by Sandy McKay
Dear Jack,
I hope you don’t come down with ’flu or measles.
Ma said to keep warm and dry and get some medicine into you. She asked if you needed more honey? Lemons are good too, Ma said. I wonder if they grow lemons in England? Last year Amy and I made lemonade — we tried to sell it down at the front gate — do you remember?
Love from
Tom
PS — I’ve done a sketch to try and cheer you up. It’s our Jacky catching a ball. Good, eh.
PPS — Mrs J says if you have any trouble with your lungs we can always send a bottle of Baxter’s.
Dear Tom,
Ha! Yes! I remember the lemonade. I think you used up all Ma’s sugar and she wasn’t best pleased. I could do with a glass of it now, to be honest. I reckon that would just about do the trick.
There’s not too much medicine to be had here. And I don’t think I’ve seen a lemon since I left home. Some of the lads have been getting pretty crook and it’s little wonder. The conditions are appalling and disease spreads like wildfire.
I’m really worried about Stampy. Since leaving New Zealand he’s got pretty scrawny. I’ve lost some condition too but not as much as Stampy — and there was less of him to start with.
Thankfully my health has improved in the past few days so it can’t have been anything too serious. Nothing a good night out with the lads couldn’t fix, anyway. I’m pleased to report that I’m in much better spirits after a trip to London.
Nine of us got a few days leave and we travelled there last Tuesday night. We left Sling at 5pm and arrived in the capital at 7:30pm. London is in bad shape these days with the effects of war everywhere. We still managed to have a good time though and a couple of days sightseeing was just what the doctor ordered.
Our first night was spent at the YMCA, which cost sixpence for a night’s accommodation. Here we got a meal of sausage, egg, potato and a slice of bread for one shilling and threepence. Then we hung around to watch the changing of the guard. I’d have to say, Tom, despite all the marching and saluting, Buckingham Palace was quite impressive. I hope you get to see it one day.
After dinner we visited the famous Westminster Abbey and met up with two Aussie brothers called Derek and Curly Shaw. They turned out to be cousins of one of the lads in our section and by the end of the night we were all getting on like a house on fire.
I didn’t play up too much though because we had to be up and away early next morning. There was a cross-country race at the Epsom racecourse and we were invited to participate. It was a great opportunity and I wanted to do well.
Our race was three miles round the track. It was another team event and I finished first in our group. There were some good runners there and we came second overall, so everyone was pretty chuffed.
After the race we got the train back to London and had a guided tour through St Paul’s Cathedral. Blimey! Talk about good building skills. I’ve never seen the likes. The original building was erected in 604. Then it was rebuilt in 1675 after the Great Fire of London. They actually celebrated Queen Victoria’s Jubilee here in 1897! Can you imagine? I’ve read about these things in history class but never thought I’d get to see them for real. The best part is the dome. A builder’s nightmare at just over 121 yards high! But definitely worth a look.
The next day we boarded a train to Inverness with some of the Scotties we palled up with. The journey took most of the day and it was evening when we arrived. Great chance to take it easy. I love the Scottish accent and could listen to their yarns for hours. They sound just like the Jamiesons round in Felix Street.
One of the Scotties had family to visit and they asked us to join them. Everyone here is very friendly to those of us in uniform and we enjoyed our first taste of home cooking in months. The family was very hospitable and made us all welcome.
I really like Scotland, Tom. It felt familiar. It’s smaller and less populated than England. More like back home, I suppose.
I was going to look up Dad’s family but it turned out we were quite a way from Aberdeen so I decided to wait until next time as I’m sure there will be other opportunities.
We did manage to visit a fair dinkum castle though, complete with turret and drawbridge. This one even had a moat to stop enemy invasions. If there was anything we didn’t know, the lads were more than happy to fill us in, and it was good to see some local history while we’re here. Beats learning about it in a classroom any day.
Best regards,
Jack
North East Valley, Dunedin
Dear Jack,
Buckingham Palace! Jeepers! And a castle to boot. You really are seeing the world, eh. And living the high life too by the sounds of it. Ma said she wants to hear all the details when you get back. Every last one! She hopes you’ve remembered to pack your sketchbook.
Hopefully you’ll get to Aberdeen next time. It would be nice to catch up with Aunty Doris and Uncle Hugh. Ma said Uncle Hugh works as caretaker at the local school so he shouldn’t be too hard to find.
Love from
Tom
Sling Camp — Salisbury Plains, England
Dear Tom,
Things have started to heat up.
This is a quick note to say that no one is getting any leave now. We have been told we are preparing to leave England soon so I’m afraid Aberdeen will have to wait a while.
Will write again when I have more news.
