This must be all as it is now about 11 and I have to go across to George with this and after that probably more work.
I have the honour of taking ‘A’ Coy into the trenches with only one other officer to help me and this tho’ another officer arrived tonight but had he been posted to A would have taken over command. Fear not I’ll win this all right.
Best wishes and love from DB Keith
4.11.15
My dear Mother,
You are no doubt wondering why I have not had time to write you, and what has been doing here. Well to start from the beginning George left for home and I turned towards the firing line the morning after his departure. Then I roosted for 12 days clad fully and never having clothes or boots off. Mostly it was wet, mostly it was cold, mostly it was slightly dangerous but it was grand.
Sleep of course was at a minimum; on two days I had none at all on other days 4 hours or so. Yet it was an excellent experience. You would I am afraid have looked rather askance at me had you seen me on my way back to billets here. The trenches were muddy, so muddy that even my knees were thick and at times it looked as if it would require some effort other than mine own to pull my huge feet out of the treacly toffee stuff.
However at length we saw daylight, toddled over the open ground and it rained. We were still toddling we splashed quite contentedly thro’ two feet of water with light hearts but wet clothes and chilled stomachs. But when we got back we had some feed. I rather wished that I could have been photographed there tramping back in the darkness over what was once a road tho’ now thro’ ruts mostly a ditch.
But to return. The first things that gave me the real sense of a nation at war was on the march to the trenches. There was the youth of France, lads of 12 to 15 with coats off digging holes at the roadside to drain off the water. There they were digging trenches. It is a marvellous war.
Comparatively small children whom one accustoms oneself to think of as always laughing and playing football, wee kids with serious faces and muddy legs dig dig digging for the war had made even them helpers of their country.
Well we got to behind the firing line, to see what was once a town about the size of Thurso. Houses clean and new looking but only irregular chunks of wall left standing. In the gardens behind open gates and painted railings were pear and apple trees, with foliage but no fruit. The fruit no doubt unripe enough in its early youth, had been plucked by a hungry Tommy to the disgust of the R&AMC [sic – RAMC]. The church was still standing only half the tower was not. The door was open but I question if anyone had entered it for months. The windows were gone long ago and stones and masonry heaped the floor. Yet not so long ago some priest had it for his chapel. The Crucifix was visible thro’ the open door. But there is neither priest nor populace there any longer. Instead Guns, Guns, Guns, and a RED X Ambulance and a British graveyard with its wooden crosses.
We got into the communication trench and passed on from dusk to darkness and we heard the rifle bullets singing and saw the flares and we knew we were in it at last. I slept in a small hole in the earth 6x4x4 ft. There we messed and ate the grouse and partridges you sent and always watched for the Boche.
I gathered lots of souvenirs. A German rifle with cartridges. An Austrian with fixed bayonet, an old battle bludgeon with its head studded with nails such as the sturdy yeomen of England went forth to wage war with to France in other days, and the noses of all kinds and conditions of shells.
These I left. To carry what one needs is bad enough, to carry these is impossible.
After a day or two we transferred nearer the firing line, now about 100yds from the Boche. Here we resided in a gorgeous dugout, once the pride of a German officer, a spring mattress, tables, chairs, wooden walls, everything excellent – and at the side a door to another compartment with a cupola in it of ½” steel with snipers’ windows which could be opened and shut. The Boche does nothing by halves. Later I found another dugout where he had electric light. Really the conveniences of war sometimes are nice. But the awfulness of never taking clothes off. Always on the alert, never sleeping or sleeping but little makes one soon tired. After a day or two again I moved forward still further till I was only 20yds from the Genial Boche in this trench. Here, as you may imagine, I did not sleep, nor was there any hole in the wall into which I could creep, did I so desire. It rained all day and all night and I waited then for the dawn right thro’ the night, watching the parapet of the Boche. Dawn at last, and with it I scour the trench opposite with my glasses and in the dim light observe a too venturesome German who I send away, I think, in an ambulance. He was not far away. He was still. He offered a good target. I am a passing shot. I took my time and he disappeared.
