IN BILLETS.
_December 11th, 1914._
I received three letters from you yesterday. Two of December 4th, and
one of the 1st inst. Likewise to-day a cake from Rostrevor House, for
which many thanks from all of us, not forgetting to thank the cook! We
wolfed half of it at luncheon, and the remainder is to grace our
tea-table, when we have asked the two staff officers of the Brigade to
come. I have just been out on a circuitous route to see my transport,
which lies about 2-1/2 miles behind the town where I am billeted at
present, just out of the range of any shells. I took a ride round to
see how the country lay, riding hard with my heart in my mouth where
there was any chance of fire, and sauntering along whenever it
appeared to be safe. As a matter of fact, one hardly knows where to
expect a shell. Three miles from this battery the other day shrapnel
burst within 20 yards of me. Ten yards nearer, and I would, humanly
speaking, have been done. Well, now as to your kind gift of a
sheepskin coat and gloves, I am afraid I cannot keep them, for there
are no means of carrying them, unfortunately. As a matter of fact,
much as I should like them, all these things mean so many pounds extra
kit. I am only allowed 50 lbs. in weight, so when you have taken into
account a heavy pair of boots, one's blankets and valise, second coat,
and riding breeches, there is really no room for more. I have to see
that everyone does not exceed 35 lbs. (I, being the Colonel, am
allowed 15 lbs. more kit), but I cannot in honour exceed my weight. I
keep wondering whether we are likely to move forward shortly. I fancy
that our German friends are being shaken up by Russia, whilst I am
sure it is a question of time when Hungary goes for Austria. In great
haste.
_December 12th, 1914._
Last night was a red-letter day, for two plum puddings arrived from
Rostrevor House, and also the refill for my battery before the old one
ran out, so I am quite happy as to that point now. I have also written
to Aunt B----. Many thanks for the figs. Isn't it strange how one
always becomes a child again when one gets on a campaign and requires
food of all sorts like a schoolboy, though the Government gives quite
enough, and good solid food too. I had a parcel from Aunt
H----yesterday, with one of her usual kind letters; I seized the
woollen cap for myself, and I am quite sure it is much better for
sleeping in in the trenches than the muffler you knitted for me, as
the ends always get entangled in the mud of that rather dreadful
place. By the way, when you have time, please send me a piece of
shaving soap. I have stuck to shaving steadily, and propose doing so
unless you want me to grow a beard! I was very much surprised when,
after seven days without being able to shave, to see my face come out
perfectly black all over! I thought I was fair, so apparently my
moustache is a fraud! Is it not funny?
IN TRENCHES.
_December 13th, 1914._
We marched out to the trenches with very little firing, and found that
the whole of them were more or less full of water. While visiting one
company last night about 5.45 a.m. I had to wade through water just
below the top of my leggings. What that means by remaining afterwards
in wet boots I leave you to judge. I managed to get mine changed at 11
a.m., as I had a dry pair of socks in my holsters, and put my feet
back into the wet boots. In one place which I have not yet walked
through, the water is actually up to the waist. One sergeant of the
Lincoln Regiment was left for us to dig out, as he was hopelessly
bogged when his regiment had to march away; whilst another man was
pulled out by main force and left his boots behind him, and after
walking a mile in bare feet was put into a cart. The enemy have had
the audacity to open on us with a machine gun, and spent last night
with it trying to shoot down my principal communication trench, so, as
I have more or less placed the gun, I am asking the artillery to fire
on it without delay. A curious way of spending the third Sunday in
Advent, shivering with cold in a dug-out, with lots of bullets humming
overhead, but not so many shells just at present. The men and officers
are having a bad time, but war is never pleasant.
_P.S._--The sequel to the maxim gun fire is that one of my men has
been knocked down and hit in the leg, in the arm, and back of the
head. The fact being that he was going for water, and finding the
ditch very dirty, foolishly jumped out, and was promptly knocked over
at once. The enemy is now shelling over our heads most cheerfully. One
wonders when all this will stop....