“Get gun oiled.”
[Note.—This was a private code message sent to me in London signifying that the 1st Battalion Royal Irish Rifles was ordered to France with the 25th Brigade, 8th Division, on November 5th, 1914. Information of the day of departure was not permitted beforehand.—F.V.L.]
My dear F——.
I telegraphed to you yesterday not to worry about any more equipment for me, as I should not be able to get the things, no matter how soon you sent them. We have had our arrangements put back twelve hours, but even that makes no difference; I shall rub along somehow.
The Camp is up to our necks in mud. Fortunately, the weather is mild, though we shall have it cold enough later on. Any warm clothes, etc., for the Battalion are being sent to you to be distributed to us in a short time. Then the men will appreciate them more. I should forward them only as you get the funds.
Capt. Cinnamond is still in bed with lumbago, whilst Major Weir is staying behind too. Capt. Allgood comes with me. I cannot give you any more news, as it might let things out. I had a lot to do yesterday, and dropped to sleep after dinner sitting in a high chair about 8.45 p.m.!
Yours, etc….
G——.
We had a wet march to this place, and are now on a transport which ought to land us in France to-morrow. So far everything has gone most prosperously with us. Curious that the day you left Winchester I should have got the order to move! I believe the sea is fairly smooth; am getting the last few horses and wagons aboard. Heard to-day that the Remount have bought my chestnut horse “Goldfinch.”
G.B.L.
My dear F——.
We had a very smooth run across to … and then lay out for about 20 hours. Fortunately, it still remained perfectly calm, and we got in at 2 a.m., having only a slight collision with another steamer. We left the ship this morning and went into a rest camp to get ourselves thoroughly fitted out. We were told that “French” wanted us badly, as he expected to have the Germans back on the Rhine shortly, which may or may not be! Anyhow, our “rest” will not last many hours! There is a thick fog at present, so I cannot tell you what the whole place is like; but the lanes as we came along reminded me of England, say Ore near Hastings. I saw that your cousin Herbert Stepney was killed,[1] and his mother will be wild about him….
A Naval Embarkation Officer came up to me at our embarking post—Southampton—and asked where Laurie was! I told him, remarking: “I know your face!” He was Captain Perfect from Rostrevor. He said that poor Major Nugent of Bally Edmond died rather suddenly two days ago. Perfect then introduced me to the Captain of the ship, who rejoiced in the name of “Spratt,” with the result that I was given half his cabin coming over. We had to feed ourselves, or, rather, we bought some cooked food by arrangement. Here we have secured bread and butter and condensed milk, and we are now waiting for our transport to come up from the harbour to get some warm tea.
I will let you know as much as I can as we go along. Of course it is impossible to tell you where we are, etc…. If you want to know about German atrocities, read Nash’s Magazine for November. I just saw it.
Yours….
G——.
That was as far as I got in my descriptions to you when I had to rush off with my transport wagon and Quartermaster to complete the equipment which had not been given us in England. This lasted until 11.30 p.m. in a strange country with thick fog, five miles to go, and none of us able to speak French! However, I came home about 7 o’clock in the morning to fix other urgent matters up. The night was not so very cold.
Being an early bird, I varied matters this morning by calling my officers! Major Baker[2] is splendid.
After Church parade, reading the service myself, I have been generally hustling things, and am going out for a route march at 2 p.m. to-day. The sun is finally dispersing the fog, so we shall get an opportunity of drilling together. We have practically never done so yet; and I am really appalled at what might be the consequences of going into action with the men unpractised. Few of them have been on active service before, and it will all have to be taught under fire…. Since I have managed to get a pair of boots for myself from the Ordnance, I now go dry-footed for a change! I shall probably send you home my good uniform ones to keep for me, as they were made rather too tight for this sort of work. If I live through it, I will be able to wear them all out. If not, it will not matter much to me….
I expect you are having your shoot to-morrow and next day, and I hope it will be a success.
Yours….
G——.
