Robert Ernest Vernede - Novelist/Poet

[stiletto_33853]

Thursday, 10th August, 1916.

You would be amused by the place in which I write this - a small scoop in the side of a trench, like a rabbit burrow, to which I've retired after a somewhat disturbed night in the bottom of a trench - disturbed only by rain at 4am after which I wandered about till breakfast time, getting damp and fearing greatly that the fine weather has gone for good. The night before I was in yet another place - resembling a hare's form more than anything else. I made it myself out of an old shell hole with a hurdle on top, covered with wild mustard and old sandbags to keep out the dew. Bitly cold it was, too, as nowadays I carry all my goods on my back in my haversack - plus the Aquascutum strapped to it. Not even a pack. I think I am about as Red Injun in colour as I ever have been, including the knees.

No 12 platoon is not in luck at the moment. I told you about Sgt. ____: next day a Corporal recently appointed was taken ill and sent down; and yesterday, while I was instructing the platoon in the bayonet, a fat shell pitched about 30 yards away, and knocked out Sgt. D., breaking his leg below the knee. It was luck having only one man hit - a little nearer and the whole platoon might have been; but, of course, he is a great loss - the only really good N.C.O. I had left. The doctor thinks he won't lose it. He shed his gore all over my only pair of bags as I was helping to carry him in, and there's no water to wash them in. Sich is life at the moment.

Later in the day I had an endless walk with C. through a trench - three hours we took - eating dust all the way, through awful smells and every form of abandonment, from rifles and tin hats to dead men. Oh dear, I don't like war.

The flies are disgusting and the mosquito netting is very useful. I'm afraid I envied Sgt. D.

No more at present, and don't picture that we're having a bad time - we're not - so far it's only rather disgusting.

Andy

[marina]

Just got back from holiday to a BUMPER crop of letters! You're a star, Andy.

What a thoughtful fairminded man Robert is - the courts martial, the newspaper propaganda etc. How likeable he is in his efforts to see things straight.

His description of the 5 course dinner with the Scottish officer in the crimson light with a band playing on was surreal, but wonderful.

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

I think it must be Friday, the 11th August, and I am lying in my scoop again at 3.30pm, whence I move very shortly. My schedule for this afternoon was lunch at 1pm, write to you 1.45 - 2.15; bath at 2.15; sleep 2.30 - 4, start at not much later. As usual, things cropped up and have done me in. The postman arrived and departed about 1.45! Buxton has gone up; Brown has gone sick; and messengers have been arriving with messages, effectually preventing me from sleeping at all, and it's nearly tea-time. On the other hand, it'ss a fine day again: I have had a magnificent hot bath in half a small tin of water; and your letter has arrived. Also one from Frdk., enclosing Vaughans. I'm afraid we've missed for sure this time; having just reversed our locations, and I've been seeing the things he has and vice versa. I had a most tussome working party last night; didn't trust the guide going up, and took my own way to the map reference. On arriving found that though I'd got to the right place, sure enough, the reference had been given me wrong! Meant another two hours work for everybody. Got into a shelling and had three men hit (all very slight, I'm glad to say) and one with a sprained ankle, from dodging shells. Allowed the guide to guide me back, with the inevitable result that he lost himself and us; then struck across country and very luckily hit our trench. But not enough sleep quite. Still, it's a beautiful day.

I'm glad you like t'other poems.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

12th August, 1916.

Must send this off - no time to write more. We are working despritly hard - very little sleep. I'm afraid letters are likely to be very irregular at present. Don't be worried by that.

Andy

[marina]

I'm glad you like t'other poems.

Andy

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

He does sound tired. Typical writer - not too tired to be pleased by praised for his poems . He must have been writing them at the front. I know it wasn't uncommon, but it still stuns me that they could focus on their writing.

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

Marina,

I suspect the two poems he is referring to are "Petition" and "The Sergeant" which were both written in the trenches in the summer of 1916 before he was wounded.

