trench; three in rear of it, and one most infernally close in front of
us. I suppose we all told ourselves the ball was just about to begin.
But nothing happened for over an hour. Then came nine shells in quick
succession, one of which, on my left, robbed my half-Company of four
men, one killed and three wounded. The rest accomplished nothing. Then
silence again, followed by occasional bursts of M.G. and the usual sort
of rifle fire. Corporal Lane, of No. 2 Platoon, stopped a M.G. bullet
with his left shoulder, I regret to say, and one man in the trench--"C"
Company--was killed by a bullet through the head.
With every little burst of fire, one braced oneself for the big strafe
that we naturally felt must come. It seemed the Boche was playing with
us as a cat plays with a mouse. "I wonder what devilry he's got up his
sleeve?" We probably all asked ourselves that question fifty times.
At two o'clock there wasn't a break anywhere in the new line. It was a
connected trench throughout, and nowhere less than six feet deep, with
two communicating trenches leading back to our original front line.
At three o'clock the word came along that the working party had been
withdrawn, and that I was to take my men in. As before, we left a few
sentry groups, to be relieved at dawn by fresh sentries, since the new
line was now to be guarded by day and manned by night.
And that was the end of it. I got my men safely in. Half an hour
later the Boche sent over another ten or dozen shells on the new line,
and once again before dawn he did the same, with the usual periodical
bursts of M.G. fire and dropping rifle fire during the rest of the
time. And nothing more. Wasn't it extraordinary, when he had had a
whole day to think about it, and must have known we should be at work
there that night? Possibly, however, in his crafty way, he assumed we
should not go near the new line that second night for fear of strafing,
and held his hand for that reason. And, possibly, our General assumed
he'd think that, and acted accordingly. But there it is. We got our
work done at next to no cost.
I was going to tell you about the rumours as to our push to straighten
out the line, but my time's up. That will have to wait for my next
letter. We are having an easy time now, but there were no free minutes
last week. You'll hear again soon, from your
"_Temporary Gentleman_."
THE COMING PUSH
You are quite right in saying that I don't feel much interest in
political affairs at home these days. The fact is, we do not often
see the newspapers, and when we see them there isn't much time for
really reading them or giving much consideration to what they say. The
war news is interesting, of course; but all this endless talky-talky
business, why, I can hardly tell you how queerly it strikes us out
here. You see, we are very close to concrete realities all the time,
and to us it seems the talky-talky people are most amazingly remote
from realities of any kind. They seem to us to be very much interested
in shadows, notions, fads, fancies, and considerations of interests
which we think were washed out of existence at the very beginning of
the war. They even seem able to strive mightily and quarrel virulently
over the discussion of the principles and abstractions involved in
things they propose to do when the war is over!
M-m-m-m-m-m! Seems to us the thing is to get it over, and in the
right way. No, we are not much interested in the political situation.
The tangible actualities of the situation out here seem to us very
pressing; pressing enough to demand all the energies and all the
attention; every atom of the strength of all the people of the British
race; without any wastage over more remote things, abstractions, things
_ante_ and _post bellum_. Here in France I can assure you men, women,
and children are all alike in that they have no life outside the
war. Every thought, every act, everything is in and for the war. The
realities are very close here.
One thing in that last letter of yours especially pleases me. "We have
now got to the point in England at which all the people of both sexes
who are worth their salt are busy at war work of one kind or another."
That's excellent. Well, now rope in the ones who are not "worth their
salt." You'll find they're all right, once they're roped in. I don't
believe in this idea of some people not being worth their salt; not in
England, anyhow. The stock is too good. You know the type of hoodlum
who, with licks of hair plastered over his forehead, seems to spend his
days leaning against a lamp-post. The fellow I mean has a perfectly
beastly habit of spitting over everything in sight; when riding on top
of a 'bus, for instance. Despised by decent men, he's a real terror to
decent women. Same type, I suppose, as the Apache of Paris. Every big
city breeds 'em.
Well, all I want to tell you about this gentleman is, never to run
away with the notion that he can't be worth his salt. All he needs is
to be taught the meaning of authority. It's only a matter of months;
even weeks. With my own eyes I have watched the process at work.