I may not have time to write to you again for some days, so first, please accept my thanks for the waterproof sheet, and all the other things you bought. Unfortunately I shall not be able to carry them with me, so the lot must be returned to the Army and Navy Stores….
I think I told you that “Goldfinch,” my chestnut horse, has been sold to the Government, and the roan “Khaki” I sent to Mrs. Clinton-Baker at Bayfordbury. One of my new horses rolled over me yesterday, but beyond bending my sword and tearing one of my leggings did me no damage, though Major Baker thought at first that my leg was broken! It is colder to-day. We were astonished to see a number of French soldiers about; one imagined they would be up at the Front fighting. Also there seemed to be a lot of young men who might have been out doing a little for their country. Many of the women are in mourning here. My servant told me that most of our men had now got gloves, and that it was surprising the care they took of them, as they were generally not so careful; but they knew that they would want them; so I am very glad that you have got extra ones, for they do not last long. The fog has settled down again, mercifully not quite so thick as before. It was odd the day before yesterday when I was down town on duty to see the crowds round some large windows which had news written up on huge placards.
Personally, I have only seen a couple of French papers since I left England, and they contained simply a repetition of news from the Daily Mail before we left England. I feel much better with dry feet; though the boots are coarse, they are strong and useful, but they make me walk like a ploughboy! Still, if the weather gets colder, I can put on a second pair of socks under them. We have been lucky enough to get some good butter and some tinned milk from a small café near here. Of course, we are in the district that is not invaded by the enemy at present. My men are very willing, but very troublesome. They lose themselves and fall out on every pretext…. A Colonel came up yesterday and said: “You back from Aden?”…
I hear a rumour that John is off to India and my brother Kenrick a Major already. He is a lucky fellow! Glad you saw me off on Wednesday at Winchester. I looked up at your window, but could not see you….
[Note.—The position of the 1st Battalion Royal Irish Rifles was, at this period of the war, about 20 miles from the town of Ypres, and the billets mentioned in the letters were mostly in and around the little town of Estaires.—F.V.L.]
I wrote to you last Monday from our camp where we landed. We left that, being put into our train by an old gentleman of your uncle’s (Sir John Ross) Brigade. Having told us everything he could, he then went to dinner. In the meantime, we had to put the loaded Army wagons from the ground on to the railway trucks. We finished in about four hours’ time, and went off in a very cold train of nearly fifty carriages. Biscuits and tinned meat were distributed to us, and we ran on practically without a stop until 12.30 a.m. Wednesday morning. I say practically, for we halted nearly an hour at one station and got the men some tea. We had no means of washing, so you may imagine we looked like black men in a very short time! Next, we got out of the train and unloaded it in rain, went into some barns and slept until 5 o’clock…. I was in a cart shed much like the one opposite the large barn belonging to the “Park Farm” at Carlton. I had some doubtfully clean straw and my coat and waterproof, but I found it cold all the same. However, as I was only allowed to remain in till 5 a.m., it was not as bad as one might have expected. Marching again at 9 a.m. I went into billets after passing a church badly knocked about by German shells, and a burnt-down house, which owed its departure to the French shells. Here I am in a building very much resembling Willoughby Farm. In the hay barn I have 50 men, 100 men and 11 horses in the stables, and 16 officers in the house, with all the remainder somewhere near me. It is colder and has been blowing a gale up to now, but I expect it will turn to rain again when the wind drops. I was inspected this morning by a superior General: am rather tired of inspections! From where we sit we can see the flash of the shells bursting in front of our position. We hear all sorts of reports as to what is happening. I fancy it is fairly even balanced fighting of a very hard sort. An old lady belonging to the farmer class had her home invaded by the Germans some time ago. They took everything in the house—food, clothes, etc.—and presented her with two francs on leaving, saying they always paid for things! The country is exactly the same as the ground on the opposite side of the Trent without the hedges. I have seen no chateaux or anything of that sort about here. It is evidently a peasant’s country. Our men are very funny bargaining with the farmer’s wife; now and then we have to come to their assistance over the money question. Rather a curious feature in these parts is that most of the farms have a large wheel for churning attached to the house. A dog is popped into this wheel, and he then has to run for his life, and so does the churning! I suppose such an invention would not be allowed in England on the ground of cruelty nowadays! I am glad to hear that the Emden and Konigsberg have both been settled. I am only sorry about the ships off Chili. Poor Admiral Cradock! Do you remember him at Dover, when Lord Brassey gave an entertainment to the Fleet?