Daytime it was not bad at all, especially getting dry. Night again and again anxiety, and an attack. About midnight or 1 a.m. the Boche and his bombers crept up and we blazed like billy oh, and he did not reach our trench. After that quietness, but eternal watching. Then I went back to 100yds from the Boche and had a decent sleep and rest, what time he expended many shells which we received with fatalistic contempt.
Some days later we were relieved and toddled thro’ mud and mud and mud, thro’ narrow trenches, over-hanging wire, and watery roads to the musical accompaniment of shells, shells, shells.
Our turn in the trenches was exciting. With the Boche only 30yds away we often indulged not indeed in chucking stones or mud but in pushing some bombs over, a job at which I have now hard actual experience, tho’ I fear not to the material damage of our enemy however much to his mental discomfort. One afternoon I went and threw a few at him and he threw more back so we shut up.
At another part of our line we have heaped sandbags. The Boche 15yds away along the same trench has done ditto. Both sides have loopholes and each looks with interest thro’ these iron holes to see how the other is behaving. The Boche indeed asked us over to tea on more than one occasion, an invitation neither accepted nor reciprocated.
With it all, all the hardships and all the danger of which latter curiously enough one feels little except when one is lonely, it is a great and strenuous and topping life. Really it is great. Everything is against you, it is man and ingenuity against Nature and Climate with a dash of venomous Boche. I was out burying some people too and thought nothing of it. My first day in the trenches I was watching the enemy over the dead body of an Essex man lying on our parapet. Later when close to the Germans the trenches smelt horribly in places of dead Boche. Yet one does not mind, tho’ after a bit one looks forward for the day when one gets back to dry land and billets. The rain is very bad.
We return to the trenches to relieve I think George and his brigade one day quite soon. Perhaps I may have time to write again. I have got lots of parcels from you which were excellently opportune. I got one from Tiny. It’s awfully jolly getting these things and makes life somewhat better than eternal salt bully beef.
You will be pleased to hear I am now adjutant of this battalion. It means extra pay and possibly more comfort and less danger with enough to obtain my share of honour. I go of course to the firing line as usual but no patrols or visiting sentries, etc while things are humming. I only sit at the phone and talk, talk, talk. I believe the gazette will come out sometime this year if War Office take their usual efficient celerity. It means however a stop to my promotion, but it is better to take it and chance getting something out of it. At present till my gazette comes out, I am of course acting adjutant.
I heard about father going to see sir. I hope everyone is well and that Ed is going to be a soldier.
It may surprise you, but there are indications to my opinion the war will be over within about three months.
Hoping everyone is well, with love to all, from DB Keith
6.11.15
My dear Mother,
I wrote you a long letter two days ago and I hope you got it all right. It exhausted most of my news and I have little left to tell. I have not seen George since his return and will not for some time. We are as I said goi
ng back and forward to the trenches in spells and go in very shortly. About the middle of December we go out for a month’s rest so we will I hope spend Xmas and New Year in comfort and most probably quite pleasantly. About New Year time I qualify for leave and may get home. But that’s quite a distance ahead yet!
Our Battalion got today a Médaille Militaire for one of its sergeants and DCM for another. We also got a Military Cross for one of our Lieutenants. So altogether we have done not badly out of the attack.
At present we are back in billets and are having quite a good time on the whole. I got a large packet of cigarettes in the trenches from Martins. They were not nearly so good as the packet from Jul. Cigarettes out here are none too plentiful tho’ there is any quantity about. They are smoked day and night.
In the attack our men having rushed through the 1st and 2nd lines of German trenches, lit cigarettes and strolled up and over Hill 70. They got tired and sat about smoking so utter was the German rout. Now when as in the trenches we are up day and night we smoke a lot. So they are very welcome and the very kind I like and they will last for several weeks.
