LITMIR.BIZ

Letter from Raymond to the Mother of an Officer

       Friend of his who had been Killed

       Table of Contents

      "2nd S. Lancashire Regt., B.E.F., Front, 17 June 1915

      "Dear Mrs. Thomas—I am very sorry to say I have to tell you the very worst of bad news. I know what Humphrey's loss must be to you, and I want to tell you how much it is to all of us too. I know I have not realised it yet myself properly. I have been in a kind of trance since last night and I dread to wake up.

      "He was a very fine friend to me, especially since Fletcher went away, and I miss him frightfully. Last night (16th to 17th) the whole Battalion went out digging. There had been an attack by the English early the same morning, and the enemy's guns were still very busy even in the evening. Our road was blocked in front owing to the moving of a lot of wounded, and while we were held up on a little field path alongside a hedge we had several shrapnel shells over us. To add to the horrors of the situation they had put some gas shells over too, and we were obliged to put on our gas helmets. While Humphrey was standing with his helmet on in the rear of our Company talking to the Captain of the Company behind, a shell came over and a piece of it caught him on the head. He was rendered unconscious, and it was evident from the first he had no chance of recovery. He was immediately taken a little way back to a place where there was no gas, and here the doctor dressed his wound. He was then taken back on a stretcher to the dressing-station. He died there about an hour after he had been admitted, having never recovered consciousness.

      "If he had to die, I am thankful he was spared pain beforehand. It made my heart ache this afternoon packing his valise; I have given his chocolate, cigarettes, and tobacco to the Mess, and I have wrapped up his diary and a few loose letters and made them into a small parcel which is in the middle of his valise.

      "The papers and valuables which he had on him at the time will be sent back through our headquarters, the other things, such as letters, etc., in his other pockets I have left just as they were. I hope the valise will arrive safely.

      "He will be buried very simply, and probably due east of Ypres about three-quarters of a mile out—near the dressing-station. I will of course see he has a proper cross.

      "Humphrey was splendid always when shells were bursting near. He hated them as much as any of us, but he just made himself appear unconcerned in order to put heart into the troops. Three nights ago we were digging a trench and the Germans thought our attack was coming off that night. For nearly three-quarters of an hour they put every kind of shell over us and some came very close. We all lay down in the trench and waited. On looking up once I was amazed to see a lone figure walking calmly about as if nothing was going on at all. It may have been foolish but it was grand."

      "Tuesday, 22 June 1915, 4.45 p.m.

      "Well! What a long war, isn't it? Never mind, I believe it will finish up without much help from us, and our job is really killing time. And our time is so pleasant it doesn't need much killing out here. The days roll along—nice sunny days too—bringing us nearer I suppose to Peace. (One hardly dares even to write the word now, it has such a significance.) There have been cases where the war has driven people off their heads (this applies only, I think, to the winter campaign), but I often think if Peace comes suddenly that there will be many such cases.

      "It really is rather amazing the unanimity of everybody on this subject, and it must be the same behind the German front-line trenches.

      "I should think that never in this world before have there been so many men so 'fed up' before. And then the women at home too—it is wonderful where the driving force comes from to keep things going on.

      "But still—I don't want to convey a false impression. If you took my last letter by itself you might think things were very terrible out here all the time. They are not. On the whole it is not a bad time at all. The life is full of interest, and the discomforts are few and far between. Bad times do come along occasionally, but they are by way of exceptions. It is most like a long picnic in all sorts of places with a sort of constraint and uneasiness in the air. This last is purely mental, and the less one worries about it the less it is, and so one can contrive to be light-hearted and happy through it all—unless one starts to get depressed and moody. And it is just that which has happened to Laws and Fletcher and one or two others. They had been out long and had seen unpleasant times and without an occasional rest; none but the very thick can stand it."