We are having a very quiet, restful time in an old semi-fortified
farmhouse. The enemy has a very strong position directly ahead, and
until they are turned out we cannot move. Four motor-cyclists are
quartered in an old hen-house, the floor of which is covered with
straw; the perches come in very useful as clothes-racks. We are just
going to have dinner, consisting of mutton chops (killed last night),
potatoes, fried cheese, and bread and jam. We can occasionally get
eggs, but otherwise we live on bread and jam and stew made of tinned
meat and vegetables: _Dispatch-Rider Schofield, 5th Cavalry Brigade_.
On the Quiet!
I can tell you it is a pucker rough life, for you have to get up as
soon as it begins to get light, and it is about one o’clock before
we can get down to it. You had better tell dad to volunteer for the
war, for it’s pucker exciting, and over here there is plenty of wine,
for every village we go through the people give us bottles of wine to
drink, and our regiment has been very jammy, for all the Germans do
when they see you is to shell you or run away, and when the shells
begin to hum it is time to gallop. Well, mum, I cannot tell you where
I am, as we are on the move every day, and if we did know, it must all
be kept secret, for we came out here on the quiet: _Pte. Clapinson, 3rd
Hussars_.
Sweetness--and Rain!
This is a sweet place when it rains; you can’t get less than two
days’ rain at a time. I am now doing mounted orderly duty to and from
headquarters, four miles away. It’s a rotten ride back at night,
through pitch-black country, on your own. I can’t say I dislike this
country at all. The people treated us well on our way here. They
brought out baskets of fruit, bottles of wine, cakes, etc., to give
us, all shouting out, “Vive l’Angleterre!” and all the little children
walking along the street get hold of your hands and stroke them, as if
you were a prize dog or something: _Lance-Corpl. H. E. Forward, Army
Service Corps_.
Comfortable!
We have had a good deal of marching--twenty to twenty-five miles per
day--on very little sleep; in bed by midnight and up by a quarter to
two. Last Saturday I think was the nearest to purgatory that I have
ever been. We marched about fifteen miles, and when we got to ---- we
were kept standing for four hours in a perfect deluge; some of us lay
down in the road in about a foot of mud. When the order came to march
on again we marched about another mile into a ploughed field and were
told to make ourselves “comfortable.” It was better in the road: _Pte.
R. Williams, Royal Army Medical Corps_.
Sucking Eggs!
The French and Belgians have been extremely hospitable, and wherever
we go we have been received most generously--eggs, milk, wine, bread
and butter, jam, handkerchiefs, apples, pears, plums, coffee, etc., are
among the many gifts showered upon us as we ride through the various
towns. Picture us riding along, the great unwashed, and often unshaven,
being cheered by crowds of townspeople. I can best compare it to the
crowds of long ago when a circus procession came through Wakefield. I
have got quite expert at cracking eggs on the front of my saddle and
sucking them: _Sergt. Seed, 3rd King’s Hussars_.