My Dear F——
Am sitting in my dug-out scrawling this by the light of a signaller’s lamp. I was awake at 4.30 a.m., working hard practically ever since, and it is now dark with a beautiful moon rising. I have been very busy trying to get ahead of a German trench which they had sapped up to us. We arranged to have it stormed by Capt. O’Sullivan and Mr. Graham, but as the Royal Engineers could not let me have an officer to put a mine in just then, it had to be postponed for one day; and that brings us out of our trenches, as we are supposed to go into rest billets to-morrow night. Well, I have now settled that a battery of Field Artillery is to fire on them at fixed hours during the night, and Mr. T—— has been sent down there with his machine gun, so it is quite on the cards that we shall have a merry evening! I hear the guns opening as I write, and wonder if our friends, who greatly outnumber us, will rush us to-night or not. If they knew how very weak we were, I expect they would try!
I forgot to tell you that I was ordered to send away a Major, and consequently Major Alston had to go to the 2nd Battalion with two other officers. During my rounds this morning with the General he incautiously exposed himself, and he was instantly fired at, the bullet striking between us as we stood about a yard apart. Also, two minutes after I had finished shaving early in the day, a bullet came through the place breaking the pane of glass. Such is Providence, and you see that, so looked after, it is as safe here as in England, if it is our Lord’s will…. Your Mother sent me a second paper to fill in. It is curious to be a Trustee and do such work in the trenches. The sniping that is going on now is perfectly deafening.
Yours….
G——.
We go out of the trenches to-night, and after marching six miles to try and avoid the German shells we shall all put up at a small town where for the first time since November 10th we shall not be under fire, and when we shall have the opportunity of taking off our boots and sleeping without them, also for the first time since we left our port of landing on November 7th. The poor Colonel I took this dug-out from was killed last week, as I saw by the papers. He was a nice sensible man. I shall not be sorry to get out to-night and into bed for a change. My sleep yesterday was from 12 midnight to 5 a.m., and I was awakened three times to answer messages. No chance of any more during the 24 hours before or after. By the way, a story that happened quite lately might amuse you. An old Frenchwoman came to a house occupied by our cooks, and asked whether she might get some clothes out; for all the houses are deserted by the inhabitants. She presented a recommendation, obviously written in English by a foreigner. We thought her suspicious, detained her, took the permit, and sent her away without allowing her in. We cannot arrest her, as the Staff will not let us do so. Well, she then came and found out where the observation station of the heavy artillery was, and was seen to go into the building opposite, take some clothes, and come out, shutting the door and fastening the shutters; this marked the house, and she had not been gone 20 minutes when four shells landed together and blew the place to pieces, just missing the observation post! Of course she was a spy for the Germans, who watched from a church some distance off through a telescope, and so were shown where the station was. Then the guns opened on our cooks, but passed them, knocking down a wall alongside. Curious that we are not allowed to intern these people; but the French authorities object. Probably many messages are sent to the Germans by underground wires.
G.B.L.
P.S.—The last of this note is rather disjointed, but that is because I have been giving a learned dissertation on the best means of circumventing a German sap approaching us.
We left our trenches yesterday without regret, and retired some six miles way to a little country town about the size of Newry, where we are quartered, or rather billeted, for a couple of days before we go back again to our diggings. The exchange had to be done in the dark, and I got the regiment away without casualties, which was better than the night we went in, when I lost two men killed. It is strange being out of fire for the first time for three weeks, and nobody being killed or wounded beside one at present! Also it seems funny to see people walking again in the streets, and to hear children’s voices, instead of only soldiers dodging from house to house whilst these latter are falling to pieces about their ears and all around them. Your things duly arrived, and are at this moment being distributed to the men, and are much appreciated by them, excepting the chest protectors, which I suspect they will not wear! I am glad you have done so well with the plum-pudding fund for the Regiment. Your Mother’s offering was most generous, and Aunt E——’s too. We came out of the trenches by creeping down ditches, and then assembled at a place a mile away in the moonlight, and we stole cautiously along, leaving gaps between us, so that if we were shelled we should only lose a certain number. Many of the men could hardly stand, their feet were so numbed with the cold of the trenches, but we got them safely in about 10 p.m., and they are sleeping in all sorts of queer places. One lot are in a granary four stories high. There is only one ladder, so it will take nearly half an hour to get four hundred men out of the building. By-the-bye, you might tell Sir John Ross of a feat done by a Russian bullet which I would not have believed possible. The bullet struck one of our rifle barrels. Of course the distance was only 400 yards, but it cut clean through the massive steel barrel as if it had been butter! I know that it always takes four feet of earth to stop it. I have to go over now to dine with our Divisional Commander, General Davis. It seems so odd getting a night off like this. Khaki dress, of course. It was not my Brigade which did the bayonet charge; when that occurs, you will see the casualty list will be full of killed and wounded officers of this Regiment, I am afraid. It was my old Battalion, the 2nd R.I.R.
