I feel as if I could do with a rest for me nerves are all shattered, we get relieved from the trenches tomorrow night and then we go back for five days rest which we have all earned.
The Dorsets spent the day in billets. Whether they were to enjoy the five days Frank hopes for remains to be seen. But I do hope he got some rest and possibly enjoyed a bath to get rid of the hitchey coos. Another man, Lance Corporal Lithgow, died and was interred at Dranoutre Military Cemetery. Presumably he died of wounds from the previous day.
I don’t want to dwell on Frank’s mental state. What he’s has been through is impossible to imagine. He’s lost most of his friends, having fought continuously without a break in horrific conditions ranging from the blistering August heat through to the freezing snow of late November and the wet mud of early December. I think we can forgive him feeling below par.
What I admire about Frank more than anything, is that despite what’s happened to him and even at this low ebb, he’s still cracking jokes and still finding nice things to say about people. Onto the letter…
and he hopes to be round at the Hope and Anchor before long trying the cold tea.
He’s still dreaming of a nice cold pint of beer. Frank’s local in Acre Lane, Brixton is sadly no longer called the Hope and Anchor. It’s now a chain pub called Grand Union. Next time I’m up there I’ll pop in and buy Frank a pint of cold tea.
Yes we heard about L Roberts the day after he died. I expect it was a fine sight to see, so you blacked your nose and saw the funeral.
Lord Roberts on his 82nd birthday. Licensed under Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.
L Roberts was Lord Frederick Roberts, 1st Earl Roberts. He had died on the 14th November 1914 while visiting the Indian troops in St Omer, aged 87. He was possibly the most famous British military commander of the Nineteenth Century. He was the embodiment of a soldier-hero of the British Empire. The Telegraph dedicated much of its pages to him for nearly a week after his death.
To put his fame into context his funeral was one of only two state funerals dedicated to non royals in the Twentieth Century. Kipling’s poem, Lord Roberts, laments his passing.
He passed to the very sound of the guns;
But, before his eye grew dim,
He had seen the faces of the sons
Whose sires had served with him.
I’ll leave the rest of the letter for now. I’m off on holiday, rather aptly, to Dorset for a few days. I’ll be posting as and when I can get on the internet.
Envelope addressed to Miss Crawshaw, 29 etc – franked 4 De 14 – again with No Stamps Available on the top – were they expected to pay postage
Letter dated 3-12-14
Dear Till
At last I have got time to answer your letter which I received in the trench. I have heard from everyone this last week and it’s the way when you can’t find time to answer them. Now Till, don’t send out the socks, for have just had some sent to me from those people in Belfast who’s wedding I went to, he is missing Till, they have not heard from him yet. Yes, I would sooner have the underclothing than the Jersey, I am proper hitchy coo you can’t help it Till. We are still in the trenches and what with the rain we are up to our eyes in mud it’s enough to feed (?) you up.
Till I haven’t been feeling myself lately what with the shells bursting just in front of our trench and the wet and cold I feel as if I could do with a rest for me nerves are all shattered, we get relieved from the trenches tomorrow night and then we go back for five days rest which we have all earned.
I had a letter from Tom and have sent him a PC for the time being he said that he is getting on alright and that he hopes I get back safe and he hopes to be round at the Hope and Anchor before long trying the cold tea. Yes we heard about L Roberts the day after he died. I expect it was a fine sight to see, so you blacked your nose and saw the funeral.
Jess has been ill but is getting on alright now have you heard from her lately I had two letters. Tell Aunt Mrs Coats old man is still with us, yes I would sooner be filling her scuttle and out here only a dream. We are still on the go and doing our bit to polish the Germans off, what does Albert think of it. Have not heard or seen them chocolates yet, had a letter from Bert and have answered it said that he stopped the blue bag. I told him that was only half his luck, better than stopping a Jack Johnson.
Till I dropped a PC to St Anne Road but have not heard from them yet. Pleased to hear that you are getting on alright and still mucking in. How is all at home still merry and bright I hope and still mucking in. Remember me to all and tell Aunt I will answer her letter soon, this time last year Till I was saying only another 20 days to Furlough what a difference this, never mind lets hope for better days in store and I trust it will be soon.
Now Till I must conclude hoping this letter finds you in the best of health and hope to hear from you soon remember me to all at home and I hope Mattie is still mucking in with the cold tea. I am gasping for a Dry Ginger I mean a pint and am just going to have a lovely drop of cold?? poured (?poarred) Tat Tar with fondest love and don’t forget to write back soon.
I remain
Your loving Brother
BID
– Scribbled in at the top of the letter “I have received Tom’s letter but wrote before I got same, he is lucky to get leave I wish I had been home till him I liked the pint he said he was making some Duff am I right love to all Bid
– and also” Have you seen in the papers what Gen S Dorrien Said to us when he inspected the bat just have a look in the papers”.
3rd December 1914
The Battalion was relieved by the Norfolks and they returned to Dranoutre. The Dorsets’ diary is very light on content at the moment. According to the CWGC 5 Dorset men died today. There’s absolutely no mention of this in the diary. It’s very strange.
This letter is, as my Great Uncle Geoff writes in his notes to the transcription, “his most gloomiest”. I don’t want to dwell on that today.
Instead let’s focus on the conditions facing him and the rest of the Dorsets.
