My letter this morning was interrupted by a message from the War
Office, brought per Second-Lieutenant Lake, of the gunners, that I had
to go to get some tea at the officer's tea room at ----. Now for
enlightenment. You have one son younger than myself, take the first
two letters of his name. Then think of the opposite of a woman crying.
If you cannot understand this take it to Uncle Ted, or some detective,
and you will find out something you are very anxious to know. It is a
good conundrum. Tell me if you get it. To resume. At about 10-0 this
morning Fuller came in and started lighting fires, cleaning up the
room, and cooking my breakfast. At 10-45 five officers came to see
me--I was where? Two guesses allowed. Still in bed. 10-46 message from
Brigade Headquarters asking for a return. I daresay you have seen a
picture taken from the "Bystander" of a scene at Loos during the
September offensive. Colonel Fitz Shrapnel in his dug-out with a
telephone at Battalion Headquarters, his dug-out being blown to
pieces, a shell bursting on the top of it. He received an urgent
message from G.H.Q. "Hello, hello! Please let us know, as soon as
possible, the number of tins of raspberry jam issued to you last
Friday." Just like the staff. They will stand up in the middle of an
attack to know when your return of trained farriers will be in. I am
afraid I forgot most of my returns. I should get, if I were you,
"Fragments from France," by Capt. Bruce Bairnsfather, price 1s.; it is
very interesting and amusing and very true. To continue:--From 11-0
till about 12-30 I ate my breakfast and talked to these two, and then
shaved, washed, &c., and other such details, dressed and lunched off
some potatoes at 2-0, being all I wanted when Lake called for me. We
had a pleasant tea in a farm about one mile from here (see riddle),
and bought some books and things and so back home. I went out to
dinner immediately with another battery in another brigade in our
division, and we were just enjoying our coffee when we were disturbed
by a divisional test alarm. I rushed back, but was thankful to find we
were not included in the amusement. To-day the papers would describe
as "Artillery active on the Western front." They have been putting a
lot of shrapnel over into the front trenches, and did some damage
with one shell to my battalion, who are in at present. They always
seem to shell when I am out (touch wood). I am beginning to hope I am
a safe mascot against shells. I will write about the last few days in
the trenches to-morrow. We had one awful attack on my dug-out--by
mice--I hated it. I can sleep through machine gun fire (I mean the
noise of it) and shells as long as they are not too close, but mice,
ugh! they wake me up at once and I hurl the nearest thing I have at
the noise. Fuller came in the other morning to find my dug-out strewn
with Very pistol cartridges; I found they were useful not only for
sending up lights but also for frightening mice. The rats are more
gentlemanly, so far, they keep themselves to themselves, they have
their own dug-out and have left mine alone so far.
By the way, the "Tatler" and "Punch" have not arrived this week, or
rather last week; I have only had one copy of each so far. It must be
the fault of the bookseller who is sending them, as if posted they
would come through all right. I have just had three days in, and I did
not enjoy the first two, as I had a sort of chill, and only ate a
plate of porridge each day, and, added to that, there was one of our
battalions of our brigade in which I do not like. The last day I was
all right, and the Scots were in, so I enjoyed myself. I usually
attach myself to the nearest company mess, as I have told you, and
mess with them, but with the battalion that I was in with for two of
the three days I preferred to mess alone, and it is not nearly so
nice. To-morrow we go into Divisional Reserve for about a week or a
little more. I shall have a topping billet in the town just close to
here; a nice mess-room with a piano, and a good bedroom. I am thinking
of turning Presbyterian (not seriously) because the padré--Black--is
such an absolutely tophole chap, I see a good deal of him. He is
attached to the 16th Scots, of whom also I see a lot. Padre Black was
offered R.J. Campbell's Church after Campbell, but refused it. His
brother, Hugh Black, is rather famous I think. Anyway, the Padre's a
topper. He is like a ray of sunshine in the trenches. He come striding
along, head up, not stooping as all those who don't live in the
trenches (and some of those who do) do, with a cheery word for
everyone, and a memory for anyone he knows. A curious thing is that,
as you may know, dotted all over the roads in France, are crosses and
_prie dieu_, and I have seen scarcely one touched; you can see
villages in ruins and in the middle of it all a shrine untouched, not
a flower, not a piece of tinsel, not a bit of gold paint damaged. You
become sort of superstitious sometimes out here, and when there are
shells I always try to get behind the nearest one, and I know I am
safe. I have seen no Wesleyan Padres out here at all. We have in our
brigade one Church of England, one Catholic, and a Presbyterian for
the Scots.
To-day I had company, one Northumberland Fusilier and one 15th Scots,
to lunch, three men to tea, and I have just had dinner with our
quartermaster and our interpreter, a Frenchman--roast duck. _Bon._
This is rather a mixture of a letter. The next time I am in the
trenches I will describe it in detail if you like, but it is all just
the same, sometimes you long to get out and over the parapet and have
a go at the blighters and settle the matter, instead of potting at
each other from behind mud heaps, especially when you see a man killed
by a stray bullet; we have only had a few, thank goodness. Well, I
must to bed.
Much love to all,
From your loving Son,
ALEC.
P.S.--We are now changed to 101/1 T.M.B. not A/101 any longer.
101/1 TRENCH MORTAR BATTERY,
101ST BRIGADE, B.E.F.