Well, I think that is all my news. I can hardly keep awake as it is. A pretty cold night, but one just has to put up with it. I only wish that something would happen to end the war with honour to ourselves.
Still it is a mercy to spend a night like this in the house instead of in the trenches. There is no fresh meat in the country, only tinned beef for us!…
Well, I have not been able to write to you before this, as I try to do every day. Yesterday, for instance, I was up at 5 o’clock, and after an hour’s parade, shivering in the dark, I then went off to another, and got back about 1 o’clock. I was instructing my men in the difference between English and French distances—i.e., what 600 yards looked like in this country for rifle ranges, and where an enemy was likely to hide, etc. In the middle of this the Brigade Major dashed up in despair, as some order of his had gone astray. I was wanted to take ten officers at once and to jump into a motor lorry, and go with a party of 30 others to the trenches. I popped my ten officers in, and went off with the Brigade-Major’s greatcoat in my hurry! We raced our lorry through country looking just like the Romney Marshes, Sussex. As we went we met refugees flying from a burning town which had been set on fire by German shells. We also passed immense amounts of transports; for troops must live even when they fight. On the way I suddenly saw the back of my last General at D——. You remember him—a very pleasant man. Well, he showed us round the trenches. The shells were bursting up along the forward line held by my brother Hal’s[3] old regiment [4th King’s Own]. You could see the shrapnel bursting on the ground, and perhaps setting fire to something or other. None of the shells were near us, so we were quite safe. Leaving the line about dark, we had to rattle home. Of course we lost our way, as our maps are on such a small scale, and the inhabitants of one little town told us the wrong direction, mistaking our French, I suppose! But we were not to be done, for we picked up an old lady trotting along in the dark, and, having satisfied her that we were not Germans, she soon showed us the road, coming a couple of miles with us. I arrived home—or, rather, at my billet—shivering about 7.30 p.m., having had heavy cold rain during a great part of the day. I turned out to an “Alarm” Parade at 9 o’clock, returning to my house again at 10 p.m. So, you see, I am not eating the bread of idleness! To-day we have all been out and got very wet. It is unpleasant, but one cannot help it in war. I have had very hard work with my returns, and my Quartermaster is getting old. However, I shall rub along now, I trust! To-morrow I am sending my R.C. soldiers to a church with holes in the roof from shells. Don’t you think I really deserve well of my Catholic acquaintances, for I have had the priest down twice to see them. Our host tells me that the Germans came here; the people ran away, and that the Germans ran after them, caught eleven, made them dig a big hole in a field, and then shot them. I wonder if it is true. Certainly I have seen some few graves in the fields with no names, just little crosses of rough wood. They may be murdered inhabitants, or they may be simply skirmishers who fell in some inglorious scrap. Please send me a few more packets of plain envelopes; one bundle at a time is quite enough, as I write on this note-book paper; it reduces the amount I have to carry. Some men have been sent to me to be instructed in Machine Guns. What a curious nation we are, training our men quite happily within ten miles of the enemy! I think I told you about our billets in the last letter. The Germans emptied the wine cellar. Imagine an English farm having a wine cellar at all! We do not even burn the wood, and we have done a great trade for these people in milk and butter. Eggs there appear to be none. I expect we shall be moving shortly; but where to I cannot tell. I was glad to find that the French had not at all exhausted their reserves. For instance, there is in the house here a labourer who is a cavalry soldier. He is 43 years of age, and his category is the next to go. Only your first letters have reached me up to now, but some more are expected in to-morrow evening. The General I met yesterday told me that the Prussian Guards, 15,000 strong, were formed up two nights ago, and were told that they must break through our lines, as their Infantry of the Line had made an attempt to do so and had failed. They tried hard; we heard the guns going. They did not get through, and they showed no disposition to try again yesterday morning, fortunately. It is probable that they suffered very severely. If this goes on, they must stop shortly. Possibly you know more about it all than I do, though, as I have seen no papers; in fact, I am absolutely isolated. It has been raining in torrents, but has now stopped for a minute, and the wind is getting up. Horrid in the trenches, I fancy. Our Protestant soldiers open their eyes at the crucifixes scattered all about the country. I have three in the tiny room which I share with Major B——. My doctor is ill, which is a nuisance. I have not yet heard what the Government gave me for my horse “Goldfinch.”