P.S.—I hear that my old friend Capt. Kennedy was amongst them, and died from his wounds. I am so sorry.
G.B.L.
No letters to-day. Report says that the Germans have blown the railway up, but I do not think so. It is much more probable that one of the bridges has broken through overwork. As a matter of fact, they did blow up some bridges at the beginning of the war, and the French had to put in temporary ones, and these are most likely giving way now. It is very cold, with hail and sleet. I should think the trenches will be worth seeing when we go back to them to-morrow. I only wish the war was over, but one has to put up with these things. I see from your letter that you are sending us a plum pudding from Rostrevor House. If this is so, please thank your aunt for her kindness. It will be well received. As to the comforts for the men, those you sent by post have arrived, but not all coming through the forwarding officer. In any case, they are amply supplied now, and only require things which are not given by Government, such as gloves, cigarettes and matches, and the two latter they often get from friends. I had a gigantic consignment from the York Street Linen Mills in Belfast, and wrote to thank the directors. Please send me a cake of Toilet Soap, Pears or any sort will do—not too big—if it will go in my soap box. I had a pleasant little dinner last night on Ration Beef at the General’s. He told me, with regard to the shooting of General Delarey in S. Africa, that it was now said the Government out there meant to shoot Beyers as well, as they were both supposed to be in the swim to raise a rebellion, but I cannot believe it. The other guest was Col. Wedderburn, who is the Hereditary Standard Bearer of Scotland, and is in charge of a Militia Battalion out here. He is a very nice fellow too. I am off to try to see General Keir of the 6th Division.
I have had the Regiment at church, and now I am dashing off a note to you before I change and get into my old clothes. You will be glad to hear that Sir John’s chamois leather waistcoat fits me quite well. I tried it on here, because it is “unhealthy” to stand up in the trenches. I went over yesterday and saw Gen. Keir, whom I served under in South Africa. He commands a Division in this war, and is another old friend of mine, like General Inglefield. The road I took was paved with cobble stones in the middle, and on each side was a sea of mud, a specimen of what they are like about here, as there is no stone in the country, only clay. It was very nice getting out on horseback again for ten or twelve miles, even along such a road as that. All the French farmhouses have more artistic fronts than ours; smart shutters, etc., give them an imposing appearance, but it begins and ends there fairly well, I think! The town in which we are is the same as a poor part of Belfast might be—a long paved street; mean houses, and shops on either side, with dirty little slums running off to the right and left. Then here and there you come to a better class of house looking rather out of proportion. I suppose these are the remains of the old ones, when it was a village occupied by some prosperous doctor or tradesman. However, I have not been able to find out if there are any gentry in the place. Our hostess is the widow of a French officer, but she appears to live in the kitchen! I asked the Mess sergeant whether the French people did anything curious in their cooking, and he at once said, “Yes; they never eat any meat, only vegetables and pork!” Our Divisional General, a Guardsman who is a great stickler for everything being quite right, was horrified the other day when crossing a bridge to see a Special Reserve sentry of the “Black Watch” with his rifle between his knees and his face buried in a bowl of soap. Of course, his job was to watch the bridge and to present arms to the General. So the latter sternly asked him if he was the sentry, and he received the affable reply: “I am; and I am vera cold.” History does not relate any more! Well, I must give you my best wishes with my present for Christmas. It seems a long time off yet, but you know how slowly the post goes. I really think I have had no letters from anyone since I arrived here excepting yourself.
