Two Men - One Memorial

[stiletto_33853]

To His Father.

B.E.F.

Dec. 11, 1915.

You see I can do no melodrama; for a little, little while I have had what I think the greatest privilege one could have - that of defending the most famous city of all time, which will be sung of when Troy is an idle tale! But even that privilege has been confined to a quiet time, comparatively, and also a very short one; and it is all over the heads, so to speak, of brave men who really did things, and of whom every blade of grass and every tree (though there are few standing) remind us of being greater than their successors. Ah, you must believe two things; it's all very, very small beer, but when our time comes to leave this country, we shall be proud and glad ever to have been there!

[marina]

h's still really woth the school, isn't he? The poems of the boys, his friends, the lamplight in November...and also a little disappointed about lack of action? Sems like he's all geared up to go and it 's just not happening.

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

Definetely with his heart still at the school. Given the time of year not a lot of action, but, that will soon change.

Andy

[marina]

Schools get to you like that. I'm a teacher myself. We're moving school soon and the children were dismissed a couple of days early for the holidays to give us a chance to pack up. Well, we were all cheering when the kids were dismissed - and then hated the silence of the building without them. We still thought in terms of timetable too - as for me, took me ages to pack up. Kept coming across things - old essays and poems and such which reminded me of former pupils and which I just had to read again. ES is a typical teacher! We know our own!

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

To Mrs. Whitfield

B.E.F. (In the trenches.)

Saturday, Dec. 11, 1915.

Something very wicked has happened. Three weeks ago I got a chill in the trenches and was sent to hospital. I was very angry at this, being a little ashamed of going under to a very unmilitary kind of complaint like that. So I said to myself, 'I will not advertise this episode'.

Well, naturally there was no news from such a place, though when I got out of bed it was interesting to meet other convalescent officers and exchange talk, about where various Divisions and Battalions were, and so forth. The trenches are in a very dreadful state, frighfully wet, knee-deep in very many places, unusable in others (a trench is regarded with disfavour when it gets more than 'thigh-waders-depth'!), and falling in all over the place; but the men are wonderful. The are, I repeat it with the most sincere reverence (there is no other word) - Wonderful. They have a dreadful time, especially in soaked dug-outs at night - where officers generally get at least fairly dry ones and do get more chance of a sleep, and no touch of drama comes along just now: they just stick it. I adore them; they are the people.

________________________________________________

To R.F. Bailey.

B.E.F.

Boxing Day, 1915.

Christmas was a great day. We were serenaded, of course, and we serenaded the C.O. in revenge. He was delighted and made a speech in pyjamas on his doorstep, and we killed a pig for the Company and ordered up certain barrels and smokes which livened up things considerably, especially during a terrific concert we had later. There was, as far as I could hear, practically no firing on Christmas Day. I think the Hun is rather susceptible there, very rightly.

What a dull letter, though! Sorry. It's the gas attack which has caused it all.

[Desmond7]

Bring a fleece with you and a pack-a-mac type thing. Bit dull over here but it is to warm up!

Sorry that was meant to be a PM!

[stiletto_33853]

Hi Des,

Will do, look forward to seeing you tomorrow.

Andy

[marina]

Des - ES says you've just to stick it!

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

To H.E.E. Howson.

B.E.F.

Dec. 27, 1915.

Ah yes, the end of term. I know when you go, too, you know. I too have my End-of-Term Thinking. Last time it was on the Plain; now it is here. It is not I who could forget these things.

Man, as a lover of Ian Hay I thought you might like First 100,000 and hope it's all right. I've sent it along.

Not Four Men this time (as I read it recently), I think, though it is very fine of you to offer it, and it would have done me grandly otherwise. Something small: I don't know what. The Path is going magnificently. Bible in Spain or something of that kind perhaps, Man, since you are being so good.

____________________________________________________

To His Father.

B.E.F.

New Year's Eve, 1915.

It is the last night of a very memorable old year, and I must not miss the chance of wishing you all a glorious new one. I suppose it is a dreadfully selfish outlook on things which makes me look on this as a happy one; but although for so many it is necessarily an 'annus odiosus', I can't bring myself quite to see the necessity of those people regarding it as such, who have such good reasons for looking back on it with gratitude!

I'm very glad my little messages and cards reached you on the day. Ah yes, Oearsall's 'In dulci iubilo's'; the most memorable thing about any Service in Worcester Cathedral, I think, when I first heard it three years ago. You can guess whether I and another lover of it have hummed it a good deal at the time.

[stiletto_33853]

To R.A. Knox.

B.E.F.

New Year's Eve, 1915.

The man sent me a copy of Virgil yesterday, and I could read the 4th Eclogue withing the Octave.

I was glad about that.

___________________________________________

To H.E.E. Howson.