I got several letters from Tiny and also a parcel which was very nice of her. This was the 2nd parcel and I also got toffee from Poll very much appreciated. It arrived in the trenches.
Another fellow Waddy has taken over seeing about getting my book published and I must write to him about it.
The university book of caricatures is with you I think. It contains some people now who have become casualties – which makes it all the more interesting.
Coming under fire is not extra terrifying. In fact it doesn’t disturb one at all, only heavy shelling is a bit uncomfortable if it comes too near.
Well I’m ending now. Hope all are well. Animals to eat are most in demand of all the stuff you send. Can you get my old watch sent out at once – the one I used to carry. This new one is bust again and I’m at sea. See if you can get a whalebone cover – not a metal one for it but send it as soon as poss.
Hope all well, love to all from DB Keith
9.11.15
My dear Mother,
Your letter and the parcel arrived last night. The grouse, etc were excellent. Unfortunately as has happened the last time the dish conveying the potted head got rather collapsible en route and the potted head, being mixed with splinters of glass was dangerous and therefore had with regret to be thrown away.
The Tomatoes also arrive mostly always the worse for wear.
I got several letters yesterday and was glad to hear that everything, bar the mumps of Edward John’s, was all right.
Well you won’t hear again from me for some days as we go into trenches proper tomorrow, being at present in a remnant of a town among guns and shells. Yet I abide in a house with a whole room in which I sleep and we are fairly comfortable.
I hope father is quite well and found Sir Archibald also well. I am feeling all right and should be very comfortable comparatively in the trenches, i.e. compared with last time.
Hope all are having a good time and you’ll send us a turkey for Xmas. It isn’t so awfully far off.
With love to all from DB Keith
11.12.15
My dear Mother,
I sent some days ago my watch home for repair. I enclosed two aluminium rings. Tiny asked for one some time ago so you might give her one, the other you might give to Louise. Later I will no doubt get others. My servant went on leave a day or two ago and he was to try and smuggle thro’ a German rifle, a French bayonet and a fuse of a huge Boche shell. He was to send these to you. If they arrive you might give the rifle to Edward John, the bayonet will make a nice poker for the drawing room and the fuse will do for Will. There is no chance of getting a Boche helmet at present so I can’t do anything in that way. I hope the things get through all right. I may send later on an empty shell case which makes either an excellent gong which it is used for out here or a flower vase. However, meantime I see no prospect of it getting sent home. Leave too is a bit in the air as very few of us are allowed away at one time. I will not know definitely for a few days how things are to pan out in that respect.
Parcels have been arriving with great regularity for which I am awfully grateful. Now, however, we are out of the trenches for a long time so it isn’t at all necessary to send more as we can get stuff cooked easily.
About clothes for the trenches, I don’t want waders we get issued with them already. But I will get a coat myself in London one of these days. Thorntons I have always found too ready to palm off not extra convenient stuff as for instance the waterproof sheet which they presented me with and which I have never used and is more or less absolutely useless owing to its tremendous weight. The first rainproof I got there was nothing special either, and the waterproof I got later was a good waterproof but not a good trench coat. However now I have had experience and I know what to get myself.
A large parcel of woollens arrived yesterday for which please thank everyone. It came in very handy and is now practically distributed and everyone seems pleased. It came just as we got out of the trenches and therefore was more appreciated than had we been living lives of ease in the reserve billets.
I intended when I started to write a long letter about our doings but I feel very tired and don’t think I will just now. Tomorrow I’ll do it if possible. What is happening at home – everything as quiet as usual and the Office very busy? Is Lord Derby’s scheme doing anything in Caithness or are they still living in hopes that it is a dream that the country is at war. Anyway the way in which the ladies have worked for us out here shows that they realise, if others do not, the unfortunate fact of this war.
Well I really will stop now; I hope however all are quite well and father and granny keeping fit; with love to all from DB Keith
14.12.15
My dear Mother,
We are now well back from the firing line and have a top-hole billet – nice white sheets, white-lace pillows, etc, everything absolutely dinky. I am pretty busy it is true with office work but other than that we have a jolly time.
