It was another squally and rainy day. Conditions in the trenches had become fairly desperate. Trenches regularly collapsed and men stood up to their waists in liquid mud. Gleichen writes that it was from a trench like this that “a Dorset man was literally almost drowned and drawn forth with great difficulty”.
The Dorsets diary contains the first mention of a patrol by the Dorsets. German trenches are found to be strongly held. I’m not sure what they were expecting.
At 7pm Battalion headquarters moved quarter of a mile south of original HQ on the Wulverghem-Messines road.
The war diary and the CWGC report two Dorset men killed. 1 man was wounded. The dead men were Privates Joseph Hooper and James Purbrick.
The battalion took part in “demonstrations’ against the enemy throughout the day, which essentially meant every free man blasting away like guns at a pheasant shoot. Why did they do this? It seems to have been to create a diversionary effect on the enemy – presumably these were continuing orders from the attack on 15th December. A kind of brigade-wide “cover me!”.
The video clip above is trailer for the excellent 1983 film, “The Shooting Party“. It’s like Downton Abbey but with a decent script, plot and actors.
It was the early morning of another damp day as the Dorsets trudged over the frontier, back to France, and into Saint-Jans-Cappel. Here they went into billets at 2am, which Gleichen describes as “a nice little village”. It became a popular destination for troops getting some respite from the frontline.
### Dec 2nd 1914
‘Aunties’*. Had a generals’s inspection by General Count von Gleeson (sic) [this was Brigadier General Edward Gleichen, then OC 15 Brigade – ST Ed.] This made the boys moan a little, having to turn out for a German. Auntie went strong today. She put a chalk mark on her wood, & of course marks and all went. She got wound up & then the music started. She only stopped for breath. The only thing I can compare her voice with is a steam hooter.
* The Manchesters had named the local farmer’s wife “Auntie”. She tried to charge the troops a penny for a bucket of water and took away the pump handle when they told her where to get off.
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.
Let’s begin today’s post with a deceptively bucolic description of the local terrain by Count Gleichen:
Imagine a bit of rolling country—rather like parts of Leicestershire,—fair-sized fields, separated mostly by straggling fences interspersed with wire (largely barbed), and punctuated by tall trees. Patches of wood in places, spinney size for the most part. Low hills here and there—;Kemmel, Scherpenberg, Ploegsteert Wood,—but all outside our area. For villages, Dranoutre, Neuve Église, Wulverghem, and Lindenhoek, of which the two last were already more than half shot to pieces and almost deserted. Opposite our right was Messines—a mile and a half in front of our line,—its big, square, old church tower still standing; it may have had a spire on the top, but if so it had disappeared before we came. Nearly opposite our extreme left, but out of our jurisdiction and in the sphere of the Division on our left, was Wytschaete (pronounce Wich Khâte), one and a half miles off.
14th Brigade handed over control of the Dranoutre area to 15th Brigade in the morning. All the troops in trenches, including the Manchesters and the East Surreys, came under Gliechen’s command. The 14th Brigade moved with its ambulance and baggage train to Saint Jans-Cappel four miles to the west, just over the border in France. The 15th Brigade had just arrived from there after a short rest. Gleichen stayed with the local Curé…
who liked the good things of this world … and did not disdain to make the acquaintance of an occasional tot of British rum or whisky, except on Fridays.
The Dorsets received orders to gauge the Germans’ strength in front of them. Another quiet day is reported in the diary. The Germans kept them on their toes during the night with two outbursts of rifle fire.
The newspaper is still banging on about Christmas present ideas for the men. Peppermint lozenges and perfumed soap (bad breath and B.O. being a big no no when hunkered down in a stinking trench) should included be offered as small gifts for those family members who are “maintaining the honour of the Country”.
There are also recipes for feeding wounded soldiers. What they do to a fillet steak possibly breaks the Geneva Convention. After the steak has been hammered flat and fried for 10 to 15 minutes I am sure the men could have used it as a bullet proof vest. Thankfully, a letter from Ethel Jonson offers to set up a society to put recent Belgian refugees* to good use and teach the English to cook. She labels English cuisine as being “lamentably inferior to that of Continental cookery”. Plus ça change.
At 4pm the battalion marched via Lindenhoek to relieve the Easy Surreys in their trenches. The 14th Brigade diary records this taking place from 8pm. The going was very slow. It had started to rain during the day and thaw out the ice. This made the ground both slippery and muddy. The trenches were very close together at this point and rifle fire kept heads down.
Some of the Dorsets were assigned to a fatigue party to collect brushwood with which to line the trenches (with boards placed on top) and prevent men’s feet from becoming wet and frozen. Thus it reached midnight and still the Dorsets hadn’t relieved the East Surreys.
Their destination was Point 75, 1 mile south west of Wytschaete. This village became anglicised by British troops as Whitesheet. It’s also the first village I read about when I started researching Frank ages ago. I still can’t pronounce it.
The Telegraph today has an interesting report about the Gurkhas which regurgitates a similar story to the one Frank wrote in his letter home on the 16th November. This runs contrary to Gleichen’s story from the 30th October.
The first story about the Gurkhas was that they had come to an end of their ammunition and were fighting with the bayonet, but were driven back by superior numbers. But it turned out later that they lost very heavily from shell fire, and, the trenches being too deep for the little men, they could produce no effect with their rifles, and could see nothing.
In other news my incredibly talented Brother-in-Law and brand new daddy, Aled Lewis, has released this brilliant limited edition poster for his upcoming art show based around British comedy. He’s thrown the Kitchener’s sink at it.
It’s so good it’s worth selling your Speckled Jim for.