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 padre—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.

My darling Mother,—

As you see, the name of our battery is changed. We are in billets at present, in divisional rest, none of the Brigade is in the trenches. We do not do very much. This afternoon we fired about 30 rounds for practice. Rest is chiefly a social and bathing time. We had a good wash yesterday. Two visitors came to lunch to-day and two are coming to dinner. Will you look in the papers every day at the "Gazette" and tell me when I become a First Lieutenant; my name went in a month ago. I never see the papers. Again this week, I have not received "Punch" or the "Tatler." I am afraid this will be a short letter, as I have little news, and I don't want to write just for the sake of filling pages; when I have news it is easy to write, and to you is, I know, interesting reading. But, as you know, the happy and the righteous are generally uninteresting, and we are very contented at present. We fire most of the day for practice, and, as I say, entertain a lot of officers, and go out to meals. I know almost all the officers in three Battalions in the Brigade now. It's been beautiful and warm this last week. If things go on as they are doing at present I should not like the war to stop. It is very nice being out, and I really enjoy the trenches.

We went into —— (do you know where now?) the day before yesterday, and went to the Divisional Pierrot Troupe, a sort of Follies. They are quite good, and have a sort of theatre, in a disused college—College des beaux Arts. It is always crowded with officers and men.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.



101/1 TRENCH MORTAR BATTERY, 101ST BRIGADE, B.E.F. Sunday.

My darling Mother,—

I am afraid that I have rather fallen off in the writing line lately, but we have been leading a very pleasant but humdrum life, and the evenings have been rather busy; at present, five rowdy young subalterns profane the air with discordant music and facetious witticisms, so it is difficult to write ("Mack, you will never write a letter," "Do lend me a hundred sandbags," "Orders from Brigade," &c.).

We are at present in a very pleasant billet just a few miles south of where we were before; we ought to be in the trenches, but as there are no dug-outs for us yet we are building them before we go in, or rather we are talking of making them at present. For eight days or so we were in divisional rest, during which time we fired for practice most days, entertained people to meals, and went in to the town near to see the divisional pierrot show. Two or three days ago we suddenly had orders to move to the section on our right, so Greig, Uncle Fred's friend, told me to ride his second horse, and to come and look round with him at the billets, &c. We had a very pleasant ride. The next day we came along, bringing our things on handcarts, and one big horse waggon; we came to take over this billet—it is a huge, big farm, square with a long courtyard, and a long tower at the gateway. The men sleep in huts round and in barns; we have a large mess-room, with a sort of camp beds on which we sleep. We have a huge fire, which we keep going, and we have piles of crockery and tableclothes, &c., which we have "borrowed." The first night there was an officer of the Company we relieved who had apparently a little too much to drink, and, unfortunately, got thrown from his horse three times and was found unconscious in a ditch, and has quite wrongly been charged with being drunk, and is going to be court martialled. I am a witness for the defence; we have with us at present two officers of his company who have to stay behind for the court martial. The first day we were in we slept in huts, but it was so terribly cold that the night after we shifted our beds into the mess-room. The first day, Carroll and I went a tour of the trenches; they are topping trenches, we sought and found many things to devour and destroy. Finally, we came to a road, where we asked the way, and were directed to go up it. We went up it until we came to a low barricade, and looking over it, to find our trenches just below and the Bosche trenches about 200 yards peeping at us. Crack, crack; we returned to try again, only to find ourselves up in the firing line. Finally, we succeeded in getting home all right rather tired. We had a pleasant dinner, and got a large wood fire made with ammunition boxes. The next day being Sunday we had breakfast at 10-0 in pyjamas and fur coats, and went a walk in the afternoon.

To-day we went up to the trenches and worked hard (?) all day emplacing guns, and making dug-outs, &c. I lunched and tea'd with the Scots, and returned in the pouring rain.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.



101/1 TRENCH MORTAR BATTERY, 101ST BRIGADE, B.E.F. Sunday, April 2nd.

My darling Mother,—

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.

My darling Mother,—

I did not quite know what was the meaning of the telegram the other day. It was dated April 1st, which made me rather suspicious, and it did not arrive here till April 4th. I wired immediately, but it is difficult to do so; I wrote last Sunday and once the week before; I hope you have received them all right. You can be quite happy about me now, as after this afternoon I shall be quite safe for some time. This afternoon I had my first real taste of heavy shell fire, and I was glad to find that I did not object to it half as much as I thought I should. We were doing a pre-arranged strafe into a German salient—two trench mortar batteries and all our artillery on to their first and second lines, &c. We put over about 4,000 lbs. of shells from the two mortar batteries in ten minutes and absolutely crumpled about 150 yards of their trenches. There is no trench there now—just a mass of earth, great girders, pointing jauntily skywards, timbers drooping over where the parapet was, and the front of the trench, where any remains, leaning in a tired fashion against the back of it. Of course, directly we started the Germans got going with all their artillery at us. "Jack Johnsons," so-called howitzers—I have never heard such a noise. I was observing in our salient; they had cleared all the infantry out except the machine guns. I had my eyes glued to a periscope, and never noticed most of the stuff coming over till I had to go along a deserted trench to give orders to my guns, and they put over in one place four shells from big howitzers into the stream within 10 yards of me. I enjoyed it; it was topping to see the Bosche parapet crumpling away, lighted every half second or so with a weird flash, covered with smoke, and the earth rocking with the concussion. They must have lost a lot of men; we lost only about three killed and a dozen or so wounded, none in my battery I am glad to say. In about half an hour all was quiet again, and I was observing the damage through a topping periscope, which magnifies ten times, when I saw four German officers crawling among the debris and distinctly saw them from the waist upwards. I had no rifle worse luck, and when I found a sniper they had gone. Fancy missing four German officers. They had grey uniforms and grey caps on and Sam Browne belts. That is what we have been working for, for the last week making emplacements to guard against their shells. At present we are rather being messed about; we are supposed to be going back for about a month's rest, which no one wants—a rest means twice as much work as you do in the trenches, and no excitement. After that we shall probably go to somewhere unpleasant. We are being relieved here by men who were in the same place as Lovel.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.