Never mind now about sending out stuff, we can get everything nicely. Never mind even about a goose or turkey. Only if there is one to spare.
I hardly think I’ll get home for New Year and it may be a good time before I can get back as things are behind.
I am only scribbling this in a hurry.
Hope everyone’s well with love to all from DB Keith.
20.12.15
This will be my Xmas letter as I hope it will succeed in reaching you just on Xmas day. It is to wish you all a Merry Xmas and a happy New Year. All the family will be at home I expect save myself but don’t worry about me, I’m getting on all right and Xmas out here isn’t desperately bad, except of course that it differs so far little from any other day in the week and like the weekly Sunday will arrive alas! without carols – and I am afraid quite with a shock. I can hardly realise that it is now three months since I have come out here. Time passes so quickly and this is not really war at all. For those in the trenches it’s magnificent target practice carried out no doubt in the main by over zealous gunners engaged in what is I believe technically known as an Artillery Duel but which being interpreted means that our brave boys way back pow pow the Germans in his trenches and the German also way back pow pows our boys ditto. So we are the piano on which this elegant and oft recurring duet is performed and we don’t like it one little bit. If our artillery and the Boche arranged to strafe one another and dodged about and hid well it would be more interesting and a glorious gentlemanly sort of procedure but for both the big fellows to whack us on the head with big sticks while we cower in the trenches and by mutual understanding refrain from punching each other is neither heroic laudable or funny. Still it’s known as an Artillery Duel in Flanders!
Well I’ve a good deal to tell you. No doubt in that last letter of mine you were surprised at the proximity of the Boche. But in our last tour of the trenches he became quite friendly, he waved his arms, he thr
ew white papers, he got up, he sat on his parapet, he came out of the trench altogether and one bold man came over to the regiment we relieved. They not to be outdone in daring sent out a bold L/Corpl too. These met in NO MAN’S LAND between the trenches while all the world wondered. They exchanged cigarettes, and the Boche told us we would be very welcome and well done to at his restaurant behind his barbed wire. But – the moment each parted they ran like billy oh for their respective little hole in the mud for the last blighter might receive some presents he didn’t quite desire. Thereafter we had quite a chummy sort of time with Fritz, we threw over pamphlets inviting him to come and be happy with us and otherwise showed him how willing we were to have a guest. But the old blighter didn’t come tho’ grimy and unshaven and as he told us he had been there for months and months.
But during the night he must have been relieved as in the morn sullen mud and cold barbed wire and the ping of a rifle bullet were all the weather forecast we could get.
Curiously one of our fellows picked up a Boche shell fired at us indited I think R STRONG & CO. It must be a swine of an American firm but these Americans are poor fools anyway and not worth quarrelling with.
Well today I saw Field Marshal Sir John FRENCH for the first time saying his farewell to his troops. We were all drawn up along the roadway and presented arms as the car with the white-moustached old man passed slowly along. And then it passed away – for ever with the man who for eighteen months has charge of the British Destiny in France.
Last night we had a concert. But soldiers’ concerts out here are different indeed from those at home. At home there are civilians and lots of smiling people in a well-lit hall. Here in Flanders it’s a whitewashed schoolhouse with a stone floor, and the light is penny dips and the audience is only the khaki coated Tommy with his pipe in his mouth. Often they sing with no accompaniment and the predominant note is a dull low dreary melancholy about ‘Dead for bread’ or something of that sort. Be the song dismal, be the singer a bass and be there no accompaniment and roll the song on without rhythm thro’ interminable stories of the woes of existence, the clamour and applause is great. Not that Tommy is downhearted or dull, on the contrary, but he is a bit of a sentimentalist as one understands as he joins with right good will in ‘Dear Homeland – goodbye’ or ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ or other suchlike sentimental ditties.
War Classics Page 21