Robert Ernest Vernede - Novelist/Poet

[stiletto_33853]

1st March, 1917.

It's the nicest day we've had out here, from the weather point of view, which is something, and will be more if it continues.

I had a working party last night - a fairly clean night, not bad for carrying in, and very few shells - the only drawback being that there was a mess and we were kept waiting about doing nothing for one and a half hours. Sich is life in the Army. I lay in bed till lunch time, and now I haven't a great deal of time to write in. I know my letters ought to be much better and more interesting, but somehow dullness is the thing that oppresses one out here, or at least me, and I haven't the spirit to rise above it.

Have just written to that officer's wife, as it probably rather adds to her grief that he was not among people he knew at all.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

5th March, 1917.

Just come back from a tour in the trenches, and as this may go early tomorrow moring, I am sending you a line and a half just to tell you that I am fit. It snowed pretty heavily last night, and the night before was a sharp frost - about 15 or 20 degrees, I should say, which made us as cold as mud, as we ran out of coke.

Trenches vey dull and noisy - not many casualties.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

7th March, 1917.

I feel rather a thneak because I didn't write to you yesterday to make up for the scrabby one of the night before, but the fact is, I had my second bath. You might not think that would prevent it, but as a matter of fact, B. and I, after sleeping till nearly lunch time, set out directly after in search of a bath and didn't get back till dinner and bedtime. We voyaged to the village partly on foot, partly in a motor belonging to an old roads Capt., and partly by a big lorry - about nine miles. The baths were real baths of aged tin, and the water was as hot as hot, and when we got out we both said, we hope we shall get a lorry back, as we felt remakably feeble. We did get a lift another way in an Anzac lorry, and also in one driven by a Belian, but had to go out of our way as the road was blocked; and in the end were dropped about six miles from camp. I got better as we went on, but B. got worse - so much so that we had to stop every 100 yards or so to rest him, and I thought I should have to leave him and go and get some whiskey to bring him back.

It's an odd result of a bath, but I suppose due to not having had one for a month or more. I certainly felt extraordinarily tottery too, though I think we're both all better today, besides being clean once more.

The weather has turned bitter again - a raging wind which is freezing the ground hard. I'm all by my lone in a hut without a fire, the others having gone to the local "Coliseum" in hope, as B. says, that the congested humanity there will help to warm them.

We started your cake today and it's nearly gone already - very very good.

I might possibly get left out of the trenches next time, as, if possible, we take turns, but so many officers have gone sick or hit that we may be rather short. One youth was shot in the dug-out I was in when I had D Coy. - through the thigh - by a man cleaning his rifle. Rather annoying sort of way to be wounded.

I don't think there is much news of our last tour; the last few hours were horribly cold, and you couldn't move about at all; But Spurling is a very good sort to be with, and an excellent Coy. Commander, my only crticism being that he does too much himself instead of making other people do it. I came down with the Sgt.-Major (who was an old 3rd Batt. man, not that he's more than 28 now, I should think, but served with the 1st during the retreat from Mons and was full of reminiscenes) He's very good, I think, and I think the men are very good and cheery too.

Andy

[marina]

I wonder why they felt so tottery after the baths? Fluey? Not properly recovered from their last bout of illness? They sound lightheaded to me. How dismal it sounds out there in the cold.

How common were the accidents like the shooting of the soldier by the one cleaning his gun? In a way i suppose it could have saved the victim's life if it got him out of the trenches. Wish the gun cleaner had shot Robert in the leg - you know what I mean.

marina

[stiletto_33853]

8th March, 1917.

It's gone excessively cold again - a bitter, raging, freezing wind, and I'm glad we're not in the trenches, and hope you haven't got it, as it won't be very nice in the garden for you. Had a short parade this morning and was glad to flee in and set by a smoky but warm fire.

Nothing suggests itself to be written about, though I dare say there may be plenty. I think it's true, as I've just heard Spurling and B. saying, that you can't settle to a letter when you're cold, you must take the will for the deed.

I believe almost for certain that I shall not be in the trenches next time.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

9th March, 1917.

I would like a letter, not having had one for some days. I'm afraid it's U-Boats or something, and will work both ways, and we shall each get bunches when they do come, and the ones you get will be dull bunches. What with having no letters and a jump in my right eye, I feel a little flat; also, it has snowed mostly all day, which is stupid when one had begun to think the spring might be coming. I have been Orderly Officer to-day, which meant doing nothing whatever - which, considering the weather, I didn't mind at all.

Think this must be finished to-morrow, as much smoke is going into my eyes.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

10th March, 1917.

I have just been to the local Coliseum - will tell you more to-morrow. No letters yet.

Andy

[marina]

'The jump in his right eye' - a nervous tic?

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

I think that I have tracked down the Spurling mentioned in Robert's letters but need to checkout a couple of more things on him. I think it is Captain Francis Eyton Spurling, will advise if otherwise.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

11th March, 1917.

Probably send you a long letter to-morrow. Am staying down for a Court Martial. Have had six letters from you in the last twenty-four hours, so am much bucked.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

March, 1917. (undated)

I must write you a properly long letter between to-day and to-morrow, and answer some of the questions in the six letters I,ve just got.

This is started in another hut - a little further down the road, where I am dwelling with two officers of C Coy. The weather is full of heavy showers, but much milder.

There is no leave on - not that I should have any if there was.

You asked if there were any spring flowers here - the only sign of life is some dull gray grass here and there which has come out since the snow melted. It doesn't look, in this pitted country, as though anything like a flower could ever come out.

