As I told you in my last letter we are now resting, and we are doing
it very vigorously indeed. There are two kinds of rest for Infantry in
the British Army, and they are (1) A good rest, and (2) a thoroughly
good rest. A good rest is when your brigade is in the trenches, and
your battalion or unit is out. Then between shells in the trenches you
rest. You begin the cure at 7-0 in the morning, if you are lucky, and
continue it all day and all night on working parties.
When you are having a thoroughly good rest you rise at 6-0 a.m.,
parade at 6-45 every day, and charge across country, practicing the
assault for the day that has always been coming (is always in a
fortnight) and never comes off--the great Spring Offensive. That's
what we have been doing the last few days, walking five or six miles
out, then walking two miles or so across country, and then marching
home. Every day we receive orders in the afternoon that the brigade
will go somewhere, to the trenches or to some other village, but they
are always cancelled in the evening.
Fortunately, to-morrow is Sunday, and we are to have a day's rest. I
hope it will not be cancelled.
Last night I had dinner with "C" Company, my old Company; we had a
wonderful dinner. This evening we went to our brigade theatre. It is
an old barn, and we all sit on the floor--Colonels, Majors, Subalterns
and privates. There are cinematograph films, songs, &c., and it is
very cheering; Kitty, Dougal and I went together to-night. The chief
talk is all about leave, everyone being in hopes of it, and all except
the staff being put off from week to week until you almost despair of
it. Dougal is just talking about hopping into a big hot bath and a
feather bed, but if we had never done without them we should not value
them quite as we do now.
Wednesday, 14th. The Day of Days, the heaven of every British soldier.
Leave, that Will-o'-the-Wisp which everyone possesses, but which
evades all but the staff, and the very lucky. A long journey from
Mericourt, starting at 9-30 to Havre. Lunch off omelette and coffee
during an hour's halt in the dignified perambulations of a French
train at Bouchie. At Havre we rushed to get cabins, but found plenty,
and we soon went to bed--Payne and I (Bernard Thompson on the same
boat)--and we slept until wakened one hour out of Southampton.
Breakfast off a cup of coffee, and then train again.
Winnie met me at Waterloo, or rather I met her, gazing forlornly at
streams of strange soldiers. All morning at Harold's offices and
shopping, lunching at the Criterion, &c. Then on to Win's to tea and
back in bare time to the Savoy to change for dinner. Then to
"To-night's the night"--topping seats and a good show.
* * * * *
The writer of these letters arrived in England June 15th, 1916, and
returned to France June 22nd. The Spring Offensive, of which he wrote,
was launched at 7-30 on July 1st, 1916, and on that day he was killed
near La Boiselle--"A corner of a foreign field that is for ever
England."