I am sorry to tell you that on the way to the trenches we lost poor Captain Allgood, whom you will remember. I had ordered everyone to return, wished them good luck, and was waiting to see that they were all in whilst the Germans were sniping us, when someone came and reported to me that a man had been shot through the shoulder by the same bullet which I afterwards heard was believed to have killed Capt. Allgood. The stretcher-bearers brought the latter in, and I sent for the doctor at once, but he could only pronounce him to be dead also! He was shot through the heart, and fell down remarking: “I am hit, but I am all right,” and never spoke or moved again. He leaves one little daughter and his young wife. I did not like taking him out here on account of his being married, and now he really has been killed. I have just written to his wife, though I have never seen her. Still, that is part of a Colonel’s business. Poor Capt. Allgood! He looked so peaceful lying on the stretcher. We are rather miserable in the trenches, as we have to live in a sea of mud. I think it is worse this time than ever. I have been busy getting it shovelled out and trying to cheer everyone up. Yesterday when we were coming in, the Germans started shelling the village we had to go through. I moved round it by another road and saved my men, and sent a message to the G.O.C. saying that I had been obliged to do this. Last night I received a telegram from Sir Henry Rawlinson that the Germans were expected to attack. They did not, fortunately, but they are now playing on us with their machine guns. So we are very busy! A cheerful life!
Just a line to try and keep up my regular custom of writing to you every day whenever I can! A shell descended yesterday in the cottage I run across to for my meals. I had just left, but I fancy there were still enough people on the spot to be badly frightened. The Guard over me from the Lincoln Regiment all fell or were blown down by the explosion. Little Mr. Wright also was surprised. However, only Major Baker’s servant was hurt by a blow from a broken tile which cut his chest, and another man was hit by a flying brick. After that I was showing the General and other celebrities round the trenches. In one place they really had a most amusing time, running down a very muddy ditch crouched up double, whilst stray bullets flew about, and the shell burst fortunately just 200 yards beyond us. Nasty stuff, too; a tree about 50 feet high was caught by the explosion and cut off just half way up. We go back to our shell-swept area for 3 days, though whether we are much safer there I do not know, but we certainly are more comfortable. Here with the rain there has been a steady drip into the dug-out, and added to this the trenches have fallen in, and they, of course, are ankle deep in mud. Mud is everywhere; on my face, on my coat, and up nearly to my waist. I hear that the hostess of our last billets turned rusty with the next people, and refused to let them into her house, so had to come under the correction of the Provost Marshal. I thought she would get into trouble. Your postcard was very amusing. I heard from General Macready[5] two days ago. The guns are booming away, but the sniping has decreased to-day.
I have to stop for duty now….
We marched away from our trenches last night, and no one was hit, fortunately. A machine gun opened on us just before we started, and gave three bursts of fire, and of course the sniping went on steadily as usual. I soon found out that this gun fire was drawn by a foolish corporal of the Lincolnshire Regiment, who, in cooking his guards’ suppers, had a fire with flames four feet high. A few biting words relieved my feelings and put the fire down! Still bullets did fly around us, over our heads and beside us, while we passed along in the black night. Mr. Wright, my Adjutant, saw one strike in a puddle between him and myself as we marched at the head of the Regiment. You will be interested to know what our 72 hours in the trenches cost us. Of course I cannot tell you our casualties for fear this letter should be read by the enemy, but if you remember the number of our house in Victoria Park, Dover, and General H——’s combined, that was the amount of my killed and twice that of my wounded;[6] so you see what a business it all is. Please God the Germans will shortly have had enough. I used to say that they were losing a quarter of a million men every fortnight. Now, however, it has turned out that mine was an under-estimate, and that they are really losing 300,000 a fortnight, more than I gave them credit for. People thought me over-sanguine, but now they say I am rather a good judge. We have just heard the news of the naval battle off the Falkland Islands this morning, and we are very elated. My idea is that Germany’s frantic attacks on the Russians and on ourselves here will wear her out faster even than if we attacked; and “it will arrive,” as the French say, that she will be so done that she will have to surrender at discretion, because her population will fight no longer. I wonder whether Sir John agrees with my views. Personally, I think it surprising that Bavaria has gone on as long as she has. I fancy that she will be the first of the German Federals to jib. Your letter of the 1st arrived whilst I was writing this, also a joint letter from Hal and Blanche; I was so glad to get all three. As to clothes, I keep an old suit for the trenches; when I get out and have to go anywhere, I turn out quite smartly, excepting that my boots and leggings are “dubbed” with grease instead of being polished. When my old suit is done, my form will be encased in Government khaki garments with my badges of rank transferred, and that will keep me going to the end of the war.
I hope you thanked Mrs. Horsborgh[7] for the donation to the Regiment on my behalf. It was very little I was able to do for her husband beyond burying him, but it was a kind thought of hers. The chamois leather waistcoat is the comfort of my life, thanks to Sir John, and the idea of another plum pudding from Aunt Blanche is already making us feel better. I had my first tub since I came across to-day. I think it was a pig-tub, but I had it cleaned out and washed.