Sorry Milliken has gone out again. I doubt if he should have. It's rather annoying the differences. A youth who has just come out tells me that his Colonel at home was going to send nobody out for the second time until all those who had not been out before had gone. Which seems only fair.

The tunic is very good, but I haven't had the courage to get out of my woolly one, especially as the latter goes over both waistcoats - Lily's deerskin and the Jigger one you gave me.

I am sorry about the poem, but it's rather odd, considering the amount of bosh that is printed, that unassuming poetry should not stand a chance even with the self-considered literary papers. However, I seem to be born to miss the mark.

I enclose letters from Billy and the Medicine Man. I suppose people do want to know what it's like here, but very few who have satisfied that knowledge would want to go on adding to it. Of course those boys who write home that it's the time of their lives may be doing it from sporting motives. I know _______ always maintains that people at home should not be informed, and he tells his people that he is enjoying himself thoroughly. That is rather nice, but I'm not sure if it really works.

We are no longer three but five. Hence I am staying behind, but I don't know that one is overworked anyhow. You can't do more than a certain amount, and that is perhaps better than doing nothing in this appalling country.

Andy

[marina]

March, 1917.              (undated)

However, I seem to be born to miss the mark.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

Miss the mark when he never does anything half heartedly!

I wish he knew he is being remembered here, and that there is going to be a book about him.

He's right to keep on his woollen tunic as well - March is a bitter month.

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

The Medicine man in his last letter is a Doctor O. Hilton

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

Incidently Marina, I have touched base with a distant relative of Robert's re various matters. At present he seems a bit coy, but I am hoping that he might be a little more forthcoming in the future about what he knows of Robert.

Andy

[marina]

Incidently Marina, I have touched base with a distant relative of Robert's re various matters. At present he seems a bit coy, but I am hoping that he might be a little more forthcoming in the future about what he knows of Robert.

Andy

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

Oh, my! What a find! It would be wonderful if he has any family stories or papers he's willing to let you see. This must mean a great deal to you , Andy! Fingers crossed!

Marina

[salesie]

I am sorry about the poem, but it's rather odd, considering the amount of bosh that is printed, that unassuming poetry should not stand a chance even with the self-considered literary papers. However, I seem to be born to miss the mark.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

Andy, any reference to which poem he's talking about? Seems that one of his didn't get published at the time.

Cheers - salesie.

[stiletto_33853]

Hi Salesie,

At present I can find no reference to it, will dig a bit in the material on Robert that I have to see if their are any clues.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

14th March,1917.

I'm a little shaky about the date, but I rather fancy it's Wednesday or Thursday, and I'm still resting. The weather is storm like - heavy downpours with intervals of sun. We have breafast in bed, where we shave and wash and get up for lunch - inspect some rifles after it, and then one's duty is o'er for the day, so that I ought to have time to writr. The only remaining difficulties are that one's eyes are usually full of smoke.

_________ talks his head of in a very interesting way, and as one does nothing at all there is not much to write about. However, I did get off a short scrap to my mother yesterday, and might attempt Frdk. and Billy today.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

18th March, 1917.

Just got up - 11am - and still in camp, so you see I have been living a life of luxury and ease. Might not have been, because, shortly after your last letter went off, an old magazine exploded in the camp we had been in for days and demolished things. We became aware of it by an awful roar, followed by earth and stones faling in our hut here - half a mile away. The sort of thing that in peace time would fill your front pages of the newspapers. Crater about four times the size of the one you saw at Eastchurch. Sich are some of the incidents while in rest, though to be sure they are not exactly common. One little bugler I assisted to dig out about a quarter of an hour later, said, as he was unearthed - "Ah'm one of the looky beggars, ah am." He was the colour of this paper and deadly sick, and couldn't stand. They are plucky, most of these men.

I wish the war were nearer a finish. I suppose it will be if they can squash the submarines.

Andy

[marina]

I can never appreciate the range of shells and explosives - but to fall on a hut half a mile away. Hppe the bugler was OK!

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

19th March, 1917.

Just going up on a very fine day. It's rather contradictious that ____, who likes soldiering, should be made a Colonel in Ireland isn't it? I think I should make quite a good Irish Colonel.

Getting appointed to Roads job, and such, is not usually a compliment. The worst of this war is that the cushy jobs are not the honourable ones, as a rule; though it may be that one cannot stand the trenches. Only a percentage can in this weather.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

Field Service Post Card

21st March, 1917.

I am quite well. Letter follows at first opportunity.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

22nd March, 1917.

Being Forrard, this isn't writing time, but things are rather different at the moment, as you may see in the papers, and for us at present safer than I've ever known them. Also a groom has come hither, and can take back a letter, so I'm writing one at two minute' notice, and it won't be very long. Bitly cold; I don't think I've been colder than the last three nights; but the snow has knocked the wind down and made it a bit warmer. We are in a ruined house in a ruined village, and in the far sky is the smoke of many burning villages.

Andy

[marina]

We are in a ruined house in a ruined village, and in the far sky is the smoke of many burning villages.

Andy

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

A touch poetic there!

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

24th March, 1917.

Just a line to say I'm out, very slipsy after sich bitly weather that I was too cold even to sleep! Found pipe and pipe cleaners just when I wanted it; also a very fine parcel from my mother. Things are so difficult to get out here that these gifts have become extra valuable.

That was a very nice letter your mother copied for me - she could not wish a better.

Very fit, in spite of the cold, and hoping that the Boches are really getting it somewhere.

Andy