B.E.F.

January 6, 1916.

The dear old Four Men has arrived, and I've already got to the Fugue (1). Oh yes, but I was jolly glad to get it, in spite of saying that I thought I'd prefer something else. It's a great book, but I agree now The Path is even better. (Kitch sent me the W.B.(2) and I believe at last I understand the final adjustment; I used to find it very obscure.)

Thank you, Man, very much.

Wiring at fifteen yards in front of Bosches last night, M.G. opened up on us several times; none hit. My O.C. Coy saved my life and that of party by hearing click of M.G. just as they loaded, and he got us all in just as the flare went up and they fired. Good.

(1) The Fugue on the Inns of the World.

(2) The Wrong Box

[stiletto_33853]

The 9th Battalion Rifle Brigades movements were as follows for this period up to 31-12-15 to give an idea of where they were.

7/10/15. Lieut. T.H. Bateman-Champian proceeded to Grantham. Lieut.'s F.B. Roberts and E.H.L. Southwell joined.

8/10/15. Corps Commander visited camp. 2nd Lt. N.W. Clayton joined.

13/10/15. Battalion marched to trenches and relieved 1st West Yorkshire's.

14-20/10/15. Potijze Line. On the 16th 2nd Lt. Rochford was wounded. Same day Headquarters and two Companies moved to Kaaie Salient defences, the other two Companies remained in X lines. On the 18th Lieut.-Col. Villiers-Stewart was invalided.

21/10/15. Battalion entrained for Poperinghe and marched to billets at Houtkerque.

23-30/10/15. Resting. On 29th Captain T.M. Morris, R.B., arrived and took over command of the Battalion from the Adjutant of the 8th London Regiment.

1-17/11/15. On the 3rd, 2nd Lt.'s W.A. Songer and C.W. Winkley joined. On the 10th the Battalion was inspected by General Officer Commanding 42nd Infantry Brigade. On the 14th Major H.A.M. Howard struck off strength.

18/11/15. On the 17th a draft of twenty men joined. Battalion marched to Poperinghe and trained to Ypres, disposed of as follows: Half 'A' Company to Potijze defences, half 'A' and 'C' Companies Canal bank, 'B' and 'D' Kaaie Salient.

19/11/15. Darft of twenty joined.

20/11/15. Battalion relieved 9th K.R.R.C.

21/11/15. Quiet.

22/11/15. Battalion was relieved by 9th K.R.R.C. and returned to it's former position.

23/11/15. Captain Gull joined from 1st Battalion as 2nd in command.

24/11/15. Resting.

25/11/15. Battalion relieved 9th K.R.R.C.

26/11/15. 2nd Lt. B.T. Cherry joined. At 4.30 Germ,ans heavily shelled bit of trench on our right. We retaliated with field and heavies.

27/11/15. Battalion relieved by 9th K.R.R.C. and returned to former position.

28/11/15. Resting.

29/11/15. Battalion relieved 9th K.R.R.C. Water going off, but communication trench has no cover and front line has no parados at all.

30/11/15. Quiet. Battalion relieved by 9th K.R.R.C. and returned to 'B' huts at Brandhoek. After dark Germans bombarded our roads and Headquarters for a while. Put off relief a bit; had only one casualty. Got back very quietly by Switch Bridge 10 and Vlamertinghe to 'B' huts at 2 a.m. During this time the weather was very bad. Rain and hard frosts prevailed in turns, all hands had to work hard to prevent the front parapet falling down, all communication between front line and supports was impossible by day, nor was there any communication between front and 'X' lines.

[stiletto_33853]

1-2/12/15. 'B' huts. Resting; visited by Genrals Plumer and Couper.

3/12/15. Battalion entrained at Brandhoek and relieved 9th K.R.R.C. in trenches at Potijze.

4-5/12/15. Trenches

6/12/15. Relieved by 9th K.R.R.C. and returned to 'B' huts.

7-8/12/15. Resting. Lieut. F.G. Davies and 2nd Lt. W.L. Elliott joined.

9/12/15. Battalion relieved 9th K.R.R.C. as before.

10-12/12/15. Trenches.

13/12/15. Battalion relieved by 9th K.R.R.C. and proceeded to 'B' huts.

14/12/15. Resting.

15/12/15. Battalion marched to Watou.

16/12/15. Battalion marched to old billets at Houtkerque and was Battalion in Corps reserve.

17-28/12/15. In billets. On 25th 2nd Lt. B.P. Lynch joined. Received information that the Battalion would not move, as had been expected, but would take over trenches from the 49th Division on 30-31st.

29/12/15. Battalion moved to 'A' huts.

30/12/15. Battalion moved to Elverdinghe Headquarters, and one Company in Chateau, and remainder in surrounding farms.