Best regards,
Jack
North East Valley, Dunedin
Dear Jack,
I have been learning all about France at school. Mrs Stains showed us where it is on the map — directly across the sea from England and right next door to Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, Italy and Spain.
France’s flag is red, white and blue — just like ours but they have a different design. Last time there was a war, they weren’t on our side but now they are. And guess what they eat — frogs’ legs! And snails! I wonder if you’ll get to try some.
Do you know how to speak French yet?
I know that ‘bonjour’ means ‘hello’. Mrs Stains showed me how to pronounce it. She also showed me how to say ‘pass the jam please’ but that might not be very useful.
Hey, Jack. I was wondering … If you have any left over coins could you save some for me? That’d be great because I might be starting a coin collection soon.
Lots of love,
From Tom
Bonjour Monsieur Tom,
After ten hours by train and ship we have finally arrived in France. It’s hard to believe we are actually here. I’m not quite sure what to make of the place yet. The camp we are staying at covers a large area and seems to be well organised. Morale among the troops feels mixed.
Apparently, the English papers are still reporting of great advances and the officers assure us the Germans are coming to the end of the road. We’ll have to take their word for it, but I have my doubts that the Hun will roll over like everyone says they will.
By all accounts, the German forces are strong. Many say they seem just as well trained and equipped as us. Apparently their trenches are well dug and they’ve got sturdy pill boxes too, which are big, stocky concrete hideouts scattered everywhere to give them top notch protection.
One thing’s for sure — the next few months won’t be easy.
Two days later:
Things are moving fast. We have now been put into huts and briefed on what to expect for the next few days. Tomorrow there will be a twenty kilometre march with full pack, which means not much tucker to look forward to and even less sleep than usual.
We are going to be sleeping in dugouts and the commanding officer has told us a little about what to expect. Now that I have some idea about dugout conditions, I’m not looking forward to spending time in one. I’ve heard that soldiers often have to sleep on their feet.
And they say if you happen to look up at the wrong time you just might get your head blown off. Joves, Tom. This feels like very serious soldiering.<
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Wish me luck, mate. I think I’m going to need it.
Best regards,
Jack
Somewhere in France
Dear Tom,
We have been on the move for several days now, shifting camp daily as we make our way towards the frontline trenches. I hate to say it, but those Trentham route marches seem like a doddle compared to this. What was I complaining about, eh?
Good food is scarce as hens’ teeth here. Rations are hard to come by and we eat what we find along the way. I’m not sure what we had for dinner last night or how long it’d been dead. Still, if I know what’s good for me, I’ll try not to give the matter any more thought.
Last night we camped in an old cellar near a ruined village. It was cold as heck but we managed somehow to stay dry. And in the morning we were lucky enough to come across a small supply of potatoes and turnips.
We are staying near a Belgian town called Ypres. The lads pronounce it ‘wipers’. Like much of France this town’s in a pretty bad way. Many of the villages are in ruins and it must be hard for the locals to carry on living here in the midst of such destruction.
Life would have been very different before the war. Apparently they grew delicious tomatoes and even made their own wine. I’ve heard there are still a few bottles in the cellars but no one has the stomach for it just now. With their old way of life in tatters, the villagers can’t have much to look forward to. Beats me how they manage to keep going.
But the miracle is they do. And it’s amazing how charitable and kind they remain. These people give the troops passing through everything they can. Their generosity is humbling.
Yesterday an elderly woman greeted us with a pot of soup. She’d been walking for miles and looked like she was at death’s door herself. The soup was stone cold but offered with such kindness, I’d have to say it was the best thing I’ve tasted since leaving home.
Love from
Jack
France
Dear Tom,
This weather is a curse and we are up to our ankles in mud constantly. Last night I spent hours trying to scrape layers of the wretched stuff off my jacket and today I am sick to death of everything. I haven’t washed in days and my body itches with lice. I am a revolting specimen and know I must reek to high heaven.
I shouldn’t moan though. Apparently this is nothing compared to the Middle East. They reckon the lice and rats are nowhere near as bad as heat and dust and flies. Not by a long shot.
Four days later:
Feeling in better spirits today, Tom.
The weather has started to warm up and it makes a nice change to feel the sun on your face. It’s also heartening to see a few violets and daisies poking through the ground. It’ll be July before we know it and in the Northern Hemisphere that means summer.
I tell myself — if the flowers can muster the energy to hold up their heads in these frightful conditions, then so can I.
The vegetation is quite different here. The flowers are sweet and delicate. Lilies grow wild along the road, and yesterday we even found a crop of wild strawberries. They looked so tempting that we had to stop and I would have given my right arm for a bowl of cream and one of Ma’s silver pudding spoons. It would have been heaven to sit on a dry blanket and feast on berries.