Nobody will ever again be able to delude me about it. In a country
like ours there are no people "not worth their salt." The worst type
of man we've got only needs a few months in a Battalion like ours,
during the training period, to learn the meaning of authority, and, by
means of discipline, to have his latent manhood developed. It's there
all right. Only he'll never develop it of his own accord. Authority
must be brought to bear. The Army method is the quickest and best. In
a few months it makes these fellows men, and thundering good men at
that. Worth their salt! They're worth their weight in--well, to take
something real and good, say in 'baccy and cartridges--real men and
real fighters.
Out here in billets, we get a deal more information about things
generally than ever reaches us in the line. All the rumours come our
way, and among 'em, here and there, I dare say, hints of the truth.
We know that out there in the new trench we cut no dug-outs are being
made. There's no evidence of any intention to inhabit that new front
line. It is just fully manned by night and held by a few sentry groups
in the day. (It's a deuce of a job getting along it by night when it's
full of men. Being kept so narrow, for safety's sake, there are not
many places where you can pass men, so you have to get along somehow
over their heads or between their legs. Oh, it's great going on a wet
night!) And this, in our eyes, is proof positive of the truth of the
rumour which says we are to use it almost immediately as a jumping-off
place, in a push designed to strengthen and straighten our front line
by cutting off that diabolical corner of the Boche line opposite The
Gut; to wash out The Gut, in fact, altogether, putting it behind our
front line, with all its blood-soaked craters.
I don't think I ought to write much about it, though I suppose the
Censor won't mind so long as I mention no places or names to indicate
the part of the front we're on. But, in effect, if we can take several
hundred yards of Boche trenches here, the gain to us, apart altogether
from strategic considerations, will be equivalent to at least a mile.
It's much more than just that, really, because it means getting a very
advantageous and commanding position in exchange for a very exposed and
deadly one, depriving Boche of a great advantage and gaining a great
advantage for ourselves. Even the lesser of the two possible schemes,
concerning less than 200 yards of Boche front, would give us all that.
But the general opinion seems to be that we are to tackle the larger
scheme, involving the seizure of a good mile or more of Boche front. We
all think we know, and we none of us know anything, really.
But I must clear out. We have a new issue of improved gas-helmets,
and I've got to see to dishing 'em out. Then every man will have two
anti-gas helmets and one pair of anti-lachrymatory gas goggles. We are
also renewing our emergency, or "iron," ration--and that all looks like
a push, and is therefore exhilarating.
* * * * *
_Later._
Great and glorious news! The push is a fact. I mustn't say which day,
and, just in case this letter fell into wrong hands, I think I'll hold
it back, and not post just yet. The main thing is we are to push;
and we are jolly well going to wipe out that Boche corner. It is the
lesser of the two schemes--a local affair pure and simple, so I suppose
you'll learn next to nothing about it from dispatches. You know our
British way in the matter of official dispatches. The British have no
shop window at all. One ought to be glad of it, I suppose. Ours is
the safer, better, more dignified way, no doubt, and certainly never
raises hopes doomed to possible disappointment. At the back of my mind
I approve it all right. (Which should be comforting to the G.O.C. in
C.) But, as touching ourselves, one cannot help wishing the dispatches
would give you news of our show. Of course they won't.
"The night was quiet on the remainder of the Front." "Some elements
of trenches changed hands in the neighbourhood of ----, the advantage
being with us." That's the sort of thing. At least, I hope it'll read
that way. It will, if "A" Company can make it so.
I'm particularly glad we had that turn in Petticoat Lane, you know.
Now that I think we shall never occupy it again as a front line--by
the time you get this, please the pigs, it'll be well behind our front
line, and we'll be snugly over the rise where the Boche now shelters--I
don't mind admitting to you that it's a heart-breaking bit of line.