Hope you are not having a dull time. I am; but that cannot be helped. I shall be glad to get through this war with honour and return to England. I have had a dreadful knocking about during the last four months, coming from India and the horrid journey home, etc., etc.
Yours….
G.
Please send enclosed letters to your mother and to Aunt Helen. Love to the children. My two new horses I have called Patrick and Michael.
Still in my dug-out and just now under shrapnel fire. I have been out this morning, having at last got a doctor, and I have arranged with him to get a little morphia with a trained man, so that my poor fellow badly wounded may die in peace. I had a case of that yesterday, when a man died after 12 hours of great pain with both legs gone, and his was not the only one. I received your letters during the night up to November 9th. I am so glad that the shooting was a success. Tell Faulkner now to shoot the cock pheasants as he gets the opportunity…. I had not time to fill in the game book, so please keep it up for me…. Enclosed is a letter from my mother; it was good of her writing so soon…. She must have had a great deal of trouble and expense rebuilding “Oakfield” since the fire last summer…. I hear that my horse “Khaki” is quite a success and much appreciated at Bayfordbury. I have just had a man shot out of a tree where he was posted as a sentry, protected by sandbags, but our fellows got the man who wounded him, and there is general joy. I am also investigating the case of a civilian who was inside our lines with a pass, and who had a friend who ran away, whilst four German soldiers suddenly popped up and let drive at us. So you see I have my work cut out, what with holding my lines, directing our batteries of artillery where to shoot, arranging for hospitals, answering letters, making sketches, laying telephones, and sending messages to Headquarters, etc., etc.!
In the middle of all this I was shelled, and my clerk fled before the storm as he was writing the returns. I am told to remain here for three days more, unwashed and unshaved! It was so cold last night; I was up most of the time doing business, but in between whiles got a little sleep. To-day I have been seeing to my hospital and the graves, and have a four-hour walk before me to-night with the Engineers. Such a cannonade has been going on in Ypres for the last three days. The roar of cannon is quite continuous. Your watch is keeping most excellent time, by-the-bye. I expect this battle will have a great effect on the war. One wonders how many are being killed in it—poor things!… Please send all you have now for the troops, as I imagine they will want anything and everything to keep out the cold if they can carry it. The Government gave me £70 for “Goldfinch,” which was good, I think.
I am now in the trenches in the snow, and it was very cold indeed last night. Can you picture such conditions, lying out in it after dark? All my poor men feel the change very much, coming from the heat of Aden. However, it is business. We are supposed to go out to-morrow night for three days’ rest after six nights in the trenches, during which I have not washed or shaved! Yesterday a bullet pierced our splinter-proof roof. Major W—— had his cap cut by one, greatly to his surprise! I was up half the night with orders, etc., coming in. Whilst I was going round quite a pretty little fight developed. Fifty Germans attacked a few of our men; I stood revolver in hand and watched it, as we gradually drove them back. This morning at daybreak our men are reported to have shot two men of a burying party, so there must have been casualties. Still, one is sorry for the burial party. Their guns are knocking things about here; big guns, too. Our Brigadier, General Lowry Cole, asked me if Mrs. L.C. might write to you about comforts for the troops, and I said certainly. If you have any gloves or waistcoats, send them along, please. We thought our friends had arranged to take away their guns, and for one day we did not see them; then they opened again this afternoon. I shall not be sorry to get relieved to-morrow, when we march all night and go into billets, taking our boots off, which will be a great relief. I have caught several local men inhabitants here and sent them off under escort, since which time “sniping” has gradually decreased. Well, I did not write to you yesterday; was too busy. I am inclined to think that Germany has shot her bolt.