The conditions in the trenches were dire at this time. A rapid thaw along with persistent rain, had turned the land to mush. Gleichen does an excellent job of describing the situation:
O that mud! We have heard lots about Flanders mud, but the reality transcends imagination, especially in winter. Greasy, slippery, holding clay, over your toes in most places and over your ankles in all the rest—where it is not over your knees, —it is the most horrible “going” I know anywhere. Whether you are moving across plough or grass fields, or along lanes, you are perpetually skating about and slipping up on the firmer bits and held fast by the ankles in the softer ones. There is no stone in the district, nothing but rich loamy clay, alias mud. However much you dig, you never come across stone, nothing but sticky mud which clings to your shovel and refuses to be parted from it — mud that has to be scraped off at almost every stroke, mud that absorbs water like a sponge yet refuses to give it up again. Every little puddle and rut, every hoof-depression full of rain, remains like that for weeks; even when the weather is fine the water does not seem to evaporate, but remains on the surface.
And when it rains, as it did all that winter (except when it snowed), the state of the trenches is indescribable. Some were, frankly, so full of water that they had to be abandoned, and a breastwork erected behind. But a breastwork is slow work, especially if you are less than 100 yards from the enemy. For weeks, indeed, the garrison of one particular trench had to lie out on the mud, or on what waterproofs they could get, behind a shelter two to three feet high—always growing a little, yet never to be made to a real six feet height for reason of conspicuousness and consequent clusters of Black Marias.
Frank writes that he’d rather have underwear sent out to him than jumpers and socks. He explains that he is proper “hitchey coo”.
The phrase hitchey coo is a popular one from the time. It was used as a term for itchiness, perhaps coming from the name for the itchy fibre inside rose hips used by kids as itching powder. It’s also used to describe small insects and stinging nettles. It was the title of a popular ragtime song at the time and it’s the title of a song in “Oh what a lovely war“, a satirical musical based on the First World War, later turned into a film by another of my London heroes, Len Deighton. It’s also a song by the Small Faces, a very London band. It’s one of my favourite songs. I am sure Frank would have approved.
Field Service Post Card franked 2 De 14 to Miss Crawshaw, 29 Strathleven
“I am quite well. I have received your letter, parcel. Letter follows at first opportunity” signed Frank and dated 2-12-14
2nd December 1914
Another service postcard means only one thing: Another letter is winging its way to Brixton.
Dorsets trench map – just north of Wulverghem – 2nd December 1914
The Dorsets were now in trenches just north of Wulverghem. It’s only a little way south east from where the Dorsets were last week. I found a map drawn by E.Rogers 2nd Lieutenant on the 2nd December 1914 and have done my thing to it. He’s written A Section at the top. I wonder if this means he is an officer in Frank’s A Company? If Frank is still in A Company that is.
E. Rogers remains a mystery. I have found his medal roll on Ancestry but I cannot find anything else about him at this time. Not even his first name. It’s the same with Captain R.E. Partridge. It’s a shame because it’s not the last we’ll hear from either of them.
The Dorsets’ diary reports a quiet day except heavy shelling in front of C Company’s trenches.
The Dorsets didn’t enjoy a very long rest but, if the East Surrey’s war diary is anything to go by, they might have stocked up on winter clothing which had arrived at Dranouter the previous week. This included fabulously bushy fur jackets made from goatskins.
Not a yeti. Men of the 11th Hussars in the trenches at Zillebeke during the winter of 1914-1915. IWM Q 51176
In the afternoon they marched via Neuve Église and relieved their old friends, the East Surreys. The Dorsets were now in trenches, according to the diary, to “the north of Wulverghem-Messines Road”. I’ve indicated it on the map. Frank and the rest of A Company went into the reserve trenches alongside the Battalion HQ dugouts.
The 15th Brigade’s war diary documents that I’ve downloaded from the Public Records Office, although it’s meant to include August to December, only goes up to September. I wonder if the papers are lost or if they are just not digitised yet. Luckily some of the Dorsets’ trench maps for early December are tucked into the 14th Brigade’s records.
Captain R.E. Partridge’s Coy. Orderlies (D Company), in trenches opposite Wychaete in November, writing letters home.
This remarkable photograph, taken by Captain R.E. Partridge (our goose hunter from a month ago), shows two sergeants in D Company of the Dorsets. If the date on the photograph is right then it must have been taken between the 26th and the 30th November 1914. You can see from the clutter behind them how temporary the trenches were at this time, with tarpaulin slung over sandbags as breastworks.
It’s remarkable because personal photography was very much frowned upon by the BEF who banned cameras from Christmas 1914. Thankfully for us, this rule was flouted and there’s an interesting collection of personal photos available to look at on the Guardian website.
Conversely, the Germans encouraged photography. There was a great documentary on BBC4 a while back called Hidden Histories: WW1’s Forgotten Photographs which focussed on the photographs of Walter Kleinfeldt. They remind me of the incredible American Civil War photographs by Mathew Brady.
The Dorsets came to the conclusion that the German trenches were strongly held. Perhaps they had sent out a patrol in the night which would explain the outburst of rifle fire recorded yesterday. But no mention of this is made in the Dorsets’ dairy so perhaps they made simply an informed assumption about the enemy’s strength.
Rather abruptly, the Dorsets began to be relieved from 5.30pm by the Royal Scots Fusiliers and a Company of the Bedfords who took over part of the right hand of their line. The relief was finished by 11.30pm whereupon the battalion returned to billets in Dranoutre.