(After this date the names of places are inserted from a diary which was sent home later.)



April 14th.

My darling Mother,—

I am afraid I have not written to you for several days, but I have not been able to do so as we have been marching every day. We were relieved in the trenches by the Australians from Anzac. They are a very casual lot and did all manner of absurd things in daytime, thinking it so much safer than Gallipoli, but I hope they have learnt wisdom now. The first day we moved only about five miles independently to a new billet; we had two rooms with a big bed in each, and we slept two on each bed. That was Monday.

On Tuesday we moved again, about 15 miles, to Havesoskirk. It was raining all day, but we managed to put our packs into our waggon, and so marched the whole five days in Sam Brownes only. That night we had a farm house, with the usual arrangements, and went a few miles into St. Vement for dinner, where we went over the school of mortars and saw several interesting guns, especially the 9.4. Major Dodgson was very interesting and pleasant to us. We had dinner at an estaminet—quite a good dinner, but a mad female served us. On Wednesday we again wended our way farther on our flat feet marching again; also rain again and a very cold wind. When we march it looks rather funny, as we have a long train of handcarts, which are our transport, packed with all sorts of things, including a lot of wood, chiefly composed of ammunition boxes. We had an hour's halt for lunch and tried to get some lunch, but were pushed out of one estaminet by a fat madam who was bustling round, and evidently did not trust us near her very unattractive daughter. Then we went to get some lunch at an hotel piloted by a major, but discovered we only had sovereigns and halfpennies, and so bought chocolate instead. That night we had a topping billet—a house in a lane at Roquetoire standing by itself, which belonged to a French doctor; we had a dining room, the use of the drawing room, and three topping bedrooms with big double beds in each. Kitty and I shared one, Carol and Brand another, and Seddon and Douse, the Brigade Signalling Officer, another. We had a topping time, but, unfortunately, had to wait till 9-30 for dinner, as our servants seem to have fallen on evil days. After dinner we made our confessions in a book of Madame's, such questions as "Who is the greatest author of the day," "Describe the girl of the period," &c. Afterwards we went in with Madam, a topping old dame, who spoke English very well, and Madamoiselle, who was rather charming but "triste" because so many of her friends had been killed, so "triste" that she never plays the piano now. We had to justify and explain our opinions and confessions, and so to bed, only to get up at 7-0 the next morning so as to get everything packed up to move off at 9-20 a.m. This day (Thursday) fortunately it was not raining, and the Trench Mortar Batteries and Brigade Headquarters moved off independently of the Battalion; we went only about ten miles and arrived at Blendeque for lunch, where we were billeted with the brewer, a most topping and hospitable old man, who offered us drinks before lunch, and attended to us in a most courtly manner. After lunch Kitty and I borrowed two signallers' bikes and biked into St. Omer to get pay—it is rather nice country round here, not flat like it is further forward, but rolling downs and quite a lot of wood, and lanes, rather like Salisbury Plain. You will be relieved to know that the Bosches could not shell us here if he tried, and we are here in army rest for a week or two. In St. Omer we went for money for ourselves and men, and then went to the canteen to get cigarettes, &c.; after that we went to a tea shop to tea. While we were there a lot of the 16th Scots came in, and we had a jolly tea altogether. We then biked back again. I paid my men, and then we had a jolly good dinner. After dinner we went in to enjoy ourselves with our host; he offered us all sorts of drinks, cigarettes, cigars, &c., in a very hospitable manner, and his daughter played the piano and we all sang all sorts of English songs. Madamoiselle sang "Where my caravan has rested," "Chocolate soldier," &c., with a perfect English accent. Then she and Monsieur sang from various operas in French; they both have very good voices, and have been well trained. When we went to bed I said to Madamoiselle "Bon soir," &c., of course, in a hopelessly English accent, and she replied with "Good-night" in perfect English. In bed, unfortunately, Kitty insisted on having all the bed and most of the bedclothes, and in the morning accused me of taking it all. When two people sleep together they always both sleep on the edge, and a mysterious third person seems to come and sleep in the middle and to take all the clothes.