There's no solid foothold anywhere in it, and there's next to no real
cover. It's a vile bit of trench, which we never should have occupied
if we'd had any choice in those early days when the Boche first dug
himself in opposite, and the French, having no alternative, scratched
in here. For our sins we know every inch of it now, and, thanks to good
glasses and long hours of study, I think I know the opposite lines
pretty well--the lines I hope we shall be in.
Our fellows are queer, you know. Perhaps I've told you. Any kind of
suffering and hardship they have to endure they invariably chalk up to
the account against Mr. Boche. There's a big black mark against him for
our spell in Petticoat Lane, and, by Jupiter! he'll find he'll have
to pay for every mortal thing our chaps suffered there; every spoiled
or missed meal; even lost boots, sore feet, and all such details. Our
chaps make jokes about these things, and, if they're bad enough, make
believe they almost enjoy them while they last. But every bit of it
goes down in the account against Fritz; and if "A" Company gets the
chance to be after him, by Gad! he'll have to skip! He really will.
I'm not going to risk giving away military information by telling you
any more now. It will all be over, and Cut-Throat Alley will be behind
us when next I write. And, understand, you are not to worry in the
least bit about me, because I promise you I'll get through. I should
know if I were not going to; at least, I think I should. But I feel
perfectly certain we shall bring this thing off all right anyhow; and
so, even if I did chance to go down, you wouldn't grieve about that,
would you? because you'd know that's the way any fellow would like
to go down, with his Company bringing it off; and, mind you, a thing
that's going to make a world of difference to all the hundreds of good
chaps who will hold this sector of the front before the war's over.
We've got a mighty lot to wipe out in this little push. It isn't only
such scraps of discomfort as we suffered, nor yet the few men we lost
there. But, French and British, month in and month out, for many a long
day and night, we've been using up good men and true in that bloody,
shell-torn corner. Why, there's not a yard of its churned-up soil that
French and English men haven't suffered on. We've all that to wipe out;
all that, and a deal more that I can't tell you about. I'll only tell
you that I mean to get through it all right. Every man in the Battalion
means real business--just as much as any of the chaps who fought under
Nelson and Wellington, believe me. So, whatever you do, be under no
sort of anxiety about your
"_Temporary Gentleman_."
P.S.--Seeing that you and I, and all our lot, never have known
anything about military matters before this war came, I think it may
interest you, as it interests me, to know that I have never seen the
Company as a whole jollier, or in higher spirits than it is with this
job before it; and, do you know, I never felt happier myself, never. I
feel this makes it worth while to be alive and fit; more worth while
than it ever was in civil life before the war.
FRONT LINE TO HOSPITAL
Perhaps this address will be quite a shock to you if you know what
it means. So I hasten to say that I am perfectly all right, really.
"Clearing Station"--perhaps that won't have the ominous look to you
that "Hospital" would, though it means the same thing. But the point
is, I am all right. I told you I'd get through, and I have. The fact
that I'm lying in bed here--in luxurious comfort--is only an incident.
I am quite safe and perfectly all right.
They tell me here that directly an officer is wounded information to
that effect is sent home to his people. Well, I hope you will get this
word from me first, and accept my assurance that there's nothing to
worry about. These good folk here will put me as right as ninepence in
no time, and I hope very shortly to be back with the Company and in the
new line.
It was shrapnel, you know, and got me in the left leg and a bit in the
right arm just when I was most wanting the use of both of 'em. I hope
they haven't told you I'm going to lose my leg or anything, because I'm
not. The surgeon here--a first-rate chap and a splendid surgeon--has
told me all about it, and my leg will very soon be as good as ever.
This is just a line to let you know I am perfectly all right. I'll
write and tell you all about it to-morrow.
I wonder whether the dispatches will have told you anything. The push
was splendid. We've got that corner, and The Gut is well behind our
front line now.
* * * * *
My letter of yesterday will have assured you that I am all right;
nothing at all to worry about. I meant to have written you fully to-day
about the push. But we've been busy. The surgeon's been cleaning me
up--getting rid of useless souvenirs, you know; and it seems I'm better
keeping pretty still and quiet to-day. Shall be out and about all the
quicker, you see. This is a perfectly heavenly place, where you don't
hear a vestige of gun-fire, and everything is sweet and clean, quiet
and easy; no responsibility, no anything but comfort and ease. What a
luxurious loaf I'm having! I'll write to-morrow.
