November 5th, 1916.
Dear Margaret:
This is Guy Fox Day! I spell it that way because fox-hunting was my
occupation a long time ago before the war. How are Sergt.-Major Jack and
Corporal David? Ask Jack if he ever bites through his rope at night, and
gets into the oat-box. And as for the Corporal, "I bet you" I can jump
as far as he can. I hear David has lost his red coat. I still have my
grey one, but it is pretty dirty now, for I have not had a new one for
a long time. I got my hair cut a few weeks ago and am to have new boots
next week. Bonneau and Follette send their love. Yours truly,
BONFIRE His * Mark.
In Flanders, April 3rd, 1915.
My dear Margaret:
There is a little girl in this house whose name is Clothilde. She is ten
years old, and calls me "Monsieur le Major". How would you like it if
twenty or thirty soldiers came along and lived in your house and put
their horses in the shed or the stable? There are not many little boys
and girls left in this part of the country, but occasionally one meets
them on the roads with baskets of eggs or loaves of bread. Most of them
have no homes, for their houses have been burnt by the Germans; but they
do not cry over it. It is dangerous for them, for a shell might hit them
at any time--and it would not be an eggshell, either.
Bonfire is very well. Mother sent him some packets of sugar, and if ever
you saw a big horse excited about a little parcel, it was Bonfire. He
can have only two lumps in any one day, for there is not much of it.
Twice he has had gingerbread and he is very fond of that. It is rather
funny for a soldier-horse, is it not? But soldier horses have a pretty
hard time of it, sometimes, so we do not grudge them a little luxury.
Bonfire's friends are King, and Prince, and Saxonia,--all nice big boys.
If they go away and leave him, he whinnies till he catches sight of
them again, and then he is quite happy. How is the 15th Street Brigade
getting on? Tell Mother I recommend Jack for promotion to corporal if
he has been good. David will have to be a gunner for awhile yet, for
everybody cannot be promoted. Give my love to Katharine, and Jack, and
David.
Your affectionate uncle Jack.
Bonfire, and Bonneau, and little Mike, are all well. Mike is about four
months old and has lost an eye and had a leg broken, but he is a very
good little boy all the same. He is very fond of Bonfire, and Bonneau,
and me. I go to the stable and whistle, and Bonneau and Mike come
running out squealing with joy, to go for a little walk with me. When
Mike comes to steps, he puts his feet on the lowest steps and turns and
looks at me and I lift him up. He is a dear ugly little chap.
The dogs are often to be seen sprawled on the floor of my tent. I like
to have them there for they are very home-like beasts. They never seem
French to me. Bonneau can "donner la patte" in good style nowadays, and
he sometimes curls up inside the rabbit hutch, and the rabbits seem to
like him.
I wish you could see the hundreds of rabbits there are here on the
sand-dunes; there are also many larks and jackdaws. (These are different
from your brother Jack, although they have black faces.) There are
herons, curlews, and even ducks; and the other day I saw four young
weasels in a heap, jumping over each other from side to side as they
ran.
Sir Bertrand Dawson has a lovely little spaniel, Sue, quite black, who
goes around with him. I am quite a favourite, and one day Sir Bertrand
said to me, "She has brought you a present," and here she was waiting
earnestly for me to remove from her mouth a small stone. It is usually a
simple gift, I notice, and does not embarrass by its value.
Bonfire is very sleek and trim, and we journey much. If I sit down in
his reach I wish you could see how deftly he can pick off my cap and
swing it high out of my reach. He also carries my crop; his games are
simple, but he does not readily tire of them.
I lost poor old Windy. He was the regimental dog of the 1st Batt.
Lincolns, and came to this vale of Avalon to be healed of his second
wound. He spent a year at Gallipoli and was "over the top" twice with
his battalion. He came to us with his papers like any other patient, and
did very well for a while, but took suddenly worse. He had all that care
and love could suggest and enough morphine to keep the pain down; but he
was very pathetic, and I had resolved that it would be true friendship
to help him over when he "went west". He is buried in our woods like
any other good soldier, and yesterday I noticed that some one has laid
a little wreath of ivy on his grave. He was an old dog evidently, but
we are all sore-hearted at losing him. His kit is kept should his master
return,--only his collar with his honourable marks, for his wardrobe was
of necessity simple. So another sad chapter ends.
September 29th, 1915.
Bonneau gravely accompanies me round the wards and waits for me, sitting
up in a most dignified way. He comes into my tent and sits there very
gravely while I dress. Two days ago a Sister brought out some biscuits
for Bonfire, and not understanding the rules of the game, which are bit
and bit about for Bonfire and Bonneau, gave all to Bonfire, so that
poor Bonneau sat below and caught the crumbs that fell. I can see that
Bonfire makes a great hit with the Sisters because he licks their hands
just like a dog, and no crumb is too small to be gone after.
April, 1917.
I was glad to get back; Bonfire and Bonneau greeted me very
enthusiastically. I had a long long story from the dog, delivered with
uplifted muzzle. They tell me he sat gravely on the roads a great deal
during my absence, and all his accustomed haunts missed him. He is back
on rounds faithfully.