1 thought it was the thing to do. But it really
seems to me that the principal thing is to try to kill Huns.
Well, can you do it in an American Army, if there is ever such
an organization? I simply ask for your opinion, which I value
highly. It is very hard to get a proper perspective on things
out here.
I have really had a good time out here. It isn't as bad as
it is cracked up to be. But still I haven't been in a push yet.
I am one of the poor deluded fools who firmly believe that "Miss
Krupp" hasn't made my pill yet. I get horribly scared at
times! In fact, I almost get sick with fear! But one thing always
pulls me through, I always say to myself, "If all these
Englishmen can stick this, surely an American can." Sort
of puts one on one's mettle, that thought.
I should also like very much to know what you think of Father's
condition, as I am really worried about him.
If I can manage to get a nice Blighty wound I shall try to
get to your hospital.
Well, au revoir until we meet again.
CAP.
March 3rd, 1917.
DEAR MOTHER,
ONLY time for a line today, as I have been distinctly busy.
All kinds of rumors about America, but I can't find out anything
definite. But now that I have made up my mind I don't worry much.
I had a most interesting talk with a French interpreter attached
to Division about conditions in the French Army. Of course I
can't write about it.
Last night was the most curious one I have spent on this job.
I give you my word for about five hours not a gun was fired anywhere
near. I kept thinking of "The Deserted Village," and
also there was a sort of nasty feeling suggestive of an oily
sea and a main boom jibing back and forth with a rotten low black
cloud on the horizon. It put the wind up in me as nothing yet
has. Curious, wasn't it? But my hunch was fairly good, for after
I was out of it all, hell was literally turned loose.
Our Battalion has just been reported as having less trench-feet
during January-February than any Battalion in the Division, so
we are pretty chesty today.
It looks as if I were going to be able to keep my pony after
all. I really am glad. Astin, with a twinkle in his eye, has
just told me Division has issued a' "Wind Dangerous"
signal with the remark, "I hope I am not getting your wind
up, Sir." I may tell you some red-hat holds down the difficult
job of ascertaining which way the wind is blowing and hangs out
a little sign, to which nobody pays the least attention. As if
every T.A. isn't aware of what direction the wind is blowing.
March 4th, 1917.
THINGS are sure lively around here now. We got about 150 Huns
last night and a lot more were killed, I believe, without heavy
casualties. The gentle Hun is certainly having a poor time in
these parts, but his artillery is going strong.
Rumors are flying around so fast at present that one would
go crazy if they took them seriously. But I suppose there is
some truth at the bottom of them all.
How can Wilson back down after this Laconia business? I suppose
he will, but I don't quite see how.
I fear we are not going back as soon as I thought and we may
have several more days in the line. The Division certainly has
earned a rest and really needs it, but will they get it?
I suppose you will be back in town by the time this reaches
you, and I really think there is more than a sporting chance
of my being there in the next three weeks. But I am not banking
on this too much.
No post yesterday. By the way, will you send me about six
of these writing tablets, as several chaps like them and I would
like to give them one? Also send Astin, "Pte. Astin, D.
Coy., 4th King's," some Gold Flake. I am curious to know
what sort of a letter he would write thanking you. Let him know
that you sent them.
March 6th, 1917.
WE are supposed to be going back on the 8th. This is the latest
at any rate. How long we are back for and just where we are going
is another matter.
The Hun is getting very annoyed the last few days, and seems
to have any amount of stuff to fling over. Personally I wish
he would try to start something big here, as I think he would
get all he was looking for, but I don't believe he will. At any
rate we have given him a pretty good hiding in this section lately.
I got the Times describing the show you were mixed up in.(28) What amused me and everybody
here were the references to Northcliffe being so used to shell
fire that he doesn't mind it at all.
I hear nothing more about the U.S.A., so judge Wilson's patience
is still holding on. I can't make it out at all, but I have got
enough to keep me busy without worrying about something I can't
help.
I just found out yesterday that one of my mule drivers is
an American. Comes from Portland, Maine, and has been in about
every spot or rather port in the world, but as he remarked to
me, "This is the only place I have ever been that I don't
want to see again."
It is really a pitiful sight to see grass trying to grow in
tiny patches in this God-forsaken land.
March 9th, 1917.
JUST time for a line tonight. I got a letter of Mr. Irving's.
