Talking about generals: we all came out of the trenches feeling very
sorry for ourselves when we were relieved a week ago. Certainly we were
dog-tired and inexpressibly dirty. The day following our Divisional
General elected to inspect us. Thought we to ourselves: "This means
that he is going to see what is left of us, just to see if we are even
good enough to go as a garrison to, say, Malta." Someone even whispered
"India." Certainly no one would for one moment have suggested the
possibility of our being of the _least_ use as a fighting unit ever
again. As a matter of fact, in numbers, health, and morale we were
pretty weak. The General looked on the brighter side, however, and
our dreams of Bombay were shattered pretty quickly. The General made
a speech. He said that probably not since the days of the Peninsular
War had troops such a hard time as we had during the past month. (We
sighed solemn approval.) We had come through well. He told us that our
hardships had apparently left us little the worse. (At this point a
private fell forward in a faint--for which piece of acting I firmly
believe he had been subsidised by his fellow-men! The body having been
ostentatiously removed, the General continued.) There were other hard
times ahead for us, he said (exit dream of India), but for several days
yet we should continue to rest. ("Fall in, those fifty men with picks
and shovels!" came the voice of a sergeant-major some distance away.)
"And here y'are," concluded the General, looking round at the circle
of faces ingrained with brown dust and looking swarthy in consequence,
"here y'are all looking as fit as can be!" He ended by saying that when
he had got our reinforcements out from home he felt sure we should be
as good a fighting force as ever--which I suppose we _shall_ be. All
the same, we shall have earned a rest soon, I hope.
The ridge of hills we're on is very much the shape (and nearly the
height) of the Maiden Moor and Catbells ridge. First comes a place like
Eel Crags, all covered with dugouts on the Newlands side and occupied
by hundreds of troops. Then you come on, still on the same side, by a
footpath to about the middle of Maiden Moor. Here you will find _us_,
only instead of our homes looking down into the valley, they look down
on to the sea-shore and away out to sea, where we can see one or two
rocky islands and far away the coast of the mainland of Turkey, a bit
of Bulgaria, and a bit of Greece. Over on the other side we can see
right away down the Peninsula and pick out all the positions you read
about in the papers. Following on the ridge, you come to a dip before
reaching the hill corresponding to Catbells, and here is our trench,
running over the saddle of the hill. Beyond, on the slope, is the
Turkish trench, and somewhere about where that old "skeleton" is that
we used to see from the lake as we rowed to Keswick, the Turks have
their guns. They also have one beyond the end of the ridge, about where
Crossthwaite is. Well, that gives you the general situation of our part
of the line, without saying too much.
The trouble at present is that they can't locate the exact position
of the Turks' big gun, which is very cleverly hidden. The Navy, the
artillery, and the airmen have all been hunting for weeks, but so
far none of them have put it out of action, and "Striking Jimmy," as
we call him, goes on calmly dropping nine-inch high explosives about
the hills. Fortunately he doesn't often hit anything really important
(touch wood!--he's just sent a shell in our direction).
I met Owen quite unexpectedly on the beach the other day. His section
is stationed some miles from here, so I sha'n't be likely to run across
him again. It was very lucky seeing him at all. He was very busy making
pumping arrangements for the water supply, and I (as usual, in charge
of a fatigue-party) was asleep under one of his water-tanks, when he
began to curse me for being on prohibited premises. It was quite funny!
Then he recognized me, and we had a whole afternoon together. He's had
some pretty rough times and narrow escapes, just as I have, but we've
both got so far and quite hope to finish all safe now.
Don't ask me how things are going here. You, who see the newspapers,
know far more than we do.