At 8-0 this morning we moved off again and arrived here at Eperlecques at about 12-30, this being our final destination. We are in a big farm, with a nice big mess-room and a nice little bedroom with a big bed for Kitty and myself. To-night we had to go to Divisional Headquarters in the rain, and returned home for a late dinner, and are now sitting in pyjamas and coats with a big wood fire. Two of my men, two corporals, are getting Divisional cards of merit for their work and pluck in the strafe the other day. Well, good-night, little Mother.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.

P.S.—Have received a week or two ago the three parcels you mentioned, but absolutely no papers. Would you please send me another pair of pyjamas and lots of handkerchiefs, no more tea or milk, but lots of those Foster Clark's 2d. packets of soup, and cake any time. P.P.S.—I am writing in duplicate to make a diary, and names are censored by me in letters home, but you can see them later. P.P.P.S.—Life is very pleasant.



April 15th.

My darling Mother,—

We got up late this morning for breakfast in pyjamas at 9-0 a.m. and dressed by degrees. This afternoon we had a parade for drill and after we went a walk; the country round is very pretty, like England. Our farm is a nice big white one with a nice orchard; the country is wooded with rather nice little streams. We wandered into the grounds of a chateau, where the A.S.C. were playing soccer against the R.A.M.C., and so through a wood with primroses in it home again.

I am afraid that I have been unable to continue this letter for several days, as we have been busy early and late.

On April 16th we packed up all our worldly goods and removed ourselves to Divisional Headquarters at Tilques for a course in Stokes guns. All the Batteries of the Division, nine in all, were assembled together—three medium and six light batteries. The personelle as follows:—Kitty you know. Brand, his second in command, from the 15th Scots., quite a decent chap, known as the Band Box for obvious reasons. Lloyd Barrow, Captain R.F.A., in charge of one of the medium batteries, a strange fellow, was at Jesus, slightly fierce appearance and manners, an authority on most things, but all right if not taken seriously. Burlingham, in command of another medium battery, just a baby grown up. Badderley, a monomaniac on mortars, who saves 3d. out of every 2d. he receives. Wylie, 9th H.L.I., a Scotchman, and a topping chap. Others: Sutcliffe, Laury, Lake, a decent kid, Bowquet and two others, quite a jovial crowd in all. We all live in a large brewery, all the batteries in barns, &c., and the officers in the house—big, deserted bedrooms, with camp beds or bedsteads, and thousands of doors, secret and otherwise.

We breakfast at 8 and start work at 8-30, and with intervals on to 4 or 5. Kitty has been teaching my battery the Stokes gun, firing dummy shells, &c. Our Adjutant is an A.S.C. man, and James, the Divisional Trench Mortar Officer, is in command. Parcel, with topping cake, received; many thanks! All the parcels you mention in your last letter have been received all right.

We are having appallingly rainy days. Most evenings the men play inter-battery soccer matches.

The officers are going to play the men, but it is wet to-night. I am afraid that there is little of interest in this letter.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.



April 23rd.

My darling Mother,—

We are all still together, with not much to do and plenty of time on parade to do it in. I will give you one of my men's description of their billet: "I am situated at present in country not unlike Welphine. Our billet is pretty decent, on the first floor of a large building, which bears a slight resemblance outwardly to a Workhouse. What an existence! Look up 'Dante's Inferno,' and you will get some idea of every soldier's environment." I am afraid that our mess is none too quiet at times itself, though at present they are all quietly playing cards and reading. To-day being Sunday Kitty and I had a holiday and had breakfast in bed at 9-30.

I am just recovering from rather a bad cold; we all have come in for one, and it seems to make most of us rather argumentative on all subjects relating to trench mortars, various regiments, &c., being a motley collection of regulars, New Army and Special Reserve, and Territorial officers drawn from all sorts of regiments and representing every branch of the army except the R.E. We have R.F.A., E.G.A., R.H.A., A.S.C. and Infantry. Rather a cosmopolitan crowd, and we, most of us, all hold different views on every possible subject that turns up, but we manage to agree on the whole.

Last night Brand and I took our beds outside. It is topping weather at present—very hot, but I like hot weather. Our mess-room leads out into a sort of terrace with a wild garden all round. It must have been very pretty before the war, even in its deserted state it is very nice; forget-me-nots and bits of lake and stream everywhere. I feel as fit as a fiddle and am as brown as a berry.

And guess what time I was up this morning—6-0 a.m., and it will be 5-0 a.m. to-morrow for a field day. When you are in rest you do just twice as much work as in the trenches. But the only think I dislike is moving.

I am waiting very impatiently for our gramophone to arrive, it is so topping out in the open at night. I am afraid that I have been a long time writing this letter, but, as you know, we are still in rest, and I have little news. In addition, we have been kept very busy. To-day (Sunday) we paraded at 4-15 a.m. (just think of me on parade at 4-15!) and I wasn't late; we had a field day, lugging heavy guns about in the heat, and firing dummy rounds. Nevertheless, I quite enjoyed it. To-night Lake and I went for a bathe in the river. As I think I have told you the country is very like Cambridge, or rather more like Norfolk Broads, streams everywhere, wide rivers and small streams intersecting all the fields, so that, unfortunately, wherever you take a short cut you have to jump all sorts of ditches, and already three of us, including myself, have bathed in our clothes. Leading off the rivers are smaller rivers, and everywhere by the riverside are small white farms, each owning two or three flat-bottomed boats like large canoes, shaped like gondolas, and they go everywhere in them, and take their horses too.