G.B.L.
I received three letters from you yesterday. Two of December 4th, and one of the 1st inst. Likewise to-day a cake from Rostrevor House, for which many thanks from all of us, not forgetting to thank the cook! We wolfed half of it at luncheon, and the remainder is to grace our tea-table, when we have asked the two staff officers of the Brigade to come. I have just been out on a circuitous route to see my transport, which lies about 2-½ miles behind the town where I am billeted at present, just out of the range of any shells. I took a ride round to see how the country lay, riding hard with my heart in my mouth where there was any chance of fire, and sauntering along whenever it appeared to be safe. As a matter of fact, one hardly knows where to expect a shell. Three miles from this battery the other day shrapnel burst within 20 yards of me. Ten yards nearer, and I would, humanly speaking, have been done. Well, now as to your kind gift of a sheepskin coat and gloves, I am afraid I cannot keep them, for there are no means of carrying them, unfortunately. As a matter of fact, much as I should like them, all these things mean so many pounds extra kit. I am only allowed 50 lbs. in weight, so when you have taken into account a heavy pair of boots, one’s blankets and valise, second coat, and riding breeches, there is really no room for more. I have to see that everyone does not exceed 35 lbs. (I, being the Colonel, am allowed 15 lbs. more kit), but I cannot in honour exceed my weight. I keep wondering whether we are likely to move forward shortly. I fancy that our German friends are being shaken up by Russia, whilst I am sure it is a question of time when Hungary goes for Austria. In great haste.
Last night was a red-letter day, for two plum puddings arrived from Rostrevor House, and also the refill for my battery before the old one ran out, so I am quite happy as to that point now. I have also written to Aunt B——. Many thanks for the figs. Isn’t it strange how one always becomes a child again when one gets on a campaign and requires food of all sorts like a schoolboy, though the Government gives quite enough, and good solid food too. I had a parcel from Aunt H—— yesterday, with one of her usual kind letters; I seized the woollen cap for myself, and I am quite sure it is much better for sleeping in in the trenches than the muffler you knitted for me, as the ends always get entangled in the mud of that rather dreadful place. By the way, when you have time, please send me a piece of shaving soap. I have stuck to shaving steadily, and propose doing so unless you want me to grow a beard! I was very much surprised when, after seven days without being able to shave, to see my face come out perfectly black all over! I thought I was fair, so apparently my moustache is a fraud! Is it not funny?
We marched out to the trenches with very little firing, and found that the whole of them were more or less full of water. While visiting one company last night about 5.45 a.m. I had to wade through water just below the top of my leggings. What that means by remaining afterwards in wet boots I leave you to judge. I managed to get mine changed at 11 a.m., as I had a dry pair of socks in my holsters, and put my feet back into the wet boots. In one place which I have not yet walked through, the water is actually up to the waist. One sergeant of the Lincoln Regiment was left for us to dig out, as he was hopelessly bogged when his regiment had to march away; whilst another man was pulled out by main force and left his boots behind him, and after walking a mile in bare feet was put into a cart. The enemy have had the audacity to open on us with a machine gun, and spent last night with it trying to shoot down my principal communication trench, so, as I have more or less placed the gun, I am asking the artillery to fire on it without delay. A curious way of spending the third Sunday in Advent, shivering with cold in a dug-out, with lots of bullets humming overhead, but not so many shells just at present. The men and officers are having a bad time, but war is never pleasant.
P.S.—The sequel to the maxim gun fire is that one of my men has been knocked down and hit in the leg, in the arm, and back of the head. The fact being that he was going for water, and finding the ditch very dirty, foolishly jumped out, and was promptly knocked over at once. The enemy is now shelling over our heads most cheerfully. One wonders when all this will stop….
G.B.L.
Here I am in my dripping dug-out, even more so than usual. The water is up to my waist in some places. Things are moving, I think, and perhaps our friends the Germans may shortly move also. We have been pouring shells on the poor dears all day. This morning I was lucky in getting hold of a German helmet. The Divisional General has been screaming for one for days, as we wish to find out what troops are in front of us. I have had patrols prowling about everywhere at nights trying to catch a prisoner. Yesterday morning, for a wonder, we found some Germans patrolling outside their trenches, and fired upon them, but they got away. This was just at daybreak; but, going very carefully over the ground as soon as we could in the dark, we came upon a helmet, either dropped in flight, or else one of the men had been hit. However, we carried it off in triumph, and so found out for the General what he wanted to know. Thanks for your news. As to poor Mr. Innes Cross of our regiment, who is missing, I know nothing. The other or 2nd Battalion might tell you something. A machine gun has been going hard at my trench for some time, off and on….
