19 August 1915
Private G. Danzig 11599
2nd Batt, B Coy
Indian Expeditionary Force
France
Dear Mum,
Just a few lines in answer to your two welcome letters which I received alright. I am pleased to hear that you and Dad and Auntie and Kit and Em and Jim are alright. I hope this will find you in the same health as it leaves me at present. You know in the last letter I wrote we had just come out of the trenches and we were expecting to come right back for a well earned rest, well we have got it (in the trenches for another 14 days or more) – the bloke who says a soldier don’t earn his bob a day should come where I am writing this letter and then give his opinion. Well Mum I suppose we mustn’t grumble, but a good grumble eases our mind. It is about 11 o’clock now and the skies look about black enough to give us enough rain to last us the whole time we are in. So I expect we shall soon be up to our necks in mud.
It is August now but it’s blooming cold of a night time so goodness knows how it will be round Christmas time. Well Mum I wouldn’t give a tuppence for sunny France as some people call it.
… I must close now as the fleas are irritating me so I must look at my shirt, I find millions of them every day, goodness knows where they all come from.
With love to you from your lousy,
George
PS. This is the only green envelope I have got so I might not be able to write you another letter till we come out.* I hope Dad has plenty of work still.
Am killing millions (fleas)
Danzig lost his battle against both the fleas and the Germans. Wounded firstly in May 1915 he recovered but was subsequently reported missing in action presumed killed just a month after this letter was sent.
Born 1890, Alfred Dougan Chater volunteered for service in the Artists Rifles, 28th Battalion, London Regiment, Territorial Army (TA) force, in 1909 and was soon promoted to corporal. With the outbreak of war he was called up for active service and sent the following letter on the eve of his departure.
Oct 25th 1914
Knowley House
Abbot Langley
I must write you one more line dearest to say goodbye before we go, as God knows when I shall see you again. I am so awfully glad we are going – it is what we have been waiting for [for] so long and it has come so much sooner than we expected or hoped. I heard about it yesterday afternoon when I was going home; I called at our headquarters at Euston where I found the 2nd Battalion being got together and was told that the 1st Btn [Battalion] were to leave for France on Monday.
Although there is not much doubt that we are really going: we were served with our new rifles this afternoon and we believe that we shall be at Southampton tomorrow night.
As to where we shall exactly sail we don’t know but I daresay we may be at Southampton for 2 or 3 days and when we get over we may be at [Le] Havre for some time.
I wish I could have seen you today and I can’t bear the thought of going without saying goodbye to you but feel also it is better as it is…
So now dear it is goodbye and may we meet again if God wills. You know that if I am allowed to come back I shall feel exactly the same to you as I do now and shall be ready for you…
It is a funny game this war! We are all fairly shouting with joy at going and I daresay we shall soon be cursing the day and then when we get back we shall say we have had the time of our lives.
Goodbye darling may God bless and keep you.
One of the legendary events in the first year of the war was the Christmas truce in 1914 when British and German servicemen brokered unofficial ceasefires. Chater recalled his reaction to the truce on his part of the front line in a letter to his mother back home in Britain.
Christmas Day
Dear Mother,
I am writing this in the trenches in my ‘dug out’ – with a wood fire going and plenty of straw it is rather cosy although it is freezing hard and real Christmas weather.
I think I have seen one of the most extraordinary sights today that anyone has ever seen. About 10 o’clock this morning I was peeping over the parapet when I saw a German waving his arms and presently two of them got out of their trenches and come towards ours – we were just going to fire on them when we saw they had no rifles so one of our men went out to meet them and in about two minutes the ground between the two lines of trenches was swarming with men and officers of both sides shaking hands and wishing each other a happy Christmas. This continued for about half an hour when most of the men were ordered back to the trenches.
For the rest of the day nobody has fired a shot and the men have been wandering about at will on the top of the parapet and carrying straw and fire wood about in the open. We have also had joint burial parties with a service for some dead – some German and some ours – who were lying out between the lines. Some of our officers were talking to groups of English and German soldiers.
This extraordinary truce has been quite important – there was no previous arrangement and of course it had been decided that there was not to [be] any cessation of hostilities. I went out myself and shook hands with several of their officers and men. From what I could gather most of them would be as glad to get home again as we should. We have had our pipes playing all day and everyone has been wandering about in the open unmolested but not of course as far as the enemy’s lines. The truce will probably go on until someone is foolish enough to let off his rifle – we nearly messed it up this afternoon by one of our fellows letting off his rifle skywards by mistake, but they did not seem to notice it so it did not matter.
I have been taking advantage of the truce to improve my ‘dug-out’ which I share with D.M. Bain, the Scotch rugger international, an excellent fellow… We leave the trenches tomorrow and I shall [not] be sorry as it is much too cold to be pleasant at night.
27th
I am writing this back in billets – the same business continued yesterday and we had another parley with the Germans in the middle. We exchanged cigarettes and autographs and some people took photos. I don’t know how long it will go on for – I believe it was supposed to stop yesterday but we can hear no firing going on along the front today except a little distant shelling. We are, at any rate, having another truce on New Year’s Day as the Germans want to see how the photos came out! Yesterday was lovely in the morning and I went for several quite long walks about the lines. It is difficult to realise what that means but of course in the ordinary way there is not a sign of life above ground and everyone who puts his head up gets shot at.
