(44)
Thursday, 17th June.
... de la Mare and I are both living like kings on all this food.... We
are now about to have a gigantic meal before the night’s work—not much
_work_ for us officers, but having to keep awake is the nuisance—and I
find it almost impossible to sleep very well in the day. However we’re
none the worse for living like this!
On Saturday we go back to billets, where we remain for 4 days, then back
here for 10 days or so more; they are working us very hard—heaven knows
why—I suppose because we are so good at it!
(45)
Saturday, 8.30 P.M. June 19th, ’15.
... You will be interested to hear I have been ‘slightly wounded’—a
mere touch under the ear[7] which made me leave the trenches early this
morning for the Dressing Station—just to take the necessary precautions,
which are _compulsory_, against poisoning.
Yesterday the C.O. wanted a bombing-party to go out from B Coy to
see what it could do. I had _bagged_ that job weeks ago—and have
been reconnoitring in front of our lines all this past week with a
view to a ‘scrap’ some night. So last night I got a party—2 N.C.O’s
and 1 man armed with Hand-grenades and myself with some of the _new
Hand-bombs_—glorious things, _just_ the size _and_ weight of a _Cricket
Ball_! Then at 12.30 this morning we got over the parapet and sailed over
the intervening 200 yards. Of course I had planned the whole direction
and spot to aim at etc: so we got up to 70 yards of the old Bosches
without difficulty—going in single file—myself at the head ... and lying
out in the long grass we could distinctly hear Fritz breathing hard over
his spade-work—they were digging. I had previously arranged with de la
Mare that he should send a series of _flares_ up to show me where exactly
I was and so beat the Bosch at his own dirty game. The difficult part lay
in getting within 20 yards of them—for the hand-grenades are difficult to
hurl much further with any accuracy. As a matter of fact I could have got
much closer up to their trench, if I hadn’t been so anxious about the men
with me—I would have done the whole job alone only the officer _has_ to
have 2 men and 1 N.C.O. with him on these occasions. If we had tried to
get any nearer than the spot which I eventually chose one of them would
have given the show away I am sure.
At any rate we waited for a few minutes whilst more flares went up, and
then after gauging the distance I led off with cricket-ball No. 1—it was
just like ‘throwing in’ from ‘cover’ (a fast long hop!)—only this time
I had ‘some’ batsmen to run out and there was a price on those stumps!
I fancy ‘things happened’ in their trench—as there were howls—and a bit
of lyddite flew back and hit me just under the ear—mere scratch—only it
spoilt my old coat for ever and ever—amen! The others then stood up and
‘threw in’—the wicket-keep put them down nicely—and we made haste back
to the Pavilion!—it _was_ a case of ‘appealing against the light’—for it
was 1.30 A.M. by then and getting uncomfortably light. ‘Fritz’ seemed so
scared that he never fired a shot—only sent up a brace of flares—during
which we lay down flat in the long grass. When I got back Monypenny said
I must go and have the scratch painted with Iodine and that sort of
rot—so I went off with Crump (who—remember—is stretcher-bearer) to show
me the way back to the dressing-station at the Canal. We just got there
before dawn. I then ‘took car’ (don’t cher know!) to a place 2 miles back
where I went to the Field Ambulance and had a sleep—then had the thing
seen to and an injection v. Poison put into me—then to our _billets_ by
Red Cross Car, as the Battalion comes back tonight and they said it was
not worth coming all the way back. So here I am—alone in our little farm
house again—and am off to sleep in the barn as usual! The Battalion won’t
arrive until early morning probably—so I haven’t done badly!
I had a little jaunt with a R. Cross Captain in his ambulance Car and
got some money from the Field Cashier, had a shave and shampoo and two
excellent meals—in which we had STRAWBERRIES!—in the town close by here.
At first I was jolly sick at having to come back, but it has really been
rather a ‘jaunt,’ starting with our escapade in the early hours—for all
the world like those early rises up at Masongill—crawling after Rabbits:
these were ‘some rabbits’!
Well—am dead tired—so good night.
I knew you would like a description of this sort of thing—but remember
that it is an every night occurrence—this bombing—and jolly sight nicer
than sitting helplessly being shelled by invisible guns. It is the _only
relic_ of the old fighting left in this war—this bombing—none of your
gas or shells—but just like our troops did at Badajoz etc: in the old
wars—top-hole....
(47)
Sunday, June 20th, ’15. 8 P.M.
MY DEAREST MUMMY,—Thanks so much for your 2 lovely letters. The P.C. I
got last night—No: I letter this morning and No: II just now! I am in the
height of happiness, for I have had such a glorious lot of letters and
parcels since I came here yesterday. Last night the fruits from G.M. and
a parcel from Barkers via Daddy and your letter and a _very_ nice one
from Mr. Bryers with a 7d novel—and tonight your letter—a _very_ cheery
one from D—and a _de_lightful one from de Havilland—one that makes me
thrill with the old zest for the House I used to feel in those immortal
House-matches and all the other things which you know I held dear at
Eton—also 3 parcels of food!—more from D—more from you (?)—and still
_more_ from D with the Army & Navy Canteen thing!!! The whole mess-table
is now rocking with my things!!
Oh! Mummy, what a glorious time I am having! I mean all these letters and
parcels from you and D, the former so cheery and encouraging—and the very
life itself—in the thick of it, and _yet_ at Stone House, Eton, Masongill
and, always, No: 7. Through every one of these places I have been time
and again and yet with my feet on Belgian soil and my eyes bunged up with
sleep! Never has my imagination stood me in such stead—you will laugh,
but all the same you will understand. What _does_ it matter where one
is and how one is so long as one has these pictures behind one—I _am_
beginning to see the falseness of materialism—One can be in a French
trench and yet at Masongill with the greatest ease—I can, thank heaven.
Well—our little dinner is on the table in the garden and it is getting
dark—a beautiful evening. I have been strolling round the fields with my
mind concentrated on Masongill—that is the greatest rest one gets here
from the trenches—_Freedom_ for absent-mindedness—which of course it is!!
I presume you have had my long letter to D forwarded on to you—that has
all my news.
A kiss to G.M.—and a big one!