It was our evening to go off to the town six miles away for the three days in every twelve, which we get to steady our nerves, I suppose. Unfortunately, some other operations had to be carried out, so we were not able to leave, after all, and we are still here, worse luck! I was summoned this morning to go up a road to meet the General. I found him in a farm, having been obliged to take cover from rifle fire. After the business was settled, I saw him off to comparative safety, and then trudged back to our trenches, meeting a stretcher with one of our men shot through the chest below the heart when he was on the road, also on duty. I will say this for the men, that whilst I go off duty with my heart in my mouth and hurry through it, they saunter about, and no amount of checking will make them understand that it is dangerous to idle about in the open. Afterwards they are hit—if not seriously wounded. They are very like little children, rather annoyed, but in their hearts, I am sure, secretly glad that they have escaped from the awful squalor of the trenches to the comparative comfort of a wounded man in hospital. It is turning a little colder now, which will be really a great improvement over the sloppy weather we have been having. My headquarters are being moved from my awful dug-out to a house, or rather cottage, where I shall not feel the cold quite so much; but I sincerely hope that the enemy will not find out where I am, as they will then shell me out of existence! I must close now to get ready to move….
As I told you in yesterday’s letter, I have moved my headquarters back 400 yards, so now I am about 700 yards behind the firing line, and something like 1,100 yards from the Germans. We are in a house of sorts which has mysteriously escaped being destroyed. It is protected by a barn more or less ruined, and so the bullets miss it, and also the shells, though they burned a building within four yards of us. This is the house near by which I saw five shells burst the first day I came up here. It was most weird last night as I was lying on the floor to hear bullet after bullet strike the wall; one has come through the window, but that was unusual. When the native troops were in here, they lost three men killed at the front door, but I think we have polished off that sniper since then. Sometimes the bullets glance off the brickwork with a shower of sparks. It is very unhealthy to go out on either side of the farmhouse. I went my rounds yesterday in the evening. Such a time I have never had! Imagine going along a trench just wide enough for your shoulders; your head up to the original level of the ground, and the earth piled up on either side for two or three feet; the bottom was soft mud with water well above the knees. One sank into this whilst one struggled on, carrying revolver or rifle. In my case, revolver strapped on, and holding up my cloak to prevent it getting under my feet in my dreadful flounders. Several times I nearly stuck for good, but just managed to get through. I succeeded in putting on dry things afterwards, but the men, I am sorry to say, could not do so. I asked the doctor to go and inspect this morning, and see if there was anything he could suggest. He went off cheerfully enough, but came back two hours later a dirtier, if a wiser, man, and his only remark to me was: “Well, it will not last. No men could stand that very long!” I replied that we must do so longer than the Germans. The pheasants duly arrived, and we are grateful as ever. I have written to your Mother.
G.B.L.
There is a big fight going on to our left about fifteen miles away.
You are safely in Carlton, I trust, by now. I am afraid I wish I was there, too, in one sense, though certainly not in another. The war was none of our seeking, but it has got to be seen through by anything that calls itself a soldier! What I feel is the constant discomfort, not to mention the danger; of the latter there is no doubt, and our trenches are right to the fore. We had quite enough of it yesterday with rifle bullets. To-day they varied the entertainment by putting big shells about us, fortunately not on us, so our battery had to change its position. Of course, we, the infantry, must hold our ground, and cannot move…. Enclosed is the Special Order of the Day;[8] perhaps you would like to keep it. I am having a luncheon party to-day to eat the pheasants and plum pudding. It consists of Col. MacAndrew and one of his officers who have come up the road from the headquarters of the Lincoln Regiment, which is on our right. The guns are shooting cheerfully again over our heads, but I am feeling very fit, having just had a hot tub—the first for some time. Your French postcard was returned to me by the stupid post, so I shall try and send it to you in an envelope, as you want to keep it for a curiosity. Many thanks for the turkey. I do not see why you should worry so much to send me things, … but it is most good of you. Thanks for mittens; I think everyone here is now more or less supplied; but mine made by you will be much esteemed. I am sorry that your cousin, Sir Standish Roche, has gone and that S—— will now be a widow. I must close.