Very cold, and more snow—I wonder how we can stand it! Fortunately, the Germans are equally badly off. I have had a chequered life. Last night, after a meagre dinner of tinned beef, I found an officer of the Royal Engineers waiting for me, who announced that he and a party of men had come to put my wire entanglements into order. Having done that, they were to go home. Passing along a deep drain, led by myself, we got to the end of a huge mound of earth. Three of my men popped over it in the dark, within 100 yards of some Germans who were lying down firing at us. Then over went the Sappers, whilst I flew off to see that our own men did not fire on them. Back again to my hole in the ground to put other things “in train.” Up at 11.30 p.m. to repulse an attack. That driven off, I rolled up in blankets to shiver until 1 a.m., when messages began to pour in from everywhere as to all sorts of things. Up again at 4, and at 5.30 for good, back to the trenches, followed by five officers who are relieving us. This procession was a walk with stooping heads, bullets raining in through the loopholes, and frantic runs along ditches beside hedges (just like the “shallows” at Carlton). I crawled completely doubled up. Suddenly a sniper would see some part of me showing, and would then let drive at me. I had to duck, and then run like a hare until I got to a bank which gave some protection. Needless to say, my coat and riding things are already in holes. Please send me another large packet of chocolate; the last was much appreciated; also some soup squares.
We are back again in billets now. Such a business as it was getting out of the trenches. Of course, my men could not leave until the others were in their places; then they had to change back to their roads through the trenches, practically so narrow that they could not pass without stepping over each other, and these three miles long. Well, the result of all was that, moving off at 4.30 p.m., we collected at a road two miles back at 2 in the morning. Just think of it! There was snow and 15 degrees of frost, and we were awfully cold. We got to our billets about 3 a.m., and the General was in my room at 5 o’clock to see me. I was very tired after my week’s work, but I think it was successful. My casualties I am not allowed to state, but they were more than I like to count; also, alas! the number of men killed in action recently…. Well, following on from that, you will quite understand that I had much to think about; funerals, wounded men, rations and everything, shivering with cold the whole time. Then I had to go into my returns, and I was even asked to make up maps and sketches. I believe one of my officers had a bullet through his clothes whilst trying to sketch the enemy’s position at night. Still, we did our work. One particular night, for instance, I had four officers—patrols—in the enemy’s lines. It cost me one man killed and one man wounded, though I heard that Capt. Stevens died too the day after he was hit, poor fellow! Colonel Napier[4] was not wrong when he said it would be a terrible war, but Germany must surely be very nearly at the end of her tether. After all, I must return my boots, as the pair sent, though quite large enough in an ordinary way, are much too small now that I wear two pairs of socks and do not remove them for a week! Did it ever occur to you how difficult it is to feed 1,000 men in a trench 3 miles long when you can only get in at the ends? It took from 5 p.m. to 10 o’clock to get and give them their teas, and then from 3 a.m. to half-past six to give them their breakfast and their food for the day, whilst all the time the enemy was fighting and shooting, and one had to judge to a nicety where to keep everyone until the rations were issued, so that in case the Germans should suddenly rush us we should have enough to repel them. I wonder where you are now—at Rostrevor or at Carlton—and whether I am fated to get home before Christmas or not. In any case, best of luck….