Andy

[marina]

Thanks, Andy - haven't read those.

marina

[marina]

89. A Petition

By Robert Ernest Vernède

ALL that a man might ask thou hast given me, England,

Birthright and happy childhood’s long heart’s-ease,

And love whose range is deep beyond all sounding

And wider than all seas:

A heart to front the world and find God in it, 5

Eyes blind enow but not too blind to see

The lovely things behind the dross and darkness,

And lovelier things to be;

And friends whose loyalty time nor death shall weaken

And quenchless hope and laughter’s golden store— 10

All that a man might ask thou hast given me, England,

Yet grant thou one thing more:

That now when envious foes would spoil thy splendour,

Unversed in arms, a dreamer such as I,

May in thy ranks be deemed not all unworthy, 15

England, for thee to die.

Sounds different from the Robert in the letters, doesn't he? In the letters he seems less gung ho.

marina

[marina]

We've crossed posts! Great minds and all that!

marina

[stiletto_33853]

"The Sergeant"

The Sergeant 'as 'is uses

I used to doubt of it

'E did not like the way I washed,

'Is 'ead seemed bulged a bit.

My arms drill seemed to 'urt 'im,

'E'd swear and close his eyes;

An' when I 'ad no time to shave

'E would not sympathise.

At 'ome in good old England

When dealin' with recruits

'E seemed to 'ide his better self

If they 'ad dirty boots.

But in this trench a sitting

All crouched upon my joints

I do not mind admitting

The Sergeant 'as 'is points.

'E's just been round explainin'

That jumping up to see

If shells is going to burst your way

Is waste of energy.

Shells, though you can't believe it,

Aren't always aimed at you,

But snipers if they see your 'ead

Will put a bullet through.

His words about the Boches

Is also comforting

E' says as good as shot as me

Could do a dozen in.

An' if it came to baynits,

I'd easy stick a score

The way I fight - I never knew

'E thought me smart before.

"An' anyway," ' e says, Lad,

Mind this, we're going to win:

It's no use thinkin' gloomy thoughts

Whatever fix you're in.

Soppose we did get outed

England would not forget.

And where's the man that is a man

That would not die for that?

August 1916.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

14th August, 1916.

I dare say Eric is quite near, but one simply hasn't time to find out, and we might be only 100 yards away without knowing it. We are having a fairly peaceful two days after two fairly hot ones. I got about three hours sleep in fourty eight - constant shelling - fearful smells and working like navvies. Did about double the ordinary infantry man allowance myself. The flies are disgusting now. I think the platoon is getting rather friendly at last - had about a dozen of them chatting to me during the shells, when they most want a little consolation. My Buff friend, Shafto, was killed, I think the night after I had the carrying party, in much the same place. Quite the best man in the Batt., I should say. We got off very lightly.

I can't distinguish sunburn from dirt on my face now. If I rub too hard the skin comes off; and if I don't, the dirt remains on! Vaughan's letter very amusing. I hope Frdk. is really better. Brown is back again, fairly fit, I think.

I am in my rabbit scoop again. My last bed was a ledge of chalk about 1ft. wide and 4 long, at an angle sideways - not very comfortable! Oh dear, there comes the Q.M.S. for the letters.

I must finish.

Andy

[marina]

Enjoyed the poem, Andy. Thanks.

Sunburn and dort confusion - oh, dear. How his wife must have looked forward to his letters. What was her name?

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

Hi Marina,

Her name was Caroline Howard Vernede (nee Fry)

Andy

[marina]

Thanks, Andy

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

August 16th, 1916.

No letters for two, three days, so a little flatness. But I hope soon I shall get three or four to make up. The weather has turned misty moisty, which is rather a nuisance when one sleeps without any bed-clothes. I tie things like a sock or a towel round my knees and get my legs into a damp sandbag to keep warm; and really was quite warm last night.

Quite a slack day yesterday and might have for some days. You remember Vaughan's position in the push? Probably mine would be the same if there were one at a time.

Did I tell you of a rather nice boy in my platoon who writes a family letter daily always beginning - Dear Mum and Dad, and dear loving sisters Rosie, Letty, and our Gladys, - I am very pleased to write you another welcome letter as this leaves me. Dear Mum and Dad and loving sisters, I hope you keeps the home firs burning. Not arf. The boys are in the pink. Not arf. Dear loving sisters Rosie, Letty, and our Gladys, keep merry and bright. Not arf.