31/12/15. Draft twenty Riflemen joined. Resting.

[marina]

That's helpful, Andy. I forget sometimes how much to-ing and fro-ing there could be.

Good on the OC for hearing the click of the gun.

Marina

[Moonraker]

As quite a few of Southwell's letters were written at Windmill Hill Camp and he often remarks on the beauty of the surrounding countryside, I'm posting this view. The card has a July 1914 postmark.

To be honest, most of the postcard views of the camp are pretty boring - just tents. Occasionally the Ludgershall-Tidworth railway line can be seen in the background (and there are cards with photos of marching troops taken from the railway bridge near Tidworth Down Farm), but in common with most "military Wiltshire " cards showing railways there's never a train on it.

I've just bought a card with a prewar photo of "The army tractor known as the Caterpillar" (now in Bovington Tank Museum). It has a July 22 1915 Windmill Hill Camp postmark (when Southwell was there). The sender refers to being off duty after an inoculation, and says he can't get any postcards with local views at the YMCA tent, though I would have thought cards of Ludgershall, a mile away, would have been available. Cards showing the camp during the war are rare, though I do have one of the tents of the 3/1st Bucks and an unspecified Oxon & Bucks battalion in 1916.

The countryside around and about is great: the Collingbournes are nice little villages. And Wilcot is very peaceful; it's in the Vale of Pewsey - part of "undiscovered" England but now enjoying(?) some recognition because of the number of "crop circles" and similar designs.

Moonraker

[marina]

I can imagine him there now. Thanks, Moonraker.

Marina

[stiletto_33853]

Thanks for posting the picture Moonraker, great picture.

Andy

[stiletto_33853]

To R.F. Bailey

B.E.F.

Jan. 9, 1916.

Oh, Phiz, but I do like your book(1) enormously. It came as the most comforting thing in the world to read this dear man's letters. As I dare say you've gathered from my frantic scrawl the other day, and from H.E.E.H., if you got a hint of a narrow shave I had which I described in a note to him, I think I may really say we've had a taste of the big game this time. The trenches we were wiring don't really bear talking about. I doubt if anything quite like it exists, now; Bosches all round, and behind, at bombing range in places; my escape was at fifteen yards, one of half a dozen shaves with their M.G.'s. Next night ten bombs (from crawlers) within as many yards of me, Well, well, but Hoj sat in such places for 66 days out of 76, I remember - perhaps here, for all I know; and here are we having four days rest altenately.

Yes, but it's the book that matters, and it is a glorious antidote. I like the bit about the Personality of Railway Stations; the man of Sheerness would like that, and if any one wanted to do me a favour, he would relieve mt Alpine(2) excitement by sending the Man a copy at once; I should be happier.

It will be an awful scandal if the deplete the staffs of all the schools; the thought of any one more going from Shrewsbury makes me rather angry; I know it's rather selfish, having escaped myself.

It would be different if the Hun wasn't in the same trench with us quite so much in this region, - but I suppose our attractions for him are very great.

(1)The Corner of Harley Street; being some familiar correspondence of Peter Harding, M.D.

(2) A word used by White in the sense that he had seen or discovered something by himself, which he wanted to share with others.

[stiletto_33853]

To His Father.

B.E.F.

Jan. 11, 1916.

The liones we actually are to hold in our Coy. are more tolerable, but if you could see some of those who came out of another Coy., holding what will be our right, you would realise that the horrors were not all confined to 1914, though I comfort myself day and night with the thought that my betters went through far worse in most places last year. But about me you must not be anxious, only continues as I know you are: there is need...........Hymn 278 (1), isn't it??

(1) 'O for a faith that will not shrink,

Though press'd by many a foe.

[stiletto_33853]

To H.E.E. Howson

B.E.F.

Jan. 11, 1916.

Man, if all's well, I'll be on leave Thursday week. Please find from Phiz whether he got my letter about trenches - there seems to be some doubt if it was posted. I described vaguelu the evilness of the trenches we're in:- you might, if you think it's worth while, tell him how we were nearly done in; I told him about the next night, when I had ten bombs within ten yards. Good. A shell-hole is a very good place, at times. (About five, I think; but you may guess I didn't stop to count! Good opportunity for a little swank went begging there: supposing I had pulled out a notebook and said, 'Let me see, this is No.4 close shave, Sgt. Joyce:- but allow me to suggest your right ear is needlessly near the edge.....' Somehow one doesn't think of these things in time!)

[stiletto_33853]

To H.E.E. Howson.

B.E.F.

Jan. 13, 1916.

Men,

Leave, Thursday 20th. I've written to the Man: do urge him he really must come any time during the following week. Also, Man, we ought (oughtn't we) to dine, and possibly even run, as tradition demands.