Off to the trenches again to-night, and please God we shall not lose so many men as before. I had the clergyman up to-day and Holy Communion administered for officers and men. Quite a lot of the former attended. You remember we were together last at Winchester. What a difference between that day and now!… Then, the most stately pile in the world; here a little room in a French farmer’s house, with the table pushed into the corner and a few broken chairs to sit upon. An evil-looking bin stands in the corner containing our rations, a pistol on the mantelpiece, and some boots at the fireplace drying, which latter I hastily removed. However, the service was really just the same as at Winchester, excepting that you were not with me. If anything happens to me on this expedition, I should like that small window looking on our pew, representing the Bishop of York’s figure, etc., etc., to be filled in to my memory; and, curiously enough, I think the Penitent Thief always one of the greatest heroes in the Bible; for he must have had enormous faith to believe when he was in such a bad way himself.
The snow is fast melting, and, on the whole, it is much warmer than yesterday. Well, beyond this I have no news to give you, excepting that, of course, though Germany may put up a long fight, yet, in my opinion, she is being strained to death to keep herself going, and I believe that she cannot last long at this rate.
Back in the trenches, and very busy indeed, as apparently we intend to stay here for some time, and we are doing our best to make them habitable for the winter. Our own dug-out, which was 3 feet deep, we have deepened to 4 feet, but just at this moment the roof beams of Major Baker’s half have been carried away, whilst a sniper prevents our getting on the top of the roof to shovel off the earth and renew the beams. Altogether a cheerful problem. However, like many others we shall gradually get this right. I was told that the Germans made a great attack in the afternoon two days ago on the Brigade to our right, but were beaten back. I have warned all my men to be ready for a rush at any time. We made an amusing attack two nights ago with 8 men and one officer, all of whom were wrapped in sheets to avoid being seen in the snow. It took place from one of my trenches. The officer got to the German trench, where a man looked into his face. He fired his revolver at one yard, and his men following dashed forward and fired right and left down the trenches. A great scamper ensued, as you may imagine, and then from each German trench burst out a heavy rifle fire. Our guns were ready, and immediately opened on them in the darkness, and presumably caused the enemy many casualties. I must say that I should never be surprised at the war coming to a sudden conclusion, or for it to last a very long time; but I fancy that a great deal depends upon the result of this battle in Poland. The sniping gentleman is tremendously busy at present, but I hope he will not catch me on my way to luncheon. I have to go there very shortly. You see, I believe they have rifles fixed in clumps, and then they fire them by a sentry pulling a trigger. Of course, the shots are erratic to a certain extent, but they find out from spies where the general line of advance to our trenches is, scour them regularly, and now and then bag someone or other. Last night passed quietly enough; we had our scrap about one o’clock. I was out, but nothing serious happened, I am glad to say. The weather has turned to rain again, and the country is losing the snow, whilst the trenches accumulate the rain and mud badly. Please God this war will soon be over.
I thought I might have had a letter from you this mail; however, it has not arrived, worse luck! Last night, while talking with the General, a bullet struck near his head, glancing off a brick wall. You should have seen him jump! My nerves have grown stronger, as I’ve had a good baptism of them when going about. Our trenches were awful. Yesterday I went round them all, and found everything more or less right. Only my leggings were absolutely plastered above my knees with mud. I think I’ve hit on a good way, if original, of getting ahead of the mud now, by putting my feet into a bag as soon as I come into my dug-out. This is then drawn up nearly to my waist, and collects any mud that falls off, and saves the place. As one does not walk about in it, only crawls, the bag is better than you would have thought! It is turning cold again, and I suppose we shall have a bad night of it. Yesterday evening we discovered a fast machine gun had been brought up against us, so this afternoon I have been amusing myself and one of our batteries by shelling it, but with what result I cannot say. Great stories of Russian doings on the East of Prussia still come to us. About two months more should, I think, give Germany as much as she can do, with her few remaining soldiers, and they must run down fast in numbers. A man looked into one of my loopholes during the night, and told my men that he was an Engineer mending our wire, and the silly fellows thoroughly believed him. I am certain he was a German.
