Most of the letters acknowledge the receipt of a "parcle"; many give a guarded summary of the military situation.
We are not allowed to tell you about the War, but I may say that we are now in the trenches. We are all in the pink, and not many of the boys has gotten a dose of lead-poisoning yet.
It is a pity that the names of places have to be left blank. Otherwise we should get some fine phonetic spelling. Our pronunciation is founded on no pedantic rules. Armentières is Armentears, Busnes is Business, Bailleul is Booloo, and Vieille Chapelle is Veal Chapel.
The chief difficulty of the writers appears to be to round off their letters gracefully. Having no more to say, I will now draw to a close, is the accepted formula. Private Burke, never a tactician, concludes a most ardent love-letter thus: "Well, Kate, I will now close, as I have to write to another of the girls."
But to Private Mucklewame literary composition presents no difficulties. Here is a single example of his terse and masterly style:—
Dere wife, if you could make the next postal order a trifle stronger, I might get getting an egg to my tea.—Your loving husband, JAS. MUCKLEWAME, No. 74077.
But there are features of this multifarious correspondence over which one has no inclination to smile. There are wistful references to old days; tender inquiries after bairns and weans; assurances to anxious wives and mothers that the dangers of modern warfare are merely nominal. There is an almost entire absence of boasting or lying, and very little complaining. There is a general and obvious desire to allay anxiety. We are all "fine"; we are all "in the pink." "This is a grand life."
Listen to Lance-Corporal M'Snape: Well, mother, I got your parcel, and the things was most welcome; but you must not send any more. I seen a shilling stamp on the parcel: that is too much for you to afford. How many officers take the trouble to examine the stamp on their parcels?
And there is a wealth of homely sentiment and honest affection which holds up its head without shame even in the presence of the Censor. One rather pathetic screed, beginning: Well, wife, I doubt this will be a poor letter, for I canna get one of they green envelopes to-day, but I'll try my best—Bobby Little sealed and signed without further scrutiny.