He seems a bit pessimistic to me, but it is hard to get a proper
perspective at this distance.
We are going back day after tomorrow! Really back! Back where
the guns can barely be heard. Of course as usual our Brigade
is going to be in an absolutely dead town. But I suppose they
are right, as we and the 1st and the 2nd ----- Highlanders and
the 4th are a bit too much for a decent French town. It has been
tried out and doesn't work out very well.
As to leave, I will get it in the next month or not at all.
At least that is my dope on the situation. But it isn't as bad
as if I had a wife.
The mail is terrible! I got a letter from you dated the 25th
and four days later I get one dated the 20th.
The latest rumor is that we are going to a perfectly hellish
part of the line, but still we will be able to get mail and leave.
What in the world did Campbell write about me? I haven't done
anything.
March 9th, 1917.
I DIDN'T have a second yesterday to write and only have about
two today. Moving a Battalion is no small job. We are back so
far now that I saw a civilian today ----- the first since January
21st; also a pane of glass. We are not very comfortable, the
men, I mean, but still it isn't so bad to be where those 5.9's
can't reach you.
Campbell has very bad feet, but seems O.K. otherwise. Simply
a large crop of blisters.
Have come to the conclusion that the old house mover has the
worst known job.
March 10th, 1917.
THANK goodness, we are settled, even if it isn't much of a
place.
I now know more or less what our plans are, but I can't say
a word except that after a rest we are making a big change. In
short, I don't think we shall be in action for some time, but
I think we will see a bit of a scrap then.
Leave is still stopped and I have adopted the mental attitude
that I don't expect any until après la guerre, but will
be pleased when it does come.
Certainly we deserve a bit of a rest (not I, but the Brigade),
as we have been continuously in this section longer than any
other unit in the whole Army.
Tomorrow is Sunday, I shall try to go to the early Service.
To have to march the Company to the compulsory service is almost
more than I can bear. God knows I don't blame the Padres, but
the system is terrible! And nobody seems to see it as I do.
I must say it annoys me to see Hun prisoners living in more
comfort than our lads. They are not a bad-looking lot. Personally
I don't hold any sentiment against the ordinary Hun private.
It is the Prussian powers who are responsible for the whole damnable
doctrine of Militarism who are the guilty ones. Of course this
doctrine has been so thoroughly inculcated in them that they
get thoroughly Hunnish, but I don't really believe they are morally
guilty.
March 11th, 1917.
FINALLY the mail arrived. I loved getting your letters and
Dad's. I also got Kitty's and a letter from Lady Isabel.(29) I shall answer them.
The Service today was too ghastly! A mound of sandbags built
up for the Padre and all the rest of us standing ankle deep in
mud. I am just a good enough Christian to have it really pain
me to see the Church making a mess of things.
I am glad you have been having such a good time at Sandwich.
I really hope I shall be returned to my platoon. I haven't much
of a conscience left, but what is left does trouble me. My job
is no cinch, but still it is better than I deserve. It amounts
to being under shell fire for a few hours each day, but I miss
machine guns!
Tell Father that I have been having a very good time with
bridge.
March 14th, 1917.
DEAR MOTHER,
I GOT two letters from you today, also the letter from Louie
Bryce. I am very fond of her and would like to see her again.
I am so glad she is happy.
I think I will call off my "No parcels" order, as
nobody seems to see it as I do. As I eat their parcels it seems
the thing to do to do my share. So that's that.
I am really glad that you are at Sandwich. I am sure it is
just the place for you. My advice would be to stick there as
long as possible.
Leave hasn't opened at all and I am not optimistic. It looks
as if I won't get any leave till after we do a bit of pushing.
"But what's the use of worrying?"
It isn't turning out to be much of a rest for the men, as
the training is distinctly strenuous. It is rather unsatisfactory
training my platoon and then getting shifted to another job.
But still it is what I am told to do and I can't avoid it.
Walter never wrote me, but I wrote him. I fancy he is "crocked."
. . . I get a wild note from Mrs. Lewis every now and then.
Nobody seems interested in America any more.
March 15th, 1917.
JUST got two letters from Father about you. I am so sorry!
If I thought you were really strong I shouldn't worry in the
least, I should be simply sorry that you had to go through pain.
As it is I am not only sorry, but I am really worried, for I
fear the pain may pull you down. I shall be most anxious not
only for the next few days, but for some time.