I do not think any of us can get away on leave at present, and if we could, I hardly like leaving the men in the trenches.
G.B.L.
We are at present apparently preparing for some adventure or other! One never knows how these affairs will turn out. This is indeed the most trying of wars; our life is one of incessant fighting. My experience of last night will illustrate the sort of thing that goes on. I wanted to go round my trenches, but a party of recruits came in just at that time; one was hit on the road half a mile back. He, poor fellow! was taken to hospital, and will probably be in England within ten days of leaving it. So I saw them away, and started to follow them up. I then dived down into a ditch and staggered along, my boots covered with foul mud and water, whilst a sniper commenced to try and take the trench I was in; enfilade it, they call it. Well, I went farther on up the ditch, getting worse and worse into the mire right over my knees. The mud actually worked its way through my leggings to my skin. I wandered on, heavy sniping hissing over my head or into the parapet, covering me with clay occasionally. Of course, everyone who lives in these particular trenches has wet feet day and night. Having been round and talked to everybody and done my best to cheer them up, I met and had a word with Capt. Rodney. He remarked: “Do not stay where you are, sir, I beg of you, for my servant was shot and killed just on that spot, and another man was wounded by the same bullet.” It went clean through a book that the unfortunate man was reading. So I discreetly toddled, or rather waded, home about midnight. This morning one of my men was shot through the lungs, not far from our room, and he died at once. This just shows you what a time we go through here, always having to keep our eyes open! Poor Capt. Whelan was killed, I saw in yesterday’s paper. He had been lent to the Royal Irish Regiment. Well, good-bye….
This morning your kind present of ginger cake, plum pudding, and mittens, also soap, arrived, for all of which many thanks. You will be interested to hear what was going on last night, which I did not like to tell you at the time I was writing. We had been summoned in the morning to receive the General’s order for an attack on a trench by the Rifle Brigade. The real attack, however, was to be made by someone else on quite another part of the line. We were to demonstrate. Well, if you ever heard Hell let loose, it was whilst I was writing that letter. Probably over fifty guns took part in it, and the firing was quite close overhead. It may have been 100 guns really—some very heavy ones. Then about 10 miles of trenches were blazing away at the Germans, and they were blazing back at us. Bullets were racing through our roof, and there I sat in a little room, shivering with cold for we could light no fire. I was not allowed to go into my firing line, but sat near the two telephones connecting me with the Artillery and with my own Regiment. A reinforcement of some Territorials was sent to help us. We finished up by capturing the trenches and also some prisoners, while the Rifle Brigade then went off to the trench that they visit occasionally, and there found a German who had been dead for about a fortnight. This was the net result of the little engagement; but it was very long drawn out at the time. In the morning, when the troops returned, the Germans caught the company moving with shell, and only that Major Baker and myself flew for our lives and hurried people about, we should have lost a lot. I have seldom used worse language! It had its comic side, too, for several of the men got so frightened that they fell into a cesspit in trying to take cover, and two were knocked over and wounded. It is very nasty having shell whistling over your head and bursting all around. At the present moment our batteries have opened again, but nothing like the business of last night. Two more of my fellows were badly hit at the same time, and I had to send a man to give them morphia while awaiting the doctor. Another near squeak was a bullet striking beside me from a glancing shot where I was standing, as I thought, in absolute safety. I am enclosing you a letter from Mrs. Allgood; she is a plucky woman. I had a very nice letter from Sir J—— R—— The bombardment of Scarborough was a cruel affair. Now the country will have to see it through….
I have made a great effort, as I cannot draw, to produce a Christmas card for you; it is the house (?) that the Colonel and I live in! Very old, and much knocked about by a shell in part of the roof, and bullet holes through it and both the windows, as I have endeavoured to show. In times of peace it is a very small public house, 3 rooms and a garret in which I live. The Colonel is very well, and seems to enjoy plodding knee-deep through the mud in the trenches. The Germans roused us this morning by dropping pieces of shell on our little house. We have just lunched off a most excellent turkey which you sent; it was splendid.
I hope men do not get mud fever like horses; if so, we ought to do so!
I trust that the war will have come to an honourable end before many months, and that we may all meet again.
With very best wishes for 1915.
