101st Brigade, B.E.F.
Sunday, April 2nd.
My darling Mother,—
I am afraid that in the last week or two I have not been writing so well, but as you know when you become used to a life, and nothing exciting is happening, there is little news, and there is not much that strikes me as interesting to tell. When you begin to accept things in the ordinary course of things, it is difficult to feel that trivial occurrences of every day will be of interest to others. One consolation you can have is that the more uninteresting and the fewer my letters are the more harmless my life. If there was anything doing I should become as verbose again as ever. However, I will try to give you what news I have.
In the first place the weather is beautifully hot. I got up this morning, much to my disgust, to see the Brigade Major at 9-30, and since then I have been sitting in the large yard in the sun reading "A Knight on Wheels," by Ian Hay, with only two interruptions—to inspect my men, and to pull our ambulance, which had broken down, back to the billet. It is glorious weather; you can hear the birds and the faint hum of an aeroplane, with occasionally the noise of anti-aircraft shells bursting round one, just a faint crump and tiny little fleecy white clouds clustering round a black speck in the sky. It is a perfect almost summer day. There is one point about shell fire that may interest you. A battery of guns fires on a target, say a farm house. The guns are a long way back, and, of course, cannot see their target. An officer or some observer will be well forward up a big tree, in a church steeple, or a ruined farm house, or, perhaps, in an aeroplane, and will direct the battery. Consequently, once a battery gets on to a point, that point alone is the dangerous one; you can stand on a road, about 200 yards away and watch the whole show quite safely. The other afternoon we were coming down the road and the Bosche was shelling a point about 200 yards beyond. His shells came over the road and always sounded to be going to drop on the road. Of course, they never did. A shell is awfully deceptive; you see a large black cloud of smoke arise from the ground and bits fly, while you still hear the shell in the air, so often you try to get out of the way of a shell that has already burst somewhere else, until you know what happens. It is rather funny to see the explosion of a shell, while you apparently hear the shell just going over your head. Our mess at present, commonly known as the Anarchists, consists of those who take and those who give life—three Trench Mortar Batteries and one Field Ambulance. We have a very pleasant mess. Although the Brigade is in the trenches at present we are not sleeping in the front line. There are no dug-outs for us, and we have a lot of work to do, so we go up every day and make emplacements and sleep in comfort at our billet; we have a pleasant life, because we get pleasant sleep in pyjamas, and plenty of exercise to keep us fit. We have just had lunch, and are lying out in the field in the sun—it is rather pleasant. There are only about two things we want, and they are a gramophone, which Winnie is getting for us, and a tennis court, which does not seem probable at present. We are very impatient for the gramophone to arrive. Kitton is with me at present; he is a topping chap, and is in command of the other battery in the Brigade.
Last night I had to take some ammunition (200 rounds) up to the trenches, also two dug-out frames and 2,000 sandbags; we get through in the battery about 500 sandbags a day. They are brought up to the dump, and from there we push them up tramway lines on trucks, across the open up to the firing line, and then along it in the open behind to the place where they are wanted. Stray bullets and machine guns make it rather exciting; we had one man wounded—the bullet went right through his calf just about half an inch under the skin, a tiny little wound, but he will only be a few days. I hope Amy is quite better again.
I was made a First Lieutenant on March 1st. It is possible that I may be made a Captain sometime in the future. There is talk of making all Battery Commanders Captains. I am afraid that soon we will be moving further south; we are very comfortable here, and I am enjoying myself greatly. I am not feeling up to writing much; I am going to read or sleep.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,