Letters of Lt.-Col. George Brenton Laurie / (commanding 1st Battn. Royal Irish Rifles) Dated November 4th, 1914-March 11th, 1915

by G. B. Laurie

In Billets.
February 9th, 1915.

Well, I went yesterday afternoon and had two teeth filled, one under the gum, which is still rather painful; but the amusing point is that on my way there at some cross roads I was held up for a quarter of an hour by the Germans shelling the place. I hid in a building, and when they got off the line of the road I resumed my ride on to my dentist. Just at this moment they are shelling our usual front line billets vigorously. I mean the ruined houses which we hide behind. Clearly they must have got more ammunition. Many thanks for cake, chocolate, tins of coffee and cocoa, and boiled eggs, which all arrived safely. As a matter of fact, the cake is most useful, whilst we still have a fair amount of chocolate, and the eggs please do not send again, for we have now a regular system of supplying eggs to ourselves at 3-½ francs a dozen, which keeps us going. I am glad the children like reading and receiving my letters. Sometimes I am rather hustled for time, as I have often a great deal to do, and many of my officers have not been on active service before. First, you have to think out the orders, and then issue them in writing, and then, still more important, see that they are carried out. Sorry to hear of Miss Dunlop's death; she has gone to a better world, anyhow. The one she has left is in a troublous condition. Please God, it soon rights itself! No soup squares required, please. I fancy that if I get my leave at all it will be before April, but of course I cannot choose the time or anything like that. In fact, they may refuse to allow me to have a second leave. Had a letter from Bertha Farmar; she is full of news, and seems very happy. I do not know anything about Colonels only going into the trenches at night. I have been in during the day often; but in the trenches that we now occupy it is carrying your life in your hand to do so—that is, for a tall man; once in, it is just a question of bending down. It is strange to hear of people playing football out here—we ourselves are under fire every minute. One of our men was hit yesterday on the head by a German bullet four hundred yards farther down the street from where I live, whilst he was having his hair cut by the company barber. We had fondly imagined that we were out of the way of bullets!

Yours....

We go into our trenches again to-night, worse luck!

In Trenches.
February 10th, 1915.

Here we are back in the trenches, and a shell has just burst quite close to us. A Yeomanry major has been lunching with me. I put him up in the "Residency" at Aden on his way home, and he asked to come down into our trenches, though he belongs to another division, as he wanted the experience. His name is Backhouse, and his brother was Flag Lieutenant to Admiral Jellicoe at the beginning of the war. We arrived here very peacefully last night, cheered by news of the Russian successes, and then I went my rounds from 3 o'clock till 7.30 in the morning. I pointed out to some of my men that they were standing in a dangerous place, but they said it was all right, and I heard an hour after that three of them had been struck by one bullet. Later the General came along to see about things, and I had to go round with him. A shrapnel from our guns burst short and just missed a man I was speaking to.... However, thank Heaven! we did not have any fired at us. A curious thing happened the night before last. One of the British patrols in my line saw a German at the wire entanglements in the darkness, and fired. The German fell, calling out: "Don't shoot, soldier." When they were able to get up to him they found that he had laid his rifle and equipment down before he was seen, and either wanted to surrender or, as he had some wire cutters with him, was trying to cut the entanglement. Anyhow, poor fellow! he had had the large artery of his leg cut, and was just at the point of death. We buried him at the back of the ruin. Did you ever think how between the devil and the deep sea the German soldier is? If he runs away, he is shot; if he advances, he is generally shot; and if he tries to desert, as in this case, he is shot too. A hard fate....

In Trenches.
February 11th, 1915.

Getting up at 3 a.m. is very trying, as it makes the day so long. I curl up in my blankets at 9 p.m., and hope for the best, but very often I am pulled out again. Last night, for instance, we had various parties down here working during the night. About 8 o'clock I went to look at the poor German's grave, and, coming away from it, I was nearly hit by a bullet from some sniper who was evidently watching me. I am just waiting to go to one of our own men's funeral. He was shot yesterday, poor boy! and I was able to get his body out, so I am trying to give all such, decent burial with a clergyman some distance back from the trenches. I forgot to tell you when mentioning that shrapnel shell yesterday that the man I was talking to was Sergeant Driscoll, whom you will remember in the regiment; and that a sergeant of the Lincolns was killed in my lines exactly the same way the day before. I enclose Mr. Aitchison's letter. I did not realize that it was his only son. I heard from Mrs. Baker yesterday in reply to a letter of mine. She compliments you on your letters, saying you are quite a soldier's wife.... I calculate that I might, but only might, get away about February 28th for a week if nothing turns up in the interval; but, again, I was told that all leave was stopped in the 7th Division, so I am doubtful what will happen. Perhaps the war will end soon. Who knows?...

In Trenches.
February 12th, 1915.

Your letter not come yet, but posts do not always fit. We had a couple of amusements yesterday. One was the opening of fire from quite a new direction by the Germans. Fortunately, not very heavy, though. The other thing was that our house caught fire last night about 5.30. Major B. and the sergeant-major made the discovery. It originated with the guard, who, of course, were the last to find it out! Major B. and the Sgt. Major were both invaluable, but my first business was to see that the sentry was alert, so that we could carry on our operations without being surprised by our opponents. Next I got a ladder from a ruin, put a man up it with a hose, and said: "There are great gaping holes in the tiles everywhere; pull off the remaining ones, and then we can pour water all over the fire." There were very few, however, left to pull off, so the work was done and the fire put out in a few minutes. Lucky for us it was just before dark and the light just right, otherwise we should have been shelled to pieces. We buried that poor fellow I spoke about yesterday afternoon with a parson, keeping my eyes lifted for rifle bullets all the while. I forgot to tell you I stopped an N.C.O. as I was coming down to the trenches 3 nights ago to speak to one of our men; immediately afterwards he was hit in the leg by a bullet. As it was long range, the bullet remained in his calf, and he went off in an ambulance to have it dug out. One of my poor men died also this morning; it was astonishing that he was alive at all, for yesterday a bullet hit him in the head and blew the back of his head off, and yet he remained alive and quite conscious without pain till 2 a.m. I have just had a visit from an artillery officer; he and I have concerted a plan of operations together. As his shells are very heavy, things ought to be bad for the Germans. How I hate this business of killing people who never wanted the war, and would go home if it were possible! Now, if I could have an innings at those who actually made the war and murdered the women and children, I would have quite a different tale to tell, but these poor creatures are set in a groove and are helpless to escape out of it.