I’ve been feeling so homesick lately. I hope I’ve mentioned how grateful I am for your correspondence, Tom. Your writing helps to keep me sane. We all share our letters and it’s such a comfort to know that life back home continues.
Some of the lads have sweethearts and some have children too. One bloke in our division, Charlie Walker, had word last week that his wife has given birth to a little girl. It breaks his heart to be so far away and he’s desperate for news.
You can see why letters from home are so precious.
Mr Kidd writes now and then as well. I am quite worried about him. He says his son is still suffering from injuries he got at the Somme and I pray he manages to pull through. We all have to be grateful for small mercies.
Stampy and I play a game sometimes. It’s called ‘What I would give my right arm for’. It helps to pass the time and reminds us there is life apart from this wretched war.
You’d be surprised how cheap right arms come these days. Most of us would happily swap one for a warm bath, a pint of beer, some clean socks or even a night spent in clean bed sheets.
I think I would give both arms to see New Zealand again. To smell our Ma’s corned beef hotpot, or hear Mr Gilbertson whistle, or see those great knobbly knees of yours all scratched and muddy from climbing the plum tree.
Best regards,
Jack
North East Valley, Dunedin
Dear Jack,
We all miss you so much. Mr Gilbertson is saving his best mutton savs for your return. He’s got a stockpile in the safe and he says if you don’t get back soon there’ll be hell to pay.
I don’t know if I could play that game of yours, Jack. I’m not sure I could give up my right arm for anything. How would I get to the top of the plum tree without it, eh? It might get Mrs Stains off my back though. I reckon she’d have to feel sorry for me if I had only one arm.
Maybe I’d feel different if it was me fighting in the war. I can’t imagine what it must be like with the rain and lice and everything. It doesn’t sound like much fun, that’s all I can say. I thought it was supposed to be a lark. That’s what you said before you left. Maybe you should have been a conchie instead.
Speaking of right arms, I couldn’t knit without one, either. Knitting takes full concentration and very nimble fingers. That’s what Mrs J says.
Take care, our Jack.
Lots of love,
Tom
Dear Tom,
Two nights ago I was in a reserve trench. Stampy was with me and it was the closest either of us have been to the Front. Just about did our heads in though. The noise was horrendous with shells blasting constantly and machine guns thundering like cannons overhead. It was the worst I’ve experienced yet and after a couple of hours I was shaking like a leaf. I still haven’t recovered. Can’t light a cigarette to save myself and my teeth rattle like bullets in my gums.
Sometimes I wonder if my nerves can stand it.
Later:
Miraculously, Stampy and I made it through the night. The next morning we were ordered to move forward to the trench we stand in now, which is scarily close to enemy fire. The trench is shallow, narrow and filled with the most disgusting sludge. It also stinks to highest heaven.
Next day:
We survived another night with just a few snatched minutes of sleep. They weren’t kidding about the conditions in these trenches, Tom. My God, it’s bad. ‘Atrocious’ doesn’t begin to cover it. It’s a nightmarish hell and uncomfortable to boot. I don’t think I will ever master the skill of standing up to sleep and the smell is beyond belief. The mud here is soaked in blood and the place crawls with rats.
I will write again later.
Best regards,
Jack
PS — Have just received some bad news. Poor Crofty got carted away with a shoulder wound yesterday and four others from our company are reported missing.
Please don’t show this letter to Ma as I don’t want her worrying any more than she needs. I know you’ll use your own good judgement, Tom.
Dear Tom,
The last two days have been hell, with the enemy barrage as constant and deadly as ever. The Germans continue to pull no punches and many from our battalion are now on the casualty list, including my old friend Colin Marsh who copped a bullet to the side of the head. Mercifully, things have been quieter in the last twelve hours.
Regards,
Jack
PS — Yesterday Charlie Walker received a lock of his baby daughter’s hair in the post and he is now the proudest man in Flanders.
Dearest Tom,
This afternoon we got ready with shovels and picks. Our orders were to repair the parapet of the trench. We knew it would be da
ngerous work and we were careful to keep our heads down. We were warned, under no circumstances, to look up. (Yesterday arvo two from the 1st Otago Battalion were bowled over and they don’t want it happening again.)
Stampy and I kept our heads low and got on with the job as best we could. But within minutes, Fritz decided to make things interesting and sent across the most fearsome barrage, roaring across the sky like a thunderbolt. After that, we couldn’t hear ourselves think and there was nothing to do but crouch low and wait it out. For two hours we held the shovels over our heads and tried to hold still. For the last half hour Stampy recited poetry while I did nothing but count the lace holes on my boots.
How we are still in one piece, I have no idea. But we are! And hallelujah for that.
Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the parapet.
Three days later:
I have just returned from wiring duty and very grateful to be still in the land of the living. It was touch and go for a while and I reckon I owe my survival to good luck more than good management.