Not so bad, I do think.

[stiletto_33853]

To His Father.

B.E.F.

January 15, 1915.

You don't need telling how grateful I am for your dear letter.

Ah Yes,(1)

I know.......... I know

So you thought of me during the singing of it? And perhaps I wondered, as I often do at unaccountable moments, at the passing of the cloud, even while you thought. Naturally it would pass, so.

(1) 'Cast thy burden upon the Lord.'

[stiletto_33853]

To H.E.E. Howson.

Worcester.

January 25, 1916.

Marpessa (1). I suppose there is a flaw somewhere, too much of what H.B. (2) might call 'agglutinative': I mean that he seems to rake in with both hands all the first loves of the second-rate enthusiaist in the way of poetical beauties from all authors and languages, and pile them up with a sort of 'there! that's your idea, and now it's all on paper' to the open mouthed reader.

That may be all excellently well, as Simon Hartley said: but years ago I climbed a passionate heap (3) over this thing, and this morning I have done it all again. It is right you should know.

(1) By Stephen Phillips

(2) Hilaire Belloc

(3) The Men used often to speak of 'climbing a mudheap' over a thing about which they were enthusiastic.

[stiletto_33853]

To Mrs. Whitfield.

On the train(returning from leave)

January 26, 1916.

May I hope two things? One, that the little coat may arrive - it has been so welcome. But far more important - that you will go on writing. I don't deserve much, I know, but you cannot imagine how I welcome your letters when they arrive. This is quite literally true. I myself should not have thought it possible that one could be so helped along by any letters as I have been by yours; and this you must please believe.

[stiletto_33853]

To Mrs. Whitfield.

B.E.F. again, and a dug-out, rather a good one.

January 29, 1916.

As you can imagine, Worcester, that quiet old Cathedral City, seemed rather an incredible change from the trenches; and yet not nearly so much so _ and this applies to Shrewsbury too - as it did when I took 48 hours leave just before coming out. I suppose one deadens fancies out here.

However, this is business, and I must get to it. No heart-aches will keep my dear friend the Hun at arm's length, and the sooner they are dropped the better (which is very easily said!).

Well, well.................

[stiletto_33853]

DIARY.

November 2, 1915.

It is time I went. The rain splashed gloriously in my face as I came out of our little farm at dusk, where a few minutes ago we had actually dared to grumble. 'Now,' I said, clenching my fists and gesticulating with bitten lip, 'Now that it is all over, and things are going to happen.'.......'Orate pro anima mea,' I said: Orate pro anima mea........ and particularly Hoj' I added, for I suppose the meanest soldier God ever made has some ideal leader of his own. So I went on in the pouring rain and the mud. It was quite obvious which turning I should take at the corner of the lane that leads from our home, and within a few minutes I was in the village and at its farhter end. The white face of the church clock stared at me with a strange suprise as I strode past. 'That', I answered, 'only shows again that you do not quite understand. It will be all right, but there are things to be done first.' So I passed from the village, and the slow, limping piquet was soon left far behind. It was now but a few hundred yards to the end of my piligrimage, which as you may guess was obviously the frontier. It seemed a pity to strafw the sentry for being too easily content at a great distance with my monsyllabic reply to hos challenge. Did they mind, those ohters? I wondered if each nudged his neighbour - 'See how one is angry because they receive so easily, on this Night of all others, his Voice from the night, claiming that he is a friend!' But I left that business, for I had arrived. Here was my goal, and here I halted on the little bridge over the border stream, and fingering the German New Testament in my pocket I remembered many countries.

'It is all right now,' I said: 'all the corners of the earth.....Ah yea,' I added, disdaining all mild faithless subjunctives, 'to-night, I most deeply believe, Omnis Spiritus Laudat Dominium.' Back, then, the frontier; back to France and the little village church; and this time with a haste, as though to make amends, I went in. It was absolutley dark, except for one tiny candle by the altar at the far end; and I was not sorry when the end of my stumbling came and I reached my gaol, especially when the door opened and closed when I had gone half way. 'Never mind,' I thought: 'it might be Hoj, come in reply to my greetings.' So I arrived, having stepped on all the happier for that. And there at last I came; and there, while the door opened and shut again and again with the most encouraging persistence, remembered Them and their Deeds and my own endless needs, in the language that for hundreds and hundreds of years has fought to obliterate all the frontiers and all the doubt, the most holy language of Rome.

It is very late now, beloved Men.(1) Since writing that I have gone to the window and looked into the night; I have seen the distant star-shells and heard the distant guns. 'Ruht in Frieden,' I murmured, 'and forgot the strafing: it is All Souls Day'

Good night, the Men. It is a magnificent World.

(1) What is written above was sent by him to the New House.