To his mother Charlotte Capell
15th November [1915]
6th Lond. F. Amb. 47th Division
Dearest Mother:
Away from it all again! It is like a transformation scene.
After those dank dripping cellars, sordid ruins & abominable mud,
this village, – in reality a very ordinary show, – seems quite comfortable
& attractive. We were up there just five weeks; and, for the first time,
I am glad to get away from it for a little, in spite of the endless trivial
fatigues & pettifogging that faces us here. It seems quite likely that we
shall have a month here, & there are possibilities of leave – though I am not allowing myself to count on it. The officers are now having their second turn of leave.
We have never actually been in this village before, but were close by in April & in August. Everywhere round is rather dismally well-known. We left the ruins yesterday morning – on foot to H.Q.s, & then by motors here. A cold night on an earthern floor, but Roffe, Willett & I all turned in together. Today – brilliant sun & a keen air: exhilarating, after cellars & night life, but we are confined – with nothing to do – to the muddy square of the schools where we are installed.
Everyone this time is glad to be away from the line. It really was a trying time. Those night expeditions of ours got on the nerves of some, & bored us all. – It is easy to run risks on a special occasion, compared with doing it as a daily routine. Then some of the "roads" were more like bogs. One night Caldicott, Roffe, Willett & I fetched a sick officer from the trenches, (overland or course). It was hard work getting along at a mile an hour even without a patient. Once I went headlong in the unspeakable mire! A flat, treeless place: an unmetalled track across fields, cut by unbridged trenches: shell-holes, filled with water, everywhere. The star-shells flared quite close, & one had the uncomfortable sensation of being plainly visible while totally unable to hurry... We had extraordinary luck, to have no losses all the nights we were up there. Bullets came across incessantly, & plenty of small shells on the homeward road. Willett & I had a patient, one night, in a wreck of a house where we temporarily assembled them, when a shell burst in a field outside & a big chunk came in the remains of the roof; – bricks, rafters & dust flew about, but nothing was done.
Three days last week we were bombarded near our dressing-station. One day they sent a number of naval shells, – armour-piercing, – which do tremendous wreckage if a direct hit on, say, a house is made, but simply dig a hole in open ground – as in the garden just by the entrance to the officers' dug-out. I was chatting to Trotman at the entrance to our cellars when the first of the series came – a great crash & a conical shower of tiles & bricks. The third or fourth made a frightful tragedy in an inhabited house 100 yards off. – But I will spare you details.
The last two nights before we left I was on duty in the dressing-room.
These days of rain are as cruel to the men in the trenches as actual shot &
shell. We have had numbers of so-called "frost-bite" cases already.
Bad rheumatism, too. Our three last cases were men who could not march out
of the trenches when the relief came. Imagine me putting them "to bed":
– mackintoshes both over & under, for the ceilings dripped
incessantly. Clothes often have to be cut rather than taken off; not
only rain but mud penetrate through everything to the skin. Guess, if even
we appreciate coming here, how the infantry feels! There were fewer
casualties in the second fortnight, but more sick. The only satisfaction
is that the Germans are suffering equally or more: for I suppose their men
are older, on an average, & they are less regularly relieved. A pleasure
to think that they have been turned out of their Loos dug-outs that, no
doubt, they were confidently expecting to winter in. I shall be found to
have the name of that accursed place, with Festubert, on my heart when
I die!
Last night's sharp frost decides me that this is the moment for the
leather jacket. But before sending it, my dear, will you get the buttons
moved as near the edge as possible? Did I tell you how delicious was the
jam you sent? I wrote a bit of a letter to Grandfather in the night-watches.
You will no doubt see it: I fear I was too sanguine on the question of
leave. For three days we have had no letters or papers, but are hoping
for today.
You cannot imagine the sensation that the Sergt-Major's departure caused!! It
took long to realise it. It seemed impossible to imagine the 6th L.F.A.
without him. He was quite a character (an undeniable one!) –
thoroughly ill-bred, tyrannical: like a bad-tempered tortoiseshell Tom-cat.
But he had great will-power, & his vast knowledge of all the ins & outs of
army life gave him all his own way, – especially at the beginning of
the war, – with the officers, amateurs in the military business.
He has gone to make all happy as R.M.S. at a casualty clearing station (the woes of our poor wounded do not cease on the battlefield!), & is succeeded here by the former Q.M.S., likewise an old soldier, but of more amiable cast. These changes have involved others, & we have some new officers: – but these domestic details, so engrossing for us, are not interesting to you. Enough that the chief discomfort of the past five weeks was not German shells or French weather, but the gross & detestable clown of a sergeant who was in charge up there!
Send me, my dear, will you? some letter-paper like this. I have need of nothing else. From Caldicott I have a magnificent wool scarf which will be my one comfort when I get on guard one of these chilly nights, (a year & a week since we went to St Alban's!)... But when you send me a cake, would you put it in a tin biscuit-box, as a tin box is such a desirable possession (& has to be abandoned at each move)?
I had an interesting letter from Mary: how quaint – L. Bradford in the Dardanelles! (Not more quaint than myself at Loos, perhaps he might say).
My love to you all! Shall I get a letter tonight?..
Your Richard