Yours very sincerely,
W. Clinton Baker.
I heard that our people of the 2nd Battalion were driven out of the trenches by bombs from the Germans, with a loss of 8 officers and 200 men, but that may be one of the many yarns always spread about this sort of show. We have just this moment received a report that an attack is expected on us towards 4 p.m. It is now after 3 o’clock, and we have had to hurry indeed to get things ready. This morning, after our standing to arms, which always takes place at five o’clock, the Germans opened on us with heavy and moderate guns. The first shell sent the fuse through my roof, the next knocked a brick in at the side of the wall, and then I jumped out and started putting the men into covered ditches. We had between 50 and 100 shells thrown at us within three-quarters of an hour, but fortunately no one was hit. All the time, of course, rifle fire went on as usual. Such was our Advent Sunday’s amusement, and the shelling continued intermittently during the whole of the morning. Our trenches are a perfect bog; I shall find some difficulty in getting round them to-night even if we are not driven out of them. As to the shelling of the East Coast, you should see what these places look like after the enemy gets through with them, for their guns (howitzers) fire nearly as large shells as warships do from their guns. The man who brought the message to me was blown off his bicycle as he came along by four shells bursting and knocking down two or three houses beside him, two miles to the rear of us. Life is too awful for description out here now, and the men feel desperate at times. Whether the Germans are equally badly off I do not know, but there is little doubt that they must be; still, they are such a disciplined nation that it is difficult to see where the first break will come, excepting that as Germany consists in reality of several nations put together, the smaller ones may think it worth while to break off from the Empire and to make terms for themselves. My opinion is that Hungary will shortly do this. By the way, what we thought was another plum pudding turned out to be your turkey, and it was voted the best one we ever tasted! Many thanks for it and the pheasants, which also arrived this morning….
Your letter of December 15th, in which you said that you had got back to Carlton, arrived last night. I wish I could run across and see you, but it will be hard for me to get a fortnight just now like your cousin Massereene. You see, he is Cavalry, and attached to the Staff Headquarters of the Division; so also is Percy Laurie. Major S. McClintock got leave, so I hope mine will come in due course, but even then I am not sure I can leave my men. I think I told you in my letter last night that we received a frantic message from our Brigadier-General to expect an attack at 4 p.m. As a matter of fact, there was less fighting than usual, and I lost fewer men. My night’s experiences were almost humdrum! Leaving my ruin at 9.15 p.m., accompanied by my bugler and clad in my old waterproof, I sallied out and ran the gauntlet of some snipers from the German lines, then dived into my ditch, floundered up it in mud for about a quarter of a mile, perhaps more, secured some Engineers I have at last got hold of to improve the place, went on, saw Major Wright and Capt. Tee, both as deaf as possible from cold, etc. The water was steadily rising in their trenches, and had already flooded their dug-out; another one had fallen in, whilst their third was leaking badly; so, on the whole, they were not in a good way. Then I struggled on through the mud round the trenches, seeing that men were awake, that necessary digging was being carried out, that lights were not showing, that sentries were posted at proper points, and that officers visited them regularly; for all have to keep to their particular business in this horrible time. I got back to my ruins about 12.30 a.m., having sent a message to the gunners that some of their shells were pleasantly going into my trenches in the darkness, and not into the enemy’s. By twenty minutes to 1 o’clock I had dry boots and garments on, and, wrapping myself in blankets, was fast asleep, despite artillery fire and infantry fighting on my right. I awoke at 3 o’clock, went round again, saw everything was right, then to sleep once more until 5.15 a.m., when I was up for good. It is a hard life. To-night we take two companies back to just outside rifle fire, the first time for ten days, though well within shell fire. We have only been out of that for three days since we came into trenches on November 15th. I have had various family letters which I hope to answer in time. Heard, or rather Major B—— did, from Lord Grenfell. I had sent him some message. He says that he thinks the Turks will not invade Egypt; but the great question in Russia which alone prevents this nation from crushing the German Army at once is the single line of railway that brings up their ammunition. Very unfortunate; for it will take us a little longer to beat these people.
