Very many congratulations on your being mentioned in despatches, which
we are so delighted to see. All the more credit to you that, although
you have been out at the front for some time, you were not there at
the beginning of the war, and I know in all these cases, when other
things are equal, the "mention" goes to those who have been out the
longest. I think you know about as much of what is going on as we do,
for, on the whole, we are told very little. Yet I am glad to say we
are promised two short official accounts every week, and so we must be
grateful for that amount of news. The main question outside the actual
operations relates to the German intention; if they can torpedo every
ship they see, whether it belongs to a belligerent or a neutral! It
was always held to be a piece of cruel barbarity to sink a trading
vessel without notice, even if belonging to a belligerent nation, the
right course being to find out first whether she is a belligerent or
not, and then to capture her. It was never considered fair warfare to
touch a neutral. But who can say what "Kultur" will bring us to? Most
people would call it unblushing piracy and attempted wholesale murder.
But we will see what happens. Naval "Kultur" began the day before
yesterday, and the report to-day is that a Norwegian neutral was
torpedoed. F---- is very well, but does not come here till April.
Sydney is here, and is getting fat and chubby, a delightful little
boy, and keeps us all very cheery. We have had two delicious days as
far as weather is concerned. I hope you have had the same change for
the better.
May God keep you safe and sound, dear old G----, is, with our love,
our very earnest hope.
I am,
Yours affectionately,
J.R. of B----.
_February 26th, 1915._
We went to poor Capt. Thompson's funeral yesterday, Major B. and
myself. A military funeral in the field is of three sorts. Well away
from the enemy the soldier is borne on a stretcher, sewn up in his
blankets and wrapped in a flag. Nearer the enemy you dispense with a
flag; and finally, of course, in the trenches, when you cannot get
out, you crawl down a ditch and dig a hole in the side and bury the
poor fellow. Ours was of the second sort, as it was within long-range
rifle fire, but somewhat screened by a hedge. Four officers carried
the stretcher, and about six others followed behind. The grave was
lined with wheaten straw, unthreshed, and the clergyman read a very
short service, and then we all slipped quietly away. After the funeral
we trotted on to the 5th Battery. They are friends of ours, and had
been heavily shelled the day before; we telephoned them to inquire the
result, but had received no answer. The operator, it seems, was
obliged to take refuge in a cellar with some women and children, for
the enemy positively rained shells upon them, fortunately, however,
from a field gun only. Then shells struck the house itself, and the
others made holes in the ground round it. Two went through the
adjoining windows, two others into the dust-heap, etc. The cause of it
was that the French owner had brought a threshing machine and was
threshing out his wheat. Of course, the smoke of the engine attracted
the Germans at once. The French are very much amused at this, I am
told, for they do not allow any such things near their lines; but our
Staff are soft-hearted. I had a very pleasant little dinner with Gen.
Pinney last night, and played Bridge for an hour--the first game I
have had time for since I left the transport at Liverpool. That will
give you an idea of how busy I am. When I can, I sleep; otherwise I
work hard. We are looking forward to more tartlets. I do not believe
in riding lessons at present for H----. Let Sheppard teach him. My
father showed me how to hold the reins, and I learnt the remainder
myself. Far and away the best way too....
_February 27th, 1915._
A very cold day with east wind. It will be bitter in the trenches. I
hope the Germans are finding it so! I send you a note from some R.I.C.
Sergeant in Belfast. Your extract from the Irish _Evening Telegraph_
about me is rather amusing! As to your going to Ireland, it is early
yet to decide. Who knows what a day may bring forth at any time? So
poor Mr. Gorton has gone. The people in his village will miss him
greatly. I will try and put a note in this letter for Patience Gorton,
as I know her best, and you can send it on. I always forget the name
of their place. By the way, I remember now that it is called Walesby,
so will post it direct and save you the trouble. I am glad you thought
of sending a wreath. I went for a long ride with the object of seeing
someone in the Border Regt. yesterday whom Major Baker knew. Not one
officer who came out with that regiment is with it now. This gives you
an idea of what is going on here....
ROYAL IRISH CONSTABULARY BARRACKS,
CHICHESTER PARK, BELFAST.
_February 20th, 1915._