I hope to come home for leave on the 1st of June, but leave may be cancelled before then. We have an allotment of leave for the Battery, but I cannot take the first leave myself. Thank you very much for the pleasant parcel, with pyjamas and papers, received the other day. Well, good-night, little mother, you can always know that the fewer letters I write the more harmless time I am having, because I have less to tell.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.



May 7th.

My darling Mother,—

The dates put at the top of each letter are the dates on which the letter is commenced, and, as each letter is written bit by bit, it is usually several days before it is sent off; as a rule I forget to put the date at the end on which the letter is despatched. Father said that one of my letters was heavily censored lately, but the censor was myself. I think I explained that I write my letters in a book now, and fill everything in the form of a diary and send the duplicate on to you censored by myself.

I received the parcel of socks all right, and thanked you for them in a letter written in March. Socks are always welcome to the men. I keep about 15 pairs for myself, and the men like as many as they can get. At last we have got away from the Bomb School. We moved back to our Brigade a few days ago (May 3rd) to the billet we were in before at Eperlecques, only to move off again the next day in the afternoon.

Kitty and I went into St. Omer for tea and to get our hair cut, to get mess things, fruit, &c. We started to walk about seven or eight miles on a scorchingly hot day, but fortunately managed to go almost all the way in two ambulances we commandeered.

We had a very pleasant time, and then went to the canteen and bought stuff, which our servants took away in a handcart. Then we went and had our hair cut, and I bought a new auto-strop safety razor as a birthday present to myself. After we had done everything we wanted we went down to the station to meet our batteries, who had marched in with Brigade Headquarters, and for three hours we messed about, shoving great lorries on to trucks by hand, and then while we had dinner (an omelette) in quite an English buffet, our men brewed tea in a large loading shed. And, finally, at 11-15 our men bundled into the usual trucks, labelled Hommes 32-40 Chevaux (en long) 8 (1 horse—4 men), while Kitty and I had a French second class carriage, in which we slept fitfully, and ate chocolate biscuits and oranges intermittently throughout the night.

The next morning we arrived at a station near Amiens and proceeded to unload g.s. waggons, &c., again. When that was finished we marched a mile down the road and halted for breakfast. We had ours in an estaminet—coffee, omelette, &c. After breakfast I went to the river and had a topping bathe; no weeds or anything to trouble you, only two garrulous old French soldiers, who stood on the bank and watched and gave me encouragement. At about 11-0 we set off. A blazing hot, dusty day, pushing handcarts about 12 miles, without any lunch, and arrived at St. Gratien at about 5-0. Arrived there we found Wren, the Brigade Signal Officer, absolutely at sea as to where our billets were, so we foraged round for ourselves. After being kicked out once or twice we finally settled our men and bagged a Battalion Headquarters for ourselves. The Brigade lent us blankets as our valises had been left behind with guns, ammunition, &c., for the Division to bring along.

We moved off again the next afternoon about three miles to Rehencourt, and there found a terrible muddle. A.S.C., two brigades R.F.A., our Brigade Headquarters, all trying to billet in one small village. We found a large billet marked up for our two batteries, and the machine gun company, and, while we were trying to fit in, an A.S.C. Colonel, who was town major, came bustling round looking into every barn and calculating how many they would hold. He would go into each little hencoop and chalk up about 100 men on the door, and, finally finished up by looking round for a loft for 14 officers to sleep in, in which he proposed to jumble up ten machine gun officers and four of ourselves. When he had gone we put our men in (not according to his scale). We bagged the house for ourselves and the machine gun officers went out and discovered billets for themselves.

We have a priceless little mess-room papered in yellow and white, old oak-carved chairs, oak table, shaded lamp, &c., and a bedroom with one bed in it.

Madame was in tears at having so many soldiers all over the place, but we soon pacified her, and did all she wanted, and now she cannot do enough for us, especially as I send Fuller, my servant, who is a gardener, to work in her garden every day. I will give you a rough plan of the house, as it is typical of the farms we are in:



We get a lot of food from Madame—Fowls, eggs, milk, lettuce, asparagus, &c. We have very good meals. We seem to have the best billet in the place. Brigade Headquarters, of course, spotted the best billet, a chateau, and went there; unfortunately it is owned by a mad French Countess, who ran about locking all the doors in front of them. They could not get into the house at all at first and had to eat and do everything in the garden. Finally, they got assistance from a French General and got bedrooms, but they have their meals in the passage, and their office in a stable. Madame came at 8-0 the first night and ordered the general and all of them to bed. But they were not obedient.

Greig came in the other night and was very jealous of our billets, seeing he had missed his chance and had judged by externals and had caught a whited sepulchre.