It goes on like that for three pages - absolutely fixed; and if he has to say something definite, like acknowledging a parcel, he has to put in a seperate letter - not to interfere with the sacred order of things. He is quite young and very nice, quiet, never grouses or gives any trouble - one of those very gentle creatures that the war has caught up and tried to turn into a frightful soldier, I should think in vain. I can't imagine him sticking anybody, but I'm sure he would do anything he felt to be his duty. _____'s servant is also another of the gallant lambs. He is a squat little elderly man of about 45 - was a comedian of sorts, and looks it - has a wife and five children - was rejected six times by the doctors and got in as a bandsman; then shoved out here into the front line. He sings comic songs and cheers the others and waddles about manfully, but is no more a fighting ruffian than a child of six. Yet he too takes part in the bloodiest of battles of the world.

A.B. really is a pleasing and exasperating person. He'll wander in at 11.30 am and ask if lunch is ready. I say "No, it's only 11.30. Would you like it earlier than usual?" He says "Yes, I should rather - I'm rather hungry." So I get the cook to promise it at 12.30 instead of I, and at about 12.25 B. will stray forth and return about 2.15, and be quite hurt because the lunch is rather cold! but I enjoy it.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

The Vaughan in the letter appears in his application letter for a commission.

Capt. P.F. Warner

Sir,

I have the honour to enclose application form for a temporary commission in the Special Reserve of Officers, also birth certificate and testimonial to character.

I have applied for The Rifle Brigade on the form, but in any case shall be very much obliged to you if you could manage to get me appointed to the same Regiment as my friends, Pte. Vaughan and F.G. Salter.

I have the honour to be -

Your Servant

R.E. Vernede

B Coy

19th Battalion

R.F.

[marina]

Loved the 'not arf ' letter. And the comic servant. He does conjure them all up brillaintly, doesn't he?

I have a son like AB - thinks meals appear on demand...

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

17th August, 1916.

I did get four letters to-day.

I got ito a nasty bombardment last night with a party I had volunteered for - 80 men and only one hit, which was very lucky, as we had to sprint across the open under shrapnel, besides two hours heavy stuff. All quite unecessary and somebody's fault, but I don't know quite whose and probably never shall. These things will happen at times. The Regimental Sgt.-Major was with me: a terrific person with a wonderful waxed moustache, and it was very funny to see him peering out at various holes in the ground like a coney. He told me he cracked several jokes with some of the young fellows to keep their spirits up; but I can't say that I heard him, and as Brown remarked, that would have been much more awful to take than the actual bombardment. His idea of a joke would be to say - "Here! You! Put yer cap on straight!"

Andy

[marina]

I'd love to see the RSM's wonderful waxed moustache! And hear his jokes...

I notice Robert never says much about the bombardments etc but concentrates on the people. A novelist's eye, I suppose. And perhaps an attempt to stop Caroline worrying about him. Shows a toughness of mind, I think, to be so amusing and perceptive in those conditions.

marina

[stiletto_33853]

18th August, 1916.

I forgot to answer your question about the small dog in the photograph. It doesn't belong - was only a farm creature of one of the mixed French types, introduced as a mascot. The troops like a mascot - in fact, I believe that is why the very young officer is better than the older ones. They like some young frolicsome creature like - barking at their heels and playing about in their midst. There are two or three lurcher creatures kept at the transport, but they don't go into the front line as much. One big puppy doesn't seem to mind shells a bit.

I am afraid I am in for a Lewis gun course. I suppose other people would like it, so pig-headedly, I don't. The thing is a machine, and , anyway, like Howard, I don't like leaving the platoon in these strenuous times. The course is, I believe, a week, far from the firing line. At present I am at the transport on my way, as it were: might be recalled, but don't think it's likely. I asked to be left with the platoon and can't do more.

I don't see any Paris or other leave in prospect for a long time, confound the Boches. I wish I did. I do wish they hadn't done away with leave. The thing seems never-ending without a prospect of it.

Give my love to all and a pat to Meriel and the Bul Hound.

Andy

[marina]

Bet Caroline V. heaved a sigh of relief on hearing that he was going behind the lines for a whole week! I've heard of his reaction before - that reluctance to leave his own men. It does seem rather inefficient when he's got things running well and then has to depart. First it was the bayonet course and now this. He quite liked the bayonet training - because it was not a machine?