Our family does seem to go in unnecessarily for minor ailments.
I think the ghost of Dr. Bradford pursues us. We never die and
we never get well.
I don't seem able to write about anything else.
March 16th, 1917.
No post today, so that I haven't an idea how you are. I am
very anxious, that is for me, but I can't do anything. I can't
even hear from you, and couldn't do anything if I could. If anything
really serious should ever happen you could always telegraph
me.
Big things are in the air for us. I can't even hint at what
we are apparently in for. All I can say is that everything points
to the fact that we will be doing very hard work, but won't be
in action for some time. I am apparently permanently back to
my platoon, as the Transport can get on without me at our new
game. We have to get our kits down to thirty-five pounds, and
dump the rest. I wonder if I shall ever see it again.
We were marching past a huge military cemetery the other day.
Behind me I heard Astin say to a pal, "I wonder what they
all died of, 'Erb, must have been a epidemic of measles about
here."
Am enjoying Campbell more than ever. He sends love often.
March 17th, 1917.
Two letters from Father today. I am quite relieved. I hope
it doesn't take you long to pick up. I am afraid that if we get
on the move in a day or two I may not hear from you for some
time.
By the way, will Father look in my "lares and penates"
and get three books, "Infantry Training," "Field
Service Pocket Book" and "Field Service Regulations,
Part I"? They should all be there, if not please buy and
send them to me.
The war news is so big that I couldn't really tackle it even
if I could write what I wanted to. One thing I do know. In
one sector where the Boche is retiring he didn't put in a pleasant
winter. Also he held far stronger positions than we held, and
he certainly didn't give them up because he was too comfortable
there. We shall see! I fancy we shall see from front row stalls
after a certain time, but I don't think that time is very near.
I was a regular Hun today or rather on tonight's parade. After
I had made a thorough Hun of myself I remembered that it was
St. Patrick's Day and that my victims were Irish. I feel very
cheap now.
March 18th, 1917.
JUST come back from Church Service and thought we might get
the rest of the day off, but no such luck.
Don't get excited, but it really looks as though leave might
open. If it does open I am now well up in the list, what with
casualties, transfers, etc. But we shall see.
It is very amusing to see these officers trying to reduce
their kits. For an Englishman to give up what he considers the
decencies of life is a sacrifice the greatness of which is incalculable.
But we are going to be down to very little. I may send my spare
things to you. I haven't decided yet.
I am really getting interested in licking my platoon into
shape, and I think it is coming on splendidly. I don't know how
efficient my methods are and I am sure they are not orthodox,
but of one thing I am sure; my platoon is loyal to me. I am really
anxious to test my methods in some really hot show. As an example
you know I couldn't "tidy up" a bare kitchen table.
Well, I have explained my weakness to Sergt. Foote and put him
in charge of this department. 'Today the Colonel inspecting huts
reported mine as the neatest of the sixteen. I had done nothing
except that I think I have won Sergt. Foote's(30)
loyalty.
It is curious how many of my men ask me about prospects in
America after the war. I should love to be in a position to get
some of them good jobs.
Sometime I will tell you about Corpl. Malloy,(31)
an old soldier and a Scot of Scots. He was a Sergeant and was
accused of deserting and sentenced to be shot early in the War.
He didn't try to desert, he simply met a pal from Glasgow and
got drunk and disappeared. His sentence was not carried out and
he has now been pardoned and has two of his stripes back. He
is the best N.C.O. in the Coy., I think, and I kid myself that
he would do anything for me. I certainly admire him. Sometime
I will tell you his story in detail as I got it from him in a
shell hole one night. And yet they say there is nothing dramatic
in this War.
Tell Helen she "backed a winner" when she married
Campbell.
March 19th, 1917.
GOT your letter today and was greatly relieved.
I got a letter from Kitty Margesson, but never one from Kitty
Anderson.
Have had a very bad day; one of those days when you find that
you have forgotten all sorts of details.
I would love to be in this job of "following up."
I would particularly like to see how the Hun has been living
opposite where we were. I have so often wondered whether he were
better off than we. Seems so curious to be fifty yards away from
a place and have no idea what it is like. It also seems rather
hard that we who did our best to make the Boche unhappy during
the winter should be denied the pleasure of reaping the fruits
of our labor, but I suppose it can't be helped; at any rate,
as the song goes, "Send me where the Allemange can't chuck
bombs at me," and that's where we are at present.