Your cake duly arrived. As, however, Major Baker also received one, we decided to eat his first, so mine is safely in its box, having escaped manifold dangers! Really one does have a complicated life of it at the front! To-day all my work was before me ready to do, when we received a frightened order to fall in at once, and did so. We were three hours at that game, and have not left the billets since. Various sorts of rumours reached us, the two most probable ones being that there were 6,000 Germans drawn up about two miles behind their lines, and the other that there was a fierce fight proceeding to the right of us. What those fights result in is the loss of anything up to 350 men and 14 or 15 officers, and we probably inflict twice that damage on the enemy. Well, this afternoon we have been covered with six-inch shells. Fortunately none have hit the house; but it is a constant strain. Yesterday we left our ruin and went back to these billets in the dark. We had to form up at certain cross roads, as a fight was raging, and I was afraid of spent bullets; I moved my men, who were waiting, under a house. No doubt they thought me rather a “funk,” but appreciated my forethought when a few moments later two companies of another regiment were caught in the fire; one man had his head grazed, and another was hit through the back, narrowly missing his heart. Luckily, my doctor was with me, so that I was able to look after both of them at once. I saw in The Times that Austria had already been sounding Russia as to peace terms, but that she considered the terms proposed by Russia too hard. Of course she must make her choice, but she forgets that Hungary has nothing to lose by Russia’s proposals and everything to gain, not only Peace. Russia’s suggestion that Austria should make all her states, including Bohemia, into Federal States—viz., give them Home Rule—is exactly what Hungary wants, for she will then be head state of the Empire; not number two, as she is at present. Nothing would please her more than to see Austria broken up into a number of little States and Hungary ruling the roost. Well, these are my political remarks! It is a great blessing getting out of rifle fire, even for a minute. The constant strike of the bullets whirling round, or its scream as it ricochets over one’s head, is very trying. I suppose there never has been a war in which one has required such staying power, excepting perhaps the Crimean expedition. It is late, so I must wish you good-bye.
Please send me more envelopes and writing paper.
I did not write to you yesterday, being extra busy. In the morning I had gone over on regimental business to see the Divisional Staff, and then on to inspect my transport, some miles back, out of shell fire. The unfortunate men are not so lucky as the horses, you see! Well, then I returned to luncheon with my General. Major B—— was with me, and we met there some officers of the Naval Brigade who defended Antwerp—or, rather, did not arrive in time to do so. Afterwards I hurried to my billet and hastily packed up all my kit, and marched the regiment down to the trenches. We had a new place to go to, somewhere nearer to the danger point of the line, I fancy. Well, one or two bullets came a bit too close as we were marching, and I was very thankful to get under cover. I am now in the ruins of a house. A shell had penetrated through it, but we stuffed up the hole with a bag of straw. The shattered windows are covered with boards in front; then we piled up bricks and nailed other boards behind. Between us and the enemy is a burnt-out house, which rings with the smack of the enemy’s bullets as they hurtle against the wall or against the tiles. Opposite that, again, are our trenches, 400 yards away, and practically 400 yards from us also is the enemy’s trench, as the line takes a bend there. I lie at nights ready armed, for one never knows what a minute may bring forth! I have told my people not to fire on Christmas Day if the enemy does not do so, but to trust him—not at all! So here I am spending Christmas Eve in the trenches—like my father did exactly 60 years ago in the Crimea.[9] Only I think I am a good bit more comfortable than he was at that time. I used to be up at cockcrow when a small child on Christmas Day, to see what Santa Claus had brought me, and I shall be up early enough to-morrow in all conscience too, but for a different reason—standing to arms—so that I shall not get my throat cut. The news of troubles in Berlin looks encouraging. However, one must not build too much on that, but I have great hopes of Hungary and Austria coming out of the war. To-day I have been round my new trenches; only half of them are new, though, and, as usual, are swimming in liquid mud. One of the men there had to be carried away with his eye knocked out by a bullet which had come through the parapet. Again my casualties for killed and wounded you can find by multiplying the number of your uncle’s house in Dublin by three, and then subtracting ten from the total. [This number would be 98.] I suppose our sick are more than twice that amount. Best of love to you for Christmas. Whilst you are in church I shall be in the trenches, but both doing our rightful duty, I trust.
Yours ever,
G.B.L.
As to school for Hal, you have done quite rightly. Mrs. Napier has a pet school for boys, kept by a cousin of hers, I fancy, that ought to be a fairly useful one.
G.B.L.
Sir Nevil Macready, at this time Adjutant-General of our Forces.
The number of killed amounted to 44 and 88 wounded.
Colonel Horsborgh was taken ill suddenly on the transport returning from Aden, and he was buried at sea by Colonel Laurie.
See <a l:href="#cl01">page 119</a>.
General Laurie and his brother, Colonel Dyson-Laurie, went to the Crimean War when quite young boys, aged respectively 18 and 15. Appended is an article written by the former, and is of interest in drawing a contrast between the conditions of war in 1854 and those of the late war.