I also wonder why they are being trained now, in the middle of it all. Was it new developments in tactics etc, I wonder? because surely they can't have been sent out there with no prior training.

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

23rd August, 1916.

I am very fit and well, but I'm afraid you've been left without a letter for five days and I only hope you haven't been worried by it. I might have sent you a Field post card, but the fact is that I thought that might make you worry rather more, and I hoped that, as my last letter told you I was going on a course, you would at all events think I was in some safe spot instead of the very unsafe one where I was.

Directly after I finished that letter to you I was wired for to reinforce the Batt. in an attack. When I wrote to you that I should ne in Vaughan's position if anything happened, I knew something was going to happen shortly. I had proposed to Buxton that I should go up with the platoon instead of V., and that had been arranged; but at the last moment the C.O. insisted that V. should go, as an old regular soldier. C. was necessary as Lewis gun officer, and the choice lay between Brown and me. Brown was taken because owing to the bayonet course I had missed some attack practices he had had. V. and Brown are both dead now, shot through the heart. You will see the account of the push in Times of 21st. I went to the Transport with four other officers when the Batt. went up, stayed a night there, and wrote to you on the 18th. The attack came off at 2.30pm, and at 3.30pm the five of us were sent to Brigade H.Q. No time to pack anything, a blazing hot day, and I had to borrow the Quartermasters revolver as I'd lent mine to V. An hour and a halfs walk to Brigade H.Q., where we heard that things were going very well, but more officers were needed. I sent Ginger back from there, as he seemed too small to stick Boches.

From there we had a three hour walk to the front line. Shells most of the way, and the wounded streaming down an open road between the Downs. We passed A.D., hit through the leg, but filled with delight because he was going back to Blighty alive and kicking: then ____, rather badly hit in the shoulder - heaps of bandaged men, including two of my platoon. The menof all Regiments, and wounded in every variety of way. To read in the papers you might suppose the wounded were whisked away from the battlefield in a motor ambulance. I get rather tired of all the false and breezt representation of a battle.

I've never been so hot in my life as when we came to Batt. H.Q., just behind our jumping off trench. There we heard of Brown and V. and many others, and from there we went to join our Coys. in the various bits of Boche trench they had taken. No guide, a hail of shells and a sort of blind stumble through shell holes to where we fancied the new line was. I fgound "C" Coy. at last. H.Q. in a 30ft deep Boche dug-out, choked with dead Germans and bluebottles, and there we had our meals till we started back at 4am this morning (five days). In between that time I certainly spent some of the most unpleasant hours of my life. It seems that the Batt. had done extraordinarily well and gained the first of two objectives. The second was to be won that night and the next day we were to be relieved. Unfortunately a Batt. on our right had been held up and we had to wait for them in a trench choked with our dead and Boche wounded and dying for two days and then do another attack. The men had been in high spirits over the first part, but naturally the reaction was great when they found that instead of being relieved they were to dig in, and I had never seen them so glum. Here again the breezy reporter is revolting. The push itself is done in hot blood: but the rest is horrible, digging in when you are tired to death, short rations, no water to speak of, hardly any sleep, and men being killed by shell-fire most of the time.

I was given the C line in front of H.Q. to hold with two and a half platoons, and luckily the Boches never really found it, and I had fewer casualties than anybody. I slept in the bottom of the trench, sometimes in rain (in shorts), without any cover and really never felt cold. Also, though I don't suppose I got more than an hour at a time, I never felt done for want of sleep. C. and Buxton were the only officers left.

The second attack was made yesterday, and only our D. Coy. was sent off at the start. C. was to support it if it needed reinforcement. My dear, you never saw anything more dramatically murderous than the modern attack - a sheet of fire from both sides in which it seems impossible for any one to live. I saw from my observer's post about 100 yards away. My observer was shot through the head in the first minute. The O.C. of D. Coy. had been badly wounded, and Butler led them on most gallantly. The last I saw of him was after a huge shell had burst just over him (laying out several men) waving on the rest. None of the D officers came back, and very few of the men.