They tell me we shall go a long way still. Some talk of leave,
but nothing definite.
March 20, 1917.
I ONLY wish I could write about the Hun retirement and what
I think about it. As I can't, you must consider that I have filled
up about four pages about it. Nothing else seems worth writing
about. How I would love to be following them up! It must be rare
sport.
I really will try to write the de Gisberts and there are dozens
of others I ought to write to, but I dare say I never shall.
I do loathe writing so much!
It seems so funny at night to see the flashes of the guns
and hear only a rumble and know that they can't reach you. It
makes the whole show seem so unreal, and as Astin says, "It
makes you feel awfully brave."
Leave is not open yet and it looks to me as if it is a case
of now or never.
It has been an easy day today. Had a good game of bridge this
evening, and, as T. A. says, "it isn't a bad old War tonight!"
March 28th, 1917.
I COULD really give the old old excuse of being too busy to
write and not be far off it. In addition to my platoon training
I am now training scouts for the entire Battalion, and, as we
spend all the evening in Conferences, I really am busy.
We are back still farther in billets, living in real houses
and I am actually sleeping in a bed. Astin got the fags and wrote
a letter to Father which I censored without reading. I am curious
to know what he had to say. He certainly is a great lad. Two
Indians turned up having lost their way. He spoke their language
apparently, for they grinned and nodded and off they went. Of
course we used to be with the Indians when they were here, and
he had picked up the language apparently.
I don't think there is a possible chance of leave.
I enclose a letter from Mrs. Seeger.(32)
Tell Father I get the Times and enjoy it. Don't send any books,
I haven't the time and it looks to me as though we were going
to have a busy little spring and summer.
I am greatly relieved about you..
April 3rd, 1917.
I HAVE not written in a very long time, I know. I have a perfectly
plausible excuse. I, or rather the Division has been on the move,
covering a good many miles each day and after we have halted
I have generally had to ride on ahead and reconnoitre a route
for the next day. I could, of course, always have found time
to write you, but have been so tired that I haven't had the guts
to do it. We have always been behind the line and may be so for
some time, but when we do go in I think it will be into something
distinctly large. At any rate we have moved, so that we are now
in a different part altogether and a part new to me.
We are back where there are civilians and no ruined towns.
In fact it seems hard to realize that there is a war on at all.
I saw a lot of refugees from the reconquered towns before
I left. I shall never forget the sight. A number of young girls
obviously syphilitic; nor shall I forget the look on their faces
when they saw some Boche prisoners.
In our billet last night was a young French soldier, "en
permission," he has three sisters in --------, one of the
big places we are hoping to take soon. Poor lad! No wonder we
hear the French are going very strong. Curiously this lad was
wounded in the very trench I was in at Christmas, just a few
weeks before we took over from the French. I like the French
bourgeoise more and more; they are wonderful creatures. But how
did the Scotch and the Jews ever get their reputation for closeness?
These women are charming, hard-working, efficient, good fun,
but not only close, but crooked as far as money is concerned.
Did Astin write you, or rather what did he write? I now remember
I censored the letter without reading it. I have discovered two
new talents in him. No. 1, he plays the violin. No. 2, he can
converse with Sikhs! You see we were once in a division in which
there were several Battalions of Sikhs. He is a wonder.
As to America! I am all on pins and needles, but am more optimistic
than I have been yet.
Good Friday,
April 6th, 1917.
WELL, it really looks, doesn't it, as if the U.S. finally
meant business. It certainly is about time. I am very optimistic
as to what she can do. In fact I think it may well be the straw
which will break the camel's back. We shall see. Certainly they
will make some terrible blunders. Only wish I could be there.
But I can't unless they ask for me.
We are still on the move, but I think we will soon be at our
destination, which will not be far from the P in Push, I fancy.
I really think that a very successful push will about wind this
miserable show up, and high time too.
You amuse me about your objections to my being called Woodrow.
Don't you know Englishmen well enough to know that when they
take liberties like that with you they like you? It is only the
polite Englishman who is dangerous. (See Kipling.) At any rate,
the nickname was given me because I have so frequently aired
my views on Wilson.
I have been getting lots of parcels lately, thanks.
On the whole I am very optimistic about the war, but it looks
as if we were one of the lot selected for winning it, but I really
know nothing.
