* * * * *
If he would seem to have made the best of everything for our benefit, I
can only say we have been shown a good many of the letters which Oscar
still found time to write to others, and that practically all are in the
same strain of jovial enthusiasm, full of the same genial fire and the
same spontaneous fun. The only difference is here and there a grim detail
which might have shocked or harrowed us. Two examples are enough to show
his tender thought for us in this respect. In the second letter there
was perhaps an underlying sadness, but poor Crump’s death was enough to
sadden him, and was just the sort of thing that Oscar would _not_ tell us
before he need.
_To Mr. de Havilland._
June 29, ’15.
... It’s an extraordinary mixture of humour and ghastliness this whole
life—On one hand you can’t go a yard along the trenches without seeing
something which beats anything in peace-time for sheer humour—one of
our orderly men for instance stumbling along a squelching communication
trench with a couple of dozen eggs and other dainties for his
officer (me!) suddenly slips and falls headlong with arms stretched
wildly—well—you must be in a bad plight if that doesn’t make you
roar—I’ve seen it and heard it afterwards too!... And again the very
first time I was up here I went along to see my Company officer (a 2nd
Lieut like myself owing to the casualties we have had) in the front
line—and found his feet—that was all—a Jack J: had done the rest. I never
told this at home—but it will illustrate what I have been saying....
_To his Cousin Winnie._
June 28th, ’15.
... I hear from M. and D. pretty regularly—it wouldn’t be worth a week
out here if I didn’t! How is Prescott & Co:—not suffering from any
more maladies I hope ‘sincerely I hope so—I hope so sincerely!’ Do you
remember _that_ in ‘Jones of the Lancers’—priceless song! My _servant_
used to sing that—and very well too—he sang it at a Concert at the place
where we were billeted the other day—and two days ago was shot through
the brain just outside my dug-out—poor fellow.... Isn’t it wonderful
how things happen just at the most critical time? I was annoyed with
[somebody or other] for getting me up unnecessarily this morning—He
was promptly shot through the shoulder and badly cut in the head by an
infernal Trench-mortar.
It is time we had another scrap—this sort of ‘lying in state’ doesn’t
suit your Highness! The place has been as quiet as the grave—and yet
every day a few fellows get knocked out—and as R. K. says—‘There ain’t no
chorus here to give—nor there ain’t no band to play!’
A poor letter—but will get something better off my chest one of these
days—I have ‘a nasty taste in my mouth,’ if you know what I mean!