Again the right Batt. failed, and this time the R.B. was inevitably involved in it, as far as D. Coy went. We gained a certain amount of France back by digging a trench in front of my bit of the line about 100 yds. from the Boches in the dark, lit by terrific flares from the German lines. After that we hunted for our wounded till 4am. I found S.S. about 50yds. from the Boche trench, shot through the heart. R, got back wounded in several places. Butler was last heard of in a shell-hole about 10 yds. from the Boches. He was an awfully gallant fellow. The whole thing was almost too bloody for words, and this, mind you, was victory of a sort for us. We fancy the Boches lost far more heavily, as our guns got on to them when they were reinforcing.

I'm too sleepy to tell you any more. The Batt. did magnificently: captured many prisoners and advanced several hundred yards; but the cost is very great.

Now we are out of it for days at any rate.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

The Officer Brown that has featured regularly in Roberts letters is Lieutenant Anthony William Scudamore Brown, KIA 18/8/16 attached 3rd Battalion.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

The Regimental side of things has to say this:-

Guillemont

Our guns had been heavily shelling the German trenches during the afternoon. At 16.28 "A" "B" and "D" Company's left their trenches, each Company on a 100 yards front with their platoon's in depth. At this same hour our guns put up an intense barrage of the German front line. By keeping close to the barrage, these trhee companies had comparitively few casualties going across "No Mans Land", but there was a good bit of close fighting before theyactually took the trench. In the first trench they captured two officers and about one hundred unwounded men, killing about as many as that again in the trench, many of the prisoners were made to dig before they were sent back. "C" Company reinforced at 17.30.

Meanwhile the 8th Buffs attack had been completely successful against ZZ trench, but the 73rd Brigade had not reached their first objective.

At 18.30, when the Battalion was due to advance again on High Holborn, our right had to be dropped back, owing to the 73rd Brigade failure, and the whole of "D" Company formed a flank to Guillemont village.

"A" and "B" Companies reached High Holborn, taking Guillemont station at the same time. It was impossible to tke our bit of ZZ trench with our flank so much thrown back and it was not attempted.

During the next three days we stayed where we were, expecting the order to attack again at any minute. On the 21st, a fresh attack on Guillemont was arranged to be carried out by the 73rd Brigade.

Our orders were to take the remainder of High Holborn and the ZZ trench, advancing in line with the 72nd Brigade on our right. One Company of the 1st Royal Fusiliers was under the orders of the O.C. 3rd Rifle Brigade and attacked on our right.

At 16.30 on the 21st, "D" Company under Lieutenant L.G. Butler, and "A" Company of the Fusiliers attacked High Holborn line and promptly came under very strong rifle and machine gun fire from a line of trenches running at right angles to High Holborn. This line of trenches was on high ground and had never been touched by our guns. "D" Company reached the High Holborn road, losing all its officers and three quarters of the Company. The remainder of the Company,twenty three men, under Sergeant Verner, hung on magnificently in an impossible situation until ordered to withdraw after dark.

Lieutenant L.G. Butlers conduct on this occasion was most gallant. While lying wounded and paralysed in a shell hole, just behind the point reached by his Company he tore up his maps and papers and kept encouraging the men to hang on. Two Riflemen tried to get him back but he would not let them touch him, saying that they would only get shot themselves. Later on they went to him again but still he would not let them touch him although he was fast dying. On being ordered to withdraw after dark, these two Riflemen again went to get him back but they could find no trace of him. There is little doubt that he was blown to pieces by a shell.

The next day, 22nd, the Battalion was relieved by a Battalion of the 20th Division and went to rest near Albert.

Thought I would add this little bit as it helps to bring Roberts letter to life and helps one envisage the circumstances.

Andy

[marina]

Thought I would add this little bit as it helps to bring Roberts letter to life and helps one envisage the circumstances.

Andy

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

It certainly does, Andy. And to think I had Caroline V. sighing with relief because Robert was safe for a week at least - not safe to do that in this war.

His account of the attack and his feelings about it are most moving. I could sense the weariness at having to dig in like that after such a day, and the horror of those German flares. It must have been a scene from Hell. And poor Butler. I wonder if he was recommended for his courage. The two riflemen as well.

Typically kind and compassionate of Robert to send young Ginger back.

What a novel he could have written if only he'd lived.

Marina