Good Friday.
JUST another line to let you know that I got your letter of
April 2nd. How it got here I don't know. I will try to write
tomorrow, but may not be able to. It is now 3.30 A.M. and we
move at 6 A.M. You are right. I am the "jack of all trades"
of this Battln. and master of none. But it "ain't no bed
of roses." I am now training Battalion "runners."
When I tell you that a new man fell out exhausted on our march
yesterday and died later, you can guess that we are moving.
April 10th, 1917.
WE have about finished our journey. "We are living in
a farm." Well, the "stunt" is on O.K., and we
are near it, waiting, and I dare say a few more hours or days
at any rate and we will have box seats. I am very optimistic.
I really believe we have got the old Hun this time. I really
think a time will come in the next few days when he will be surrendering
in droves. At any rate, everybody seems very confident. Certainly
it is a momentous time. If I can do my bit in it and at the same
time keep my skin whole I shall be mighty pleased with myself.
I saw some of David's lot on our way up, but not the 11th. My
word, they did look fit and smart and efficient. I only hope
they are able to turn the trick. If we can give them a chance
they certainly look as though they are ready.
This is the first big attack that this Division has not started
in at the beginning and the old hands don't know what to make
of it.
I shall be on my own in the Transport this trip, as Boumphrey
is on a special Brigade job. It is the biggest responsibility
I have ever had; namely, to keep a Battalion supplied with ammunition,
bombs, etc., food and water in a push is not so easy. Fortunately
in a push you can more or less do it in your own way as Red Hats(33) are scarce and their red-tape
which is so binding and annoying at other times becomes very
elastic.
I quite agree with Col. Lassiter.(34)
I shall wait until an American Force arrives in Europe and then,
while still holding my present commission, apply to get attached
to it. It would be very easy if I could get some American Army
official to ask for me.
When America declared war Caspar went to his C.O. and said,
"May I have twenty-four hours' leave, Sir?"
His colonel replied, "You may have forty-eight, and will
you invite me to the party?"
The following letter, which he wrote two days before the telegram
was sent from the War Office, reached Father and Mother almost
as soon as the wire and so saved them the anguish of having no
word directly from him.
From a Hospital,
May 22nd, 1917.
To C. H. BURTON, ESQ.
DEAR SIR:
JUST a few lines hoping this will find you in the best of
health, as it leaves me at the present, although I am in a hospital
wounded, not seriously wounded. I had a piece of a German bomb
taken out of my face today. Mr. Burton is also wounded, I am
very sorry to tell you, but I don't think you need have any anxiety
as to his condition, as he will get over it all right, although
it is rather a funny wound. I was wounded while I was alongside
Mr. Burton and he was wounded shortly after me, he tells me.
I was chatting with him while we were in the Clearing Station.
The bullet that wounded Mr. Burton went clean through his steel
helmet and wounded him in the back. I think he is in this hospital,
and when the Doctor says I can get up I am going to try to find
him because I am practically sure he will get home. Mr. Burton
led the bombers in the attack on the 20th inst., and I was with
him all the time until I was hit. I wanted to stay with him then,
but they made me come away. Mr. Burton agrees with me that we
had a fine hour's sport bombing the Germans until we were put
"Hors de Combat." I have nothing more this time, but
will write again shortly. I will now close with best respects
to you and Mrs. Burton.
I remain,
Yours sincerely,
H. ASTIN.
May 23, 1917.
DEAR SPENCE,
I SUPPOSE the orthodox thing is to write to one's Father Confessor
before going into battle. As the next best thing I will write
now after stopping a Boche grenade; (principally because I can
do nothing else but write). They won't let me lie down in bed
and there is nothing to read. Well, I cut things a bit fine this
time. A German gentleman whom we failed to "mop up"
en passant (we didn't miss many), as his last act on this earth
soaked me in the back with a small grenade and as near as I can
make out, by all rights I should be pushing up the daisies, but
"I ain't," and what's more, I have every intention
of getting O.K. again. In fact, I may get in for the last three
or four years of the war, but will be out for some months now.
Read the accounts of the fighting on Sunday, May 20th, and you
will know what we did. We are all pretty chesty in the old Division.