* * * * *
I'm going ahead like a house afire; but so confoundedly lazy, you'd
hardly believe it. I suppose this pencil will be legible, though
it hardly looks it to me. As I say, I'm too lazy for words; simply
wallowing in comfort and cleanliness. Thought I would just pencil a
line now, so that you would know I was perfectly all right and then I
can write properly to-morrow.
* * * * *
Another lazy day. I really ought to be at work, you know, so well
and fit I am. But I just laze in this delightful bed, and watch the
busy orderlies and sisters flitting to and fro, as though I were in
a dream and other folk had to do all the world's work. The good old
"Peacemaker" has come in to see me, and is writing this for me; chiefly
because of my laziness, and partly that I like to spare you the work of
deciphering the hieroglyphics I make with my left hand. The right arm
is pretty good, you know, but it seems I'll get it entirely sound again
rather quicker by not using it just now; and it's rather jolly to have
one's O.C. Company working for one in this way.
He says that while I was about it I was a duffer not to get a real
Blighty, and so have a holiday and come and see you all. As a fact,
I've no doubt he's profoundly grateful that he will not be robbed of my
invaluable services for long. "A" Company was relieved last night by a
Company of the ----; in our new trenches, you know; the trenches that
used to belong to Mister Boche; so our fellows are having a bit of a
rest, I'm glad to say. Not the luxurious rest I'm having, of course;
but something to be going on with.
I meant to tell you a whole lot of things, but for the laziness that
makes me so greedy for naps and dozes. Also, they say visitors have
to leave now, and "the Peacemaker" has a good way to ride. I'll write
properly to-morrow. Meantime "the Peacemaker" is good enough to say he
will write you to-night particulars as to how I got my scratches; so I
won't ask him to write any more now. He will carry this on himself when
he gets back to-night--while I laze and sleep.
* * * * *
As promised, I am adding a few lines to this for our good friend. I
have not yet told him, but as a fact I am the only unwounded officer
in "A" Company at the moment, and we were relieved last night in order
that we might reorganise. Lieutenant Morgan--"Taffy"--was killed, I
grieve to say, in the beginning of the advance, and our casualties for
the Company were thirty-two killed and seventy-eight wounded. It's a
terrible price, of course, but you will understand that a big loss was
inevitable in our Company, when I tell you that we not only led the
advance, but led it from the notorious Petticoat Lane, where the front
is extraordinarily difficult to cross. We were very proud to be chosen
for the lead, and compared with the net gain for the line, our loss is
small, really. Indeed, if the entire casualties in the whole advance
are weighed up against the position won, I believe I am right in saying
that the cost was remarkably low. The gain in the line is immense, and
there is not the smallest chance of the Boches taking it back again.
Although our bombardment knocked his trenches about pretty badly--they
were very strong trenches indeed, to begin with, very strongly placed
and favourably situated--since our occupation we have worked day and
night to make of the corner practically a fortified position, and one
from which we can punish the Boche pretty severely on both flanks. I
think this gain will lead to other gains before long in this sector.
Our information is that the Boche casualties were very heavy. However,
I did not mean to run on like this with regard to the military aspect.
It is our friend you will want to hear about.
Now, in the first place, I should like to be allowed to say what
you perhaps have guessed: that he is a very fine and a very valuable
officer. I am not a bad judge, not only because I command his Company,
but because, unlike himself, I am not quite without military knowledge
of the kind that came before the war, having a good many years behind
me of service as a Volunteer, and then as a Territorial, down to
within seven months of the beginning of the war when I joined this
Service Battalion. And I have no hesitation in saying that our friend
is a fine and valuable officer. I know that a big share of any credit
due for the fine training and discipline of our Company--which is, I
think, admitted to be the crack Company of the best Battalion in the
Brigade--is due, not to me, but to the Commander of our No. 1 Platoon.