I received your letter to-day of November 18th, also your mother’s of the 21st, for which many thanks. Last night I was up at 1 a.m., turned out by heavy firing. Fortunately, after a time it died away, as I could not get my guns to work! I heard that the Rifle Brigade also tried the white sheet manœuvre with an officer and 8 men lately, but they tell me the officer is missing. One of mine has been at the enemy’s lines during the last two nights; I hope he will be all right. We made no fuss, only just lay and watched them, and heard them chattering and sitting round little fires in the trenches. A bullet came through the ruin which I was in close beside me, but as dozens are flying over and around one all the time, it merely attracted my attention by the fact that it passed through two brick walls and went on its way. This pointed German bullet does strange tricks. For instance, one of them yesterday must have struck something, turned at right angles, and gone on, killing an old soldier of mine by striking him on the left temple, poor fellow! Well, I must close. I expect to get out this evening, if alive. By the way, please send me several pounds of plum pudding—the richer, the better. We can stand it. Very greedy thinking about things to eat, but it takes one’s mind off more serious affairs. Young McClintock’s regiment (the Gordon Highlanders) has been sent in alongside myself. I went down to see it, but Stanley was not there.
It is very odd, but all your letters have not arrived. We moved out of trenches in the dark last night, and as we got well away were feeling ourselves safe. “Zip” came a bullet, and hit the ground beside me; it seemed rather unfair when one thought one was well out of range. We got in here at 8.30 p.m., and, having two cold pheasants sent by Major B.’s brother, we supped sumptuously. Please send me some more pheasants or partridges cooked as before, and sewn up in sacking. This house is a farm much like that one on the road to Newark before you reach Muskham Bridge. The owner is evidently a rich man, for everything is very nice, electric light laid on, but unfortunately not going! We had our rest rudely disturbed by the Germans trying to shell us. Whether we were betrayed by people pretending to be refugees or not I cannot say, but within an hour of sending two away the shelling commenced. Fortunately they missed us, though I heard that a couple of officers of another regiment were killed. A possible reason, however, which we have since found out is that some heavy guns of our own have placed themselves beside us, thus letting us in for all the shells that miss the enemy. We are rather irate at it. But to return to our house. It has six bedrooms on the first floor, and some attics; the rooms are quite middle-class looking, though the furniture in the dining-room is of nice walnut. The Germans looted the place and smashed the mirrors over the mantelpiece, whilst there is a bullet hole through the door. I sincerely hope that something will happen shortly to bring home to the German nation what a thing it is to invade another country’s property. It is quite pitiful to see the way everything is knocked about. The china in the house is in the pretty French style, the coffee pot particularly neat and nice. It is curious sitting here with shells having fallen all round us within 300 yards, and yet to be so perfectly peaceful. Still, it is war. I said to one of my captains: “Where did you bury So-and-So yesterday?” and he replied: “Where he was shot, sir. He was a heavy man, and we could not take him to the place where we buried the others.” So there the poor man lies in a ploughed field, and no more trace of him excepting that in his humble way he did his duty and gave his life for his country. I suppose the evening of November 30th will see us in the trenches again. By the way, please tell Miss P—— that I have found her handkerchief most useful in the trenches. Nothing smaller would have been any good at all. I am trying to get my chestnut horse back, and asking the Brigade Major to telegraph for him to the Remount. The Government has commenced to issue to the men goatskin coats of white and brown or black goats. Where such a goat lives I do not know; anyhow, here is his skin! I suspect I shall very soon have one too, if the weather gets colder.