The second night an A.S.C. friend came to dinner and the menu was:—

Soup. Salmon croquettes. Asparagus. Stuffed chicken and sausages. Fruit, custard and cream. Sardines on toast. Coffee.

Not bad for active service. One of us sleeps in the bedroom, Brand, Kitty, Carroll and I sleep on folding beds and big mattresses in the mess-room. All borrowed from Madame when we had charmed her tears away.

Yesterday I had a very good birthday. Please thank everyone very much for the parcels, especially yourself. They were topping and very welcome. Who was it sent all the chocolates? I could not quite make out.

I was very pleased; my servant gave me a box of Abdulla cigarettes, and the Battery, or rather the Sergeant for the Battery, presented me with another box.

In the afternoon, Brocklebank, my A.S.C. Captain, took me down to Albert in his car. It is rather knocked about, and the church has a huge figure of the Virgin Mary hanging down at right angles to the church tower; it looks very curious, why it has not fallen I do not know.

Then, after finding the people we wanted, we went up on to a hill with glasses to look at the trenches. Before, as you know, the trenches we were in were breastworks, moulds of earth in perfectly flat country, and we rarely saw the Bosche trenches except through a periscope. But here, from the top of the hill, we saw on a hill a mile or two away long lines on the hillside, where the chalk had been thrown up in building the trenches, and opposite them other white and brown lines, where the German trenches were, white lines in all directions—a sort of maze upon the hillside our trenches and their's—and behind that hill other hills in the distance, much like Salisbury Plain and Aldershot. There is a very noticeable difference in the country here in districts occupied by the English. Civilians here are in their farms right up to the firing line. In fact, in one instance, an old woman was known to live for ten days in her cottage, once a lonely country spot in the open fields, but now with a boundary on each side, one where the Germans held their front line and one where our front line existed. Ten days in No Man's Land! But here all things are different. One rarely sees a French civilian; even here, some twenty miles back, one sees very few, and in Albert one sees none. The trenches are also better. Miles and miles of wire and lines of trenches extend behind Albert, whereas North there is rarely more than one real line of trenches. The French are much more business-like and more thorough.

In the evening we returned to dinner, and again we had a very pleasant one in celebration of my birthday. After dinner we played cut-throat auction, and so to bed.

To-day Carroll has gone on leave. If I am lucky I may come home in a week or two. If so, I wonder if it would be possible for us to go up to Lowood or somewhere of the sort for a week, as I am longing for some decent country—tennis, &c.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.

May 10th.



May 11th.

My darling Mother,—

To-day we transported all our worldly belongings in handcarts from our former billets to a village about six miles nearer the firing line. The village is called Bresle. It is quite a nice little village in a hollow, only it is crowded with troops—three Battalions and various other units all billeted in it. Consequently, though the men still have room for their usual billets in barns, &c., some have very little spare room, whilst most of the officers are billeted in tents, hiding from aeroplanes, under trees. When we arrived we had to get parties to move our tents into a field under a hedge and some trees. We have three tents—one we use as a mess—and the men looted wood and doors and made a splendidly fine table round the tent pole, also a form to sit on. Another tent we all three—Kitty, Brand and myself—sleep in, and a third we have handed over to the servants. I myself have a folding bed that Captain Brockbank, of the Divisional Supply Column, had made for me, and I hope to be fairly comfortable. Our little camp is in the corner of a cultivated field, behind the farms on the hills rising from the village. When we had finished putting up our tents, we lay down for a late lunch of bully-beef sandwiches and cake and watched Mademoiselle and the family digging the field. Then at the other's instigation I offered Mademoiselle a piece of the cake you sent me as my "gateau de marriage," telling her I had been married vingt-cinq anees. It is always well to conciliate the native. To-night I went to tea with the Battalion, several spare officers have arrived out from our depot Battalion. They all have tents in a sort of orchard.

To-night we dined off boiled eggs, tea, and soup, in that order, in our mess-tent, and we are now going to bed.

