I am afraid that in the last week or two I have not been writing so
well, but as you know when you become used to a life, and nothing
exciting is happening, there is little news, and there is not much
that strikes me as interesting to tell. When you begin to accept
things in the ordinary course of things, it is difficult to feel that
trivial occurrences of every day will be of interest to others. One
consolation you can have is that the more uninteresting and the fewer
my letters are the more harmless my life. If there was anything doing
I should become as verbose again as ever. However, I will try to give
you what news I have.
In the first place the weather is beautifully hot. I got up this
morning, much to my disgust, to see the Brigade Major at 9-30, and
since then I have been sitting in the large yard in the sun reading "A
Knight on Wheels," by Ian Hay, with only two interruptions--to inspect
my men, and to pull our ambulance, which had broken down, back to the
billet. It is glorious weather; you can hear the birds and the faint
hum of an aeroplane, with occasionally the noise of anti-aircraft
shells bursting round one, just a faint crump and tiny little fleecy
white clouds clustering round a black speck in the sky. It is a
perfect almost summer day. There is one point about shell fire that
may interest you. A battery of guns fires on a target, say a farm
house. The guns are a long way back, and, of course, cannot see their
target. An officer or some observer will be well forward up a big
tree, in a church steeple, or a ruined farm house, or, perhaps, in an
aeroplane, and will direct the battery. Consequently, once a battery
gets on to a point, that point alone is the dangerous one; you can
stand on a road, about 200 yards away and watch the whole show quite
safely. The other afternoon we were coming down the road and the
Bosche was shelling a point about 200 yards beyond. His shells came
over the road and always sounded to be going to drop on the road. Of
course, they never did. A shell is awfully deceptive; you see a large
black cloud of smoke arise from the ground and bits fly, while you
still hear the shell in the air, so often you try to get out of the
way of a shell that has already burst somewhere else, until you know
what happens. It is rather funny to see the explosion of a shell,
while you apparently hear the shell just going over your head. Our
mess at present, commonly known as the Anarchists, consists of those
who take and those who give life--three Trench Mortar Batteries and
one Field Ambulance. We have a very pleasant mess. Although the
Brigade is in the trenches at present we are not sleeping in the front
line. There are no dug-outs for us, and we have a lot of work to do,
so we go up every day and make emplacements and sleep in comfort at
our billet; we have a pleasant life, because we get pleasant sleep in
pyjamas, and plenty of exercise to keep us fit. We have just had
lunch, and are lying out in the field in the sun--it is rather
pleasant. There are only about two things we want, and they are a
gramophone, which Winnie is getting for us, and a tennis court, which
does not seem probable at present. We are very impatient for the
gramophone to arrive. Kitton is with me at present; he is a topping
chap, and is in command of the other battery in the Brigade.
Last night I had to take some ammunition (200 rounds) up to the
trenches, also two dug-out frames and 2,000 sandbags; we get through
in the battery about 500 sandbags a day. They are brought up to the
dump, and from there we push them up tramway lines on trucks,
across the open up to the firing line, and then along it in the open
behind to the place where they are wanted. Stray bullets and machine
guns make it rather exciting; we had one man wounded--the bullet went
right through his calf just about half an inch under the skin, a tiny
little wound, but he will only be a few days. I hope Amy is quite
better again.
I was made a First Lieutenant on March 1st. It is possible that I may
be made a Captain sometime in the future. There is talk of making all
Battery Commanders Captains. I am afraid that soon we will be moving
further south; we are very comfortable here, and I am enjoying myself
greatly. I am not feeling up to writing much; I am going to read or
sleep.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
101/1 TRENCH MORTAR BATTERY,
101ST BRIGADE, B.E.F.
Wednesday.