I shall never forget early Sunday morning in the quiet with my
picked crew of bruisers waiting for the hour. And then in one
second every hellish device yet invented all going at once. I
had just about forty minutes of it before I got mine. But I don't
think I shall ever forget a single incident. It was what we are
always praying for, a hand-to-hand scrap (a heavy fog did away
with the M. guns). I will tell you about it at some future date.
My point is this. What the American Army needs is "roughnecks,"
thousands and thousands of them. Rub this in and keep rubbing
it in. People of culture are needed in small doses, but "hard
guys" are the thing. For instance, the following is the
composition of the selected party under me which led the attack
Sunday:
Private Wallace, a stoker in civil life.
Private Put, a boilermaker.
Sergeant Malloy, a regular soldier, who has been sentenced to
be shot once, for being drunk on active service and reduced to
the ranks six times.
Self . . . . . . you can fill in
my trade.
Private Astin, my servant, plays a fiddle in a cheap dance hall.
Private Casey, owns a small "pub" in Cork.
Private Hard, a carter.
Private Michaels, a collier.
Private Hatnough, I think is a burglar, but my evidence is only
indirect.
Corp. Lopez, a halfbreed Portugee gentleman of the sea.
Sergeant Gallagher, a Liverpool policeman, etc., etc., just thirty
picked men.
My point is that we were the kind that were picked, and when
you get a lot like this seeing red, you don't need much leadership.
No, sir, Sir Galahads are not of much use against the Hun.
I am wondering if, after some months light duty or something
of the sort, whether they could use me as an instructor in the
Harvard O.T.C. I could get leave to go there, I am sure, in case
I am unfit for active service again. Of course, I am in wonderful
condition and may be able to get well enough in a few months
to get out here again, but they tell me that lung wounds are
the slowest of the lot.
Love,
CAP.
P.S. I could instruct in Lewis Gun, Bombing, Rifle Grenades,
and I should love to give some short talks about "What Ordinary
Trench Warfare is Really Like."
May 23rd, 1917.
DEAR MOTHER,
I AM doing splendidly, but I can see now that it may be two
or three weeks before I get to Blighty. It is going to be a long
tedious job getting O.K. with nothing to be done except
rest, rest, rest. Well, I'm in for it, so might as well take
it philosophically, but I do want your help. Please be with me
as much as possible, but please, oh, please do not try to manage
my convalescence. If we can just have a good time together I
will do well. I can get over this thing in Craigleith if not
interfered with, and on the other hand will not do well in the
swankiest of West End hospitals if I am interfered with. I am
in for a bad spell, but I will come out absolutely on top. Please
remember (1) A poor hospital won't hurt me. (2) A poor doctor
won't hurt me (as the stuff is not being taken out of my lung
and there is nothing for a doctor to do). (3) Irritability and
worry will be a big handicap. So let me alone in my relations
with the R.A.M.C. and we will put in the best summer we can.
I will never mention any of this again.
It seems so curious reading about our stunt in the Paris papers.
Every one seems to think it is the most successful stunt pulled
off in a long time. Of course the newspaper report is the same
as usual --- much accent on the wonderful skill with which it
was planned. Take it from me, and I led D. Coy. down 400 out
of 800 yards of the objective before I stopped mine, we got there
by means of brute force and Mills bombs. Nothing panned out as
we were told it would. The picked lot of ruffians I had simply
saw red and after a bit of very skilful resistance the Hun was
mentally, morally and physically whipped. Well, I'll tell you
all about it when I see you.
I came out of this show with one pair of breeches badly torn,
one puttee ditto, one pair boots, one pair socks, one pair underdrawers,
a pocket knife, and twenty-five francs. Nothing above the waist
except gore. Some sight I must have been.
Well, look for me in two weeks' time. They tell me you have
no choice of hospitals now.
May 24th, 1917.
I AM feeling much better today. Only one lung is hit, I am
now sure, and the bleeding from the mouth has practically stopped.
What a thing it is to be fit. I really have put in a pleasant
day today; seems incredible, but it is true, and I have forgotten
about the fight; it seems very remote.
I do miss Astin; I think he will get the D.C.M. out of this
show ....
There is a wonderful old matron here. We are getting quite
chummy. I never believed it possible that a trained nurse (L.
B. excepted) could have given the order she gave when I was brought
here. It was to give me a quarter morphia, lay me in a clean
bed, mud, blood, sweat and all, and not disturb me for three
hours. God bless her for it, for the long motor ride had nearly
"got me"; that is to say, I was nearly, damn it, hysterical
with the pain. When I think of it, it seems inconceivable that
I should be so comfortable now.