On Sunday I went away in a waggon to Railhead to Mericourt to catch a train at 7-30 to go on another course at G.H.Q.—Hezdin, near Etaples. On the train I met Bowkett, from the Tyneside Scottish, and we travelled together. While we were waiting at Amiens to catch a connection we met another man, who was going on the same course, and whom we avoided, as he seemed a terrible person. We arrived at Hezdin about 6-30, reported at G.H.Q., and then walked up to a chateau, where we were billeted. There we saw the Adjutant, who gave us a room together with two decent beds. The chateau is a topping big place in pretty grounds and has most of the furniture left in it. We had a large mess-room, with doors opening into the terrace, and an ante-room. The next day, as our time was slow, we missed our breakfast and only just came down in time for parade at 9-0. In the evening we went down to Hezdin to the hotel to dinner, about four of us. The next day we had breakfast in bed, and were in time for the lecture at 9-0. In the morning, gun drill and firing. The other people in the course were very interesting people, and an awfully nice lot. There was an Australian whom, of course, we all called Anzac—a small strongly-built man, with a military moustache, named Hart. He had a very amusing manner of taking off old Army Colonels and 'varsity men, from what he called Okker and Camer, and whom he described as always going about with a towel round their necks, a blazer and pumps. He would always talk to order. To set him off we had the man we saw on Amiens station, and whom we all call George, for no known reason, and whose real name was Arthur. Like Anzac, he had been all over the world, and was very quiet and melancholy. He used to talk in a pathetic high voice, and teach us Chinese, and tell us how he was arrested as a spy in Armentieres, and of his experiences. The other chevalier, you knew at sight, came from Oxford. Bouchier, of the Royal Scots, a small, dark Englishman, who was born in Tipperary, and was known to our society as Arthur Bouchier, the passionate Scot from Tipperary. Sutherland, Black Watch, a decadent specimen from the Coldstreamers; Pinto Pike, and a Canadian Captain called Clarke. The others were Lloyd (Cheshire), Robinson (King's Liverpool), Laying (Gloucesters), Granville (Royal Fusiliers), who was in the same Battalion as Wynn, who was chaplain of Jesus, and Cuthbertson, the girl of the footlights; Steed, a pianist, Propert, and others. Our instructor, Higgins, was a topping chap, with the Military Cross. We had an awfully jolly time on the course.

On Friday we again went into Hezdin for dinner, several of us.

On Saturday morning we saw most of them off, and Bowkett, George Bouchier and I remained. In the afternoon Bouchier and I went and had a hot bath at an old nunnery by the river. Dinner at the hotel, where we spent a comfortable night.

On Sunday morning we set off at 6-0 to catch the 6-24 train, and we arrived at Amiens about lunch-time. On the station I met half a dozen officers from the 8th Suffolks, and talked to them about various mutual acquaintances and of what the Battalion was doing. Then in the town Bowkett and I met a man named Grey, who had come out from our Reserve Battalion to the 8th Suffolks, and we went and had lunch in the Hotel du Rhine with him and several other officers, two of whom I had met at Cambridge. A topping dinner, including ices and strawberries.

When we returned to the station we discovered that the train we were supposed to go on was a crowded leave train, full of people returning from leave, so we waited till the next. Arriving at Mericourt I had to walk to Bresle, but got the assistance of one motor waggon and a mess cart, and arrived at Bresle only to find that the Battery was moving in an hour to Albert, and was going in the trenches that night. I went to have tea, and meanwhile the Batteries went on. Then, very luckily, I found a friend and a car that whisked me past the Batteries trudging with handcarts on into Albert. Arrived in Albert I went on to see Rigby, whom we were taking over from, in a small billet, but found that we were getting a big billet in the hospital—a huge, great place, with large rooms built in 1904, and toppingly fitted up, but now practically empty. All our men sleep in two big double rooms, and Kitty and I in one room, the others in a room 100 feet by 25 feet. Our mess-room is a large, clean, dry, tiled room, with one huge window; we furnished it with tables and chairs, chiefly taken from the old billet, which we are not using. Fuller keeps the room smart with wild flowers.

At 11-0 p.m. o'clock I went up to the trenches with Carroll and half the Battery, who were going in for the night—the men in one big dug-out and Carroll in one with two machine gunners. I returned home and got to bed about 3-0 a.m.

The next morning I was wakened before seven by the guns waking up for their early morning hate just under my window. There are Batteries dotted about all over the place here—18 pounders, howitzers of all sizes, and naval guns. You almost trip over them wherever you go. There are two 6in. howitzers hiding in our back garden. I went up to the trenches to look round the next morning (Monday).

The trenches here are very different from what we have been used to—long narrow trenches, not breastworks, dug down in the chalk, a veritable labrynth of trenches, going in all directions, up hill and down dale. They are very deep, and very few rifle shots are fired. Sniping is done with field guns and trench mortars. The line is very curious, moving forward and backward. In one place in our line a village runs out and there is a German salient. In front of the salient lots of mines have been exploded and no trenches remain, merely holes that bombers hide in, where the trench bulging again we share our parapet with the Bosche. I don't go there often, as you have to crawl, and you usually crawl into the wrong trench and find yourselves wandering in the Bosche lines. The Germans send over a lot of oil cans filled with old razor blades and rubbish, which do a good deal of damage, and are rather unpleasant. However, we are educating them not to send them over too often, as we send over two to their one with our mortars, and in time we shall get them under our thumbs I hope. We always have one man by each gun firing almost continuously. We have dug-outs well back with wire beds in them, also rats! Here we have big underground dug-outs 20 feet underground, some of them down long stairways. The country is very hilly and wooded in parts; our part of the line has two hills and one valley, it is rather like Salisbury Plain, or a flat edition of Derbyshire.

Carroll has been in, and I have gone up in the daytime.

I am going to relieve him this afternoon; I shall only be in a few days. I hope to come home on leave about June 4th.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.

P.S.—I have not got your letter, but I have received all the letters and things sent, I think.