It is a very great loss to me to have him laid aside now; but I am so
thankful his life is spared that I have no regret to waste over his
being wounded. But I do very sincerely hope that he will be able to
return to us, to the reorganised "A" Company, for I have never met an
officer I would sooner have beside me. The men of the Platoon, and,
indeed, of the whole Company, are devoted to him; and I regard it as
little short of marvellous that in so comparatively short a time a man
who had never had even the slightest hint of military training should
have been able to become, all round, so efficient, so well posted
technically, and, above all, so confident and absolutely so successful
a leader of men. For that has been his greatest asset: that his men
will go anywhere with him, do anything for him, trust him without the
slightest reserve or doubt.
You know more about his character than I do, but I venture to say that
the character you know has been wonderfully developed by the war and by
his military training. He may have been the most lovable of men before,
but I cannot believe that he was anything like so strong a man or so
able a man. Confidence, fearlessness, decisiveness--strength, in fact;
these qualities, I am sure, have developed greatly in him since he
joined. I sometimes think there is nothing more wonderful in all this
wonderful period of the war than the amazing development it has brought
in the thousands of young Englishmen who now are capable and efficient
officers, loved and trusted by their men, and as able in every way as
any officers the British Army ever had, although the great majority of
them have no military tradition behind them, and before August, 1914,
had no military training. That is wonderful, and I am convinced that
no other race or nation in the wide world could have produced the same
thing. The men, fine as they are, might have been produced elsewhere,
or something like them. But this apparently inexhaustible supply of
fine and efficient officers--no, I think not.
The newspapers will have told you something of our little push, and I
will not trouble you with any technical detail. We advanced over a very
narrow front after a short but intense bombardment. Our friend led the
right half of "A" because I did not want to rob his own Platoon of his
immediate influence. His is No. 1. The pace was hot, despite the torn
and treacherous nature of the ground. The right half did even better
than my half, and stormed the first Boche line with extraordinary dash
and vigour. It seemed as though nothing could stop their impetuosity;
and in the midst of the tremendous din I caught little waves of their
shouting more than once.
Our friend had crossed the first line, and successfully led his men to
the very edge of the second line, shouting to his men to join him in
taking it, when the shell burst that brought him down. The same shell
must have laid some Boches low, if that is any consolation. Not that we
need any consolation. I feel sure you will agree with me in that.
But I want to tell you that the wounds in the right arm--not serious,
I am thankful to say--were not from the same shell. They came in the
neighbourhood of the first Boche line. That same right arm (after it
was wounded), carrying a loaded stick, knocked up a Boche bayonet that
was due to reach the chest of a man in No. 1 Platoon and then served to
support the same man on the parapet of the Boche trench--he was already
wounded--for a few moments till a stretcher-bearer got him. It was not
possible for our friend to stay with him, of course. A few seconds
later he was leading his men full pelt towards the second line; and all
that after his first wound. I thought you would like to know that. Our
C.O. knows it, and I venture to hope it will find mention in dispatches.
And now with regard to his condition. Whilst he is not quite so
forward as he thinks--there is, of course, no question of his coming
back to duty in a few days, as he fancies--there is, I think, no
cause whatever for anxiety. In fact, the M.O. at the Clearing Station
assured me of so much. His general health is excellent; nothing septic
has intervened; it is simply a question of a little time. The worst
that is likely to happen is that the left leg may be permanently a
shade shorter than the right, and it is hoped this may be averted. His
Company--all that is left of us--will be very sincerely glad to see him
back again. Meantime we rejoice, as I am sure you will, in the manner,
the distinction, of his fall, in the certainty of his enjoying the rest
he has earned so well, and in the prospect of his recovery.
THE PUSH AND AFTER
The Battalion being now out of the line, the O.C. Company has kindly
sent my batman along to me here--you remember my batman, Lawson, on
Salisbury Plain--and he is writing this for me, so that I can preserve
my present perfect laziness. I point this out by way of accounting
for the superior neatness of the handwriting, after my illegible
scrawls. Lawson was a clerk at ----'s works before the war, and, as you
perceive, has a top-hole "hand of write."