Where we are is truly La Belle France. Our tents are in a
splendid old orchard and on my table is the most beautiful bunch
of lilacs I have ever smelt. I never went into raptures over
the smell of flowers, but as a change from dead Boche they are
O.K. If the Boches do turn their dead into fat (which I don't
believe) I wish they would make a collection before we relieve
them of another trench. There are Hun cemeteries in all the areas
I have been in. They take far better care of their own dead than
we do of ours, and on the Somme one frequently saw a splendidly
made cross with "Hier ruht zwei französiche Soldaten";
never one to a Tommy. In several places I have seen really handsome
granite monuments put up.
You can't get around it, the old Hun is an appalling fellow
and it is going to take a long time to whack him ....
I wrote to Spence last night.
I don't expect to hear from you till I get to Blighty. Don't
see how I can very well.
May 25th, 1917.
I AM lying in bed out in a beautiful orchard and really the
World does seem good. I didn't quite realize before how grateful
I am that I am not "pushing up the daisies." Am doing
splendidly. Every day the Doc goes over my chest and every day
more of my left lung is clear and doing business. Breathing has
become almost a pleasure. It may be some days yet before I get
"down the line." When I get there I may be sent direct
to England or I may be X-rayed and operated on there. It won't
be a serious operation. If the shrapnel has gone very deep they
won't operate; if it has only just penetrated it will be as simple
as A.B.C. so I am not in the least "wind up."
I am afraid you are having an anxious time, but I can't do
anything except write. I haven't even got the money to telegraph
with, as I lost my advanced Pay Book in the scrap and £100
in Cox's wouldn't be a bit of use.
Would like to go to Oxford to Hospital. They tell me it is
likely I might be somewhere in the South, as they would hardly
send a case like mine a long railway journey.
25th May, 1917.
DEAR ALICE,
I HAVE owed you a letter for some time, but the soldiering
business has been distinctly "bullish" in tone the
last two months. I am now having a bit of a rest cure, having
tried to bounce a Boche grenade off my back and failed. In other
words, several pieces of metal, once the property of a certain
Miss Krupp, have now permanently taken up residence in my left
lung. But they seem well-behaved bits of shrapnel and personally
I feel we shall get on quite well, at any rate I intend to take
them to Blighty for a visit. We really had a splendid scrap Sunday,
the 20th, and as you can see by the papers we made a howling
success of it. It was a good old-fashioned brawl, as a heavy
mist stopped all the side-shows and we certainly spoiled Fritz's
morning for him. I hate most things in this War as much as anybody,
particularly standing still and being shelled, but I must say
I did enjoy that scrap.
I hear you have been having a devil of a time with a Matron.
It's a shame there isn't an open season every year on a certain
type of aggressive female.
I am told my wound is a "dead cert" Blighty one.
I hope so. I want to be one thing or the other; on active service
or in London, I don't fancy a rural convalescence.
Regards,
CAP.
May 26th, 1917.
DEAR MOTHER,
STILL in the C.C.S., but only for a couple of days more. Still
doing splendidly. I only hope they don't keep me long at the
Base. It's all very well to say I am a certain Blighty, but with
the submarine show on I shall feel safer when I get my orders
to sail. Tell Dad he will have to hand over the Diamond Belt.
There is a chap next me who has been gassed; well I know what
a noise he makes and they say I drown him out completely when
I get to sleep.
Did I tell you that a chap here comes from Renfrew, Canada,
and has been up to Lake St. Patrick via the Black River?(36)
This is really a splendidly run place. "It isn't done"
apparently in an officers' ward to show the least interest in
the wounds and condition of any of your neighbors, and what a
splendid thing it is too.
I seem to write very dull letters. I don't know why, for I
feel very chippy. I do hope Astin has got to England, but I am
afraid he hasn't. Poor old D. Coy. will about consist of two
men and a boy.
O.H.M.S. War Office,
London, 3.25 P.M. May 29, 1917.
C. BURTON,
Ritz Hotel, Piccadilly.
2 Lt. C. Burton, Liverpool Regt. admitted at Red Cross Hospital
Le Touquet May twenty-five with gunshot wound in back. Severe.
Any further news will be sent.
Secty, War Office.