My darling Mother,—

I am writing this in my dug-out. It seems very comfortable at present. We have one large dug-out in which Carroll slept with two machine gunners. I was going to sleep there too, and as I have a new officer, Ingle, with me he was going to sleep there. But by the greatest stroke of good fortune I spotted this one just near. It is the best dug-out I have ever had. The other dug-out is swarming with mice and rats, who scratch earth into you all the time, and come and expire on you at night. One fell down and died on the table while we were having tea. But in this I have only seen one mouse so far, and it has got about ten feet of solid earth over it. I sleep on a comfortable folding bed, in my clothes, of course. It is well back six or seven hundred yards from the firing line. The firing line is more unhealthy than other trenches we have been in. They will keep sending the oil cans I told you of over into the front line. If you manage to get away from them round a traverse they come rolling round the corner after you; I don't love them at all. I have got "Printer's Pie," and I am just going to put up some pictures and am then going to bed. I relieved Carroll, and have been messing around since. I went down to the firing line for an hour or two to go to each emplacement and see how the men who were firing the guns were getting on, and then came back and observed their fire just outside my dug-out; there is our observation post from which you can see our own lines and the Bosche lines for miles. I have just been down to one of our ammunition dug-outs, seeing 100 rounds put in that a fatigue party had brought up. Friday 10 to 12. Good-night, Mother mine.

Had a comfortable night, but, as it was rather cold, I have had my sleeping bag brought up for to-night, so I shall be all right. Fuller was late this morning, so I had to wait impatiently for my boots and puttees to be cleaned before I could get up, consequently we did not have breakfast till nearly 10-0 o'clock. After breakfast Ingle and I went round all our emplacements. We had quite an interesting time, as in one place where the trench is not occupied, and up which we have to go to one emplacement, one of our field gun batteries put four shots into the trench about 10 yards behind Ingle and knocked him over, then a rifle grenade landed nearly at my feet and kindly failed to go off. We returned in time for a late scrappy lunch at 2-30. When I was intending to have a nap and a read when one of the Northumberland Fusiliers officers, Bowkett, turned up with Kitty to see the line, as he is probably taking it over from us in a few days, and I had to wander right around all the emplacements again. After tea I went down to see how our guns were getting on and found the infantry were very pleased with them, as one gun had managed to destroy a Hun machine gun emplacement, and the others must have done considerable damage, as they so much raised the Hun's ire that he shelled them all unsuccessfully.

We had a pleasant dinner, and the rest of the evening I have spent worrying over returns, new emplacements, trench maps, &c., and so to a well-earned rest.

I am beginning to find my way about a bit now, but there is a veritable maze of nice white chalk trenches. We are in a sort of valley, and in the middle of the valley is a slight rise on which the village of La Boiselle once existed, and which now forms the German salient.

Sunday, 28th, 1-0 a.m. Wakened up by Parker, of the Lincolns to tell me that gas cylinders have been seen being taken in La Boiselle, and that, as the wind is in the right direction, there may be a gas attack. I hope not; however put on boots and puttees. I warned the men, putting one sentry on duty, as also the servants. I have a beastly headache, and I am very tired; I wish people wouldn't see such things. They are very quiet, too, to-night, which looks suspicious.

May 29th. Awakened very tired about 8-0 o'clock, dressed by putting on my boots, sponge bath, shaved while I had my breakfast in my dug-out. Then I went with my sergeant to see about new emplacements. Started on a new one with a corporal and four men working, also myself. In the afternoon I received a scheme for construction of six new emplacements, and I had to go to try and find positions. I managed more or less to do so, and returned in time to start working out ranges, compass bearing, angles, &c., only to find I had to go down to two emplacements again to place them accurately by the map. Busy all evening with indents, returns and chiefly with schemes for emplacements. Bed at last—12 midnight.

Yesterday we worked on emplacements till about 2-0, when I returned for lunch, and was strafed by the Divisional General for having my guns in the firing line; afterwards a disturbed lunch, during which we were shelled and our men's dug-out pushed in with a 5.9 howitzer, though 16 men in the dug-out were unhurt. The Bosche was busy all day with 5.9's, blowing most things in. In the afternoon I went up to see the Brigadier, who was very nice, and attempted to solve all my difficulties. I then had dinner with Carroll and Brand, and returned to the trenches, and so to bed.

This morning I wakened at 7-30 Tempest came in, laying claims to my dug-out, claiming it for Barker, but we said "No." Breakfast at 8-0. At 9-0 I prospected with Wilson-Jones and found a topping place for a new emplacement, which we set up forthwith, also making on the other two new ones. Lake and another man came to lunch. This afternoon and evening we have been doing more work on the emplacements. I am getting a bit tired of these trenches; they are much too dangerous, and I hate suddenly having to crouch against a traverse when a big shell comes and crouches on the other side of it. I shall now retire to my little couch. Good-night, Mother dear.

June 1st. Working all day on emplacements, putting headcover on, &c. This evening, about six o'clock, I was called upon to reply to German trench mortars, but just as we had reached the bottom of the communication, they opened gun fire on the communication trench, wounding several men, while we lay at the bottom of the trench, while they whizzed over in sort of sheets of shells. They soon quieted, but one burst was enough. I went down to the front line about 10-0 to look round, and coming back they were unpleasant again—big stuff too—but to our left. The shells are something terrific here; I think it is one of the hottest parts of the line.