You can see by this that your notepaper has duly arrived, for which I am much obliged. I was also glad to get your letter, and I am sure that you must be very pleased to be back in Rostrevor again. Curious how I have been kept away from you for three years, is it not, first by my promotion, and then this awful war…. Well, yesterday I think I told you that I saw a shell strike close beside one of my companies, so I ran and put the men into bomb-proof, or rather splinter-proofs. Having seen they were safe, I went on with my work, though it is not pleasant doing this sort of thing whilst shells are flying about! Anyhow, I started out afterwards to reconnoitre the road to a certain town, and passed two men of the Rifle Brigade making a coffin. I asked for whom it was intended, and found that this same shell had killed a very nice Major, called “Harman,” of the Rifle Brigade, whilst another man was badly wounded, and a Captain also in the Rifle Brigade. It all happened just as far from me as Carlton Village is from the house, or a few yards more at farthest. Well, we buried the poor fellow after dark. This morning we had service both for our Catholic and Church of England men, and after that the General decided to inspect my regiment. As he approached, so did the shells, and in a few seconds everyone was flying for shelter to ditches and holes in the ground like rabbits to their burrows. Having knocked us about with 300-lb. shells, they then thought that we should be out of the house, and they let loose with shrapnel, which is a great man-killer. I watched the first burst coming, and had everyone under cover whilst they rained this around. I think they must have been in a bad humour. At all events, they wasted £500 worth of ammunition to no purpose. I expect they are told by spies which houses we occupy, as they appeared to follow us about steadily. It has become much milder, but still cold enough when we turn out at five o’clock in the morning. One certainly does not eat the bread of idleness in the British Army at present! Here comes our solitary lamp, borrowed from the absent farmer, but before it arrives we must close the blinds, as the light would certainly insure a shelling for us. I am glad you had a good run across to Ireland, and that Sydney was a good boy. I wonder how much longer we are going to stay here. Rumour has it that the enemy is moving back, but I cannot say.
We are still in billets and still under a heavy fire; a nasty cold rain is falling, and altogether it is very disagreeable, excepting that it would be worse in the trenches, as being more cold and wet. Well, last night we discovered a pigeon loft in the ruined part of the town, and as we have orders to destroy all these birds we put a guard on it, and Major B—— and I walked down to the Brigade office and asked if we could kill the lot. We found, however, that it was supposed to belong to the French Army, so we returned sorrowfully home. On our way we had a near shave, for out of the darkness whizzed a shrapnel shell. I heard it coming, having very quick ears, and shouted “Down!” It was rather amusing to see what happened. The three men stood stock still, and gazed like owls solemnly into the dark. Major B … walked rapidly forward in the direction he was then going, whilst I gave a flying jump and was face downward in orthodox style in a second and into a ditch. The shrapnel landed its contents within 20 yards of us, but all escaped unhurt, I’m thankful to say. We managed to get under cover before the next one came. Such is our life here, though we are politely said to be resting! It is fairly raining shrapnel 200 yards up the road now, but what I am on the look-out for are high-explosives, as they are so much more dangerous to troops amongst buildings. The other day, on November 9th, we heard a tremendous burst of firing, and in The Times of November 23rd I see it is thought that the British guns caught the German reserves forming up for an attack on us, and destroyed them in large numbers. Certainly, as Colonel Napier says, it is an awful war. However, I notice that a lot of German fuses do not explode their shells, which makes me think they have not got quite so good a supply of stuff as they try to make us believe! I want very much to go out, but, on the whole, I think it is safer to stay in at present. Sir John Ross will have his work cut out to write the history of the Coldstream Guards for this war. My mind is so full at present that I cannot say if I shall be able to write ours, even if I come through all right. However, I keep an official war diary, which will always help greatly. These brutes have now changed from shrapnel to high explosives, which are whirling over our heads and bursting in the town about 400 yards farther down. I hope they will not drop one short and put it in here, which would be good-bye to all of us….
Major Herbert Stepney, Irish Guards, was killed while commanding the Battalion in the first Battle of Ypres.
Major Osbert Clinton-Baker, of Bayfordbury, Hertfordshire, Second-in-Command 1st Battalion Royal Irish Rifles, gazetted Colonel of the Regiment in May, about two months after Colonel Laurie fell. He was mortally wounded and missing at Fromelles on May 9th, 1915.
Capt. Haliburton Laurie fell in the South African War at Philippolis, on a kopje, while rescuing a wounded patrol.
Afterwards Brigadier-General Napier. Previous to the war he commanded the 2nd Bn. Royal Irish Rifles in Aldershot and Dover. He was killed while landing troops in Gallipoli during the summer of 1915.