I can tell you it is a pucker rough life, for you have to get up as soon as it begins to get light, and it is about one o’clock before we can get down to it. You had better tell dad to volunteer for the war, for it’s pucker exciting, and over here there is plenty of wine, for every village we go through the people give us bottles of wine to drink, and our regiment has been very jammy, for all the Germans do when they see you is to shell you or run away, and when the shells begin to hum it is time to gallop. Well, mum, I cannot tell you where I am, as we are on the move every day, and if we did know, it must all be kept secret, for we came out here on the quiet: Pte. Clapinson, 3rd Hussars.
Sweetness—and Rain!
This is a sweet place when it rains; you can’t get less than two days’ rain at a time. I am now doing mounted orderly duty to and from headquarters, four miles away. It’s a rotten ride back at night, through pitch-black country, on your own. I can’t say I dislike this country at all. The people treated us well on our way here. They brought out baskets of fruit, bottles of wine, cakes, etc., to give us, all shouting out, “Vive l’Angleterre!” and all the little children walking along the street get hold of your hands and stroke them, as if you were a prize dog or something: Lance-Corpl. H. E. Forward, Army Service Corps.
Comfortable!
We have had a good deal of marching—twenty to twenty-five miles per day—on very little sleep; in bed by midnight and up by a quarter to two. Last Saturday I think was the nearest to purgatory that I have ever been. We marched about fifteen miles, and when we got to —— we were kept standing for four hours in a perfect deluge; some of us lay down in the road in about a foot of mud. When the order came to march on again we marched about another mile into a ploughed field and were told to make ourselves “comfortable.” It was better in the road: Pte. R. Williams, Royal Army Medical Corps.
Sucking Eggs!
The French and Belgians have been extremely hospitable, and wherever we go we have been received most generously—eggs, milk, wine, bread and butter, jam, handkerchiefs, apples, pears, plums, coffee, etc., are among the many gifts showered upon us as we ride through the various towns. Picture us riding along, the great unwashed, and often unshaven, being cheered by crowds of townspeople. I can best compare it to the crowds of long ago when a circus procession came through Wakefield. I have got quite expert at cracking eggs on the front of my saddle and sucking them: Sergt. Seed, 3rd King’s Hussars.
To his Mother
Well, Ma, I am, above all places, at Paris, and having a real good time, and the reason I am here is that the general had an accident four or five days ago through his horse stumbling and throwing him, and he was sent to a hospital, and naturally I had to follow on with the car to be ready to take him back to the front. Ye gods! it is good to be amongst civilized people again, and be able to have a decent bath, for I might tell you I was getting in a filthy state, having to go without a wash or a shave for sometimes three days on end: you can bet that I made up for it to-day. This morning I had an ordinary hot bath, and this afternoon, to make doubly sure that all the uninvited visitors were dead, I went to the English hospital and had a sulphur bath; after that a visit to the barber, and I felt a new man: A Private, of Bristol.