June 2nd. Working all day on emplacements. In the evening we were called upon to retaliate for German mortars, and pumped hell into them for a few minutes (excuse the word, it is the only one I can think of), and soon shut them up. I was relieved by Carroll.

June 3rd. Went up to the trenches, to see how the emplacements were getting on, with Kitty. In the evening the Tyneside Scottish relieved us, going up to the trenches at 2-0 a.m. instead of 2 p.m. We had an awful crush of them in our mess for several hours, and I had great difficulty in pushing them off up to the trenches. I took them there just to be in time for a terrific bombardment on the trenches, whilst the Germans tried unsuccessfully to raid our trenches. They used tear gas on us, sent over in shells, and it makes you weep. When I returned they were shelling near our billet, and we had to spend the whole of the rest of the night in the cellars, and only got to our bed at about 6-0 in the morning.

June 4th. Carroll and Brand went back to rest with the two new batteries, and Kitty and I remained in reserve, as they wanted us to take part in a raid that we were going to do, and, though our own brigade was in rest, our batteries were selected as a compliment to take part in the raid, which we learned was to come off on Monday, June 5th, so we tried to go to bed early on Sunday after our troublous Saturday night. However, we learnt that the division on our right was doing a raid, and the Bosche started retaliating on Albert, the town we were in, so we had to spend another night in the cellars.

June 5th. We spent the day getting ammunition up, 400 rounds, registering our guns, &c. We found our emplacements damaged by the bombardment of the night before and had to make one new one. We meant to return to our billet for lunch at 2-0, but we actually came back at 6-0—in time for high tea. At 8-30 we paraded, six men from each battery to work four guns, and got to the trenches to find everything quiet. We prepared our ammunition, &c., and were finished just before 11-0, at which time all our artillery suddenly burst forth into a hundred thunderstorms, and absolutely rained shells on the German lines like hail. At 11-20 we started, and put over about 70 rounds from each gun, and finished at 11-35, and returned to the third line as soon as possible to collect there to take our guns out. I quite enjoyed it all; there was a huge row on, and you could not tell if any German shells were coming at you, there was such a noise. It was quite exciting. I was surprised to find that it is really not nearly half so bad when both sides are hard at it and our own getting decidedly the best of it, as when occasional shots keep arriving.

We were glad to get out all right at 1-30 and back to our billet. The next day (Tuesday) we moved back to Bresle, and arrived there in the evening. Kitty and I had to go up to the trenches to collect some things, then we had tea, and came along in motor wagons, &c.

At present we are back where we were in tents; it rains fairly often, and, as a rest, we have to parade at 6-45 for field days. I am going to the Suffolks to-night.

I am awfully sorry this letter has been so long, but I have been made O.C. group of four batteries, and I have had to work all day and most of the night.

I am very fit and well, and hope to be home on June 15th. Old Wroxan, who shared a room with me at Cambridge, was killed the other day—he had only been out about a month.

Socks, cake and all sorts of nice things received.

Much love to all, from your loving Son, ALEC.



B.E.F., 10th.

My darling Mother,—

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.

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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."

Writing of him a fellow Officer said:—

"The last time I saw him was on Friday afternoon, June 30th, in the cellars of the Chateau. He was gaily talking to his Officers and giving them one or two final instructions. 'Have some tea of dog biscuits and bully beef' he said to me just as I had finished a wash. I said 'Good-bye' to him, and then crept along the dark passage to the Chateau.

He was one of the real enthusiasts for war amongst us as a regiment. Most people had joined because it was their duty—he joined because he was a soldier by nature as well. If there was to be a scrap he was sure to be in it. He wanted to go out before the battalion on July 1st, but the C.O., of course, would not hear of it.

At Armentieres I was told that when the Corner Fort was bombarded he was hit on his helmet by a huge piece of shell, but just carried on. I feel certain he died in the forefront of the battle, for his pluck was proverbial. "Whoever else gets the wind up—Mack won't" I heard an Officer of the regiment say one day during a bad spell in the trenches.

I do not believe he was afraid of death, and I am sure he fell as far forward as the German leaden hail would let anyone get alive."

Another one wrote:—

"I saw a good deal of him during the last few days before July 1st, as his battery was encamped with us. He was in the highest spirits, though he knew he was to occupy a most exposed position in the attack.

He was as brave as any man I know, and his loss is tremendous. I, as well as all his friends out here, sympathise most deeply with his family, whose consolation must be that he died a gallant soldier's death."



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"Daily Post" Printers, Wood Street, Liverpool.

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Typographical errors corrected in text: Page 12: Moher replaced with Mother Page 37: fraid replaced with afraid Page 44: Boches replaced with Bosches Page 48: intersting replaced with interesting Page 55: we we replaced with we Page 64: Epeleque replaced with Eperlecques Page 73: greatet replaced with greatest On Pages 78 and 79, the author uses a common British phrasing "Breakfast off a cup of coffee" and "Lunch off omelette". This is not a typo.

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THE END