It is really very extraordinary that this sort of thing should happen in a war in which there is so much bitterness and ill feeling. The Germans in this part of the line are certainly sportsmen if they are nothing else. Of course I don’t suppose it has happened everywhere along the line although I think that indiscriminate firing was more or less stopped in most places on Christmas Day…
I must stop now – I was up all last night on a false alarm. I suppose they thought we had had too slack a time of it the last 2 days.
With heaps of love and wishes to you and everyone for a happy new year.
Your loving son,
ADC
Hedley S. Payne originally enlisted as a private on 6 November 1914 and was attached to the 4th Battalion, Royal Fusiliers, and was subsequently posted to 2/4th Battalion, Royal Fusiliers. He had a busy war serving in both the Mediterranean and European theatres. Between 23 December 1914 and 19 August 1915 he was on active service in Malta. He served as part of the Mediterranean Force (Gallipoli) between 20 August 1915 and 16 April 1916 and was subsequently attached to the London Regiment in May 1916. From 17 April 1916 until 12 January 1917 he served in France.
29 August 1916, France
My dear Mother,
I received your letter of the 17th several days ago but ‘tempus fugit’ even in the Army and so we have only had time to sleep and eat for the last week. I have not written any letters. I find myself now with half a dozen
letters to answer in about five minutes, seated on the straw with twenty people shouting and jumping all over me and my only light a candle – a candle at sufficient distance away to be well nigh useless.
At the same time someone is offering one salmon and fruit for supper and on the other side being told to get up and make my bed…
Try to picture the above scene (and the way I had to stop and have supper) and you will begin to realise the feelings of poor Tommy on entering the correspondence department.
I suppose I am allowed to tell you that the battalion is out of the trenches for a short time for a rest… I heard the astounding news today that I had been made a battalion scout – fancy me hiding behind a blade of grass and sniping a Hun that isn’t there – what hopes.
Still, joking apart I quite like the idea.
Now I think I had better start answering your letter written amid the joys of summer by the sea. I am so glad to hear that you have been having a good time at Ryde with them all. I have just received your letter of the 25th as well and apparently the weather was fine too. It has been pouring with rain the last few days here so I am glad to be out of the trenches.
The village is very pretty and peaceful after those to which we had been used to and the scenery around reminds me very much of Devon. A stream like the Sid runs below our billet where we wash and swim.
I must close now and write later. Please give my love to all.
From your loving son,
Hedley
Payne was awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) following courageous actions in France as a scout and his official citation stated:
For conspicuous gallantry on several occasions when carrying messages under heavy machine gun and sniping fire. Twice on his own initiative he made dangerous reconnaissances, returning each time with valuable information and sketches.
(London Gazette No. 29824, 14 November 1916)
However, he was injured and was forced to spend a short time in hospital, sending the following letter to his mother after his release and return to the front line.
23 October 1916
Back with the Boys
France
My dear Mother,
I fear that I have been keeping you a long time for this letter but is has not been my fault entirely. After a few days down at the Base where there was always something to do I was sent along with a few others back to the battalion. As we were called out in the middle of the night I could not let you know very well.
Then the train journey took us two days. I found the battalion out on their well-earned rest but there are very few of the old boys left. The next day we had a nice little march of about twenty miles to the village where we are at present.
We are standing by to move again so no letters are being taken but as I received your letters and handkerchiefs last night I must write and send the letter off as soon as possible.
Thanks so much for the hankies. They arrived just in time as I have caught rather a nasty cold. I am so sorry to hear that Majorie is ill.* When will she be well enough to come home again? You must let me know because I might be getting [leave] soon and home would not be the same without Majorie to feed [and] greet me. I do also hope she will be better soon, is there anything that you can take her from me – fruit, flowers etc? I suppose Norman and Howard have returned to school by this time. They will have to plug away to make up for lost time.
Thank you so much for the messages. I thought they must have been stopped as I had not received any for so long.
It was like hearing Dad’s voice again to read it. He is getting more of a poet than ever. By the way when you address my letters now you will have to put KCo. [K Company] instead of ACo. [A Company].
I must close now but before I do so you will all be glad to hear that I have been awarded the DCM [Distinguished Conduct Medal].
With the best of love to all.
From your loving son,
Hedley
British servicemen were joined by their Commonwealth compatriots in the army as well as the fledging Royal Flying Corps (later designated the Royal Air Force – RAF). To those on the home front, the pilots exuded a sense of glamour, unlike the troops bogged down in the mud of the trenches, despite the obvious dangers they too faced. The pilots’ exploits frequently attracted both the attention of the media and the medal committees. Lieutenant William Leefe Robinson was flying with No. 39 Squadron of the Royal Flying Corps when he shot down a Zeppelin on 3 September 1916. His success against this new enemy earned him the Victoria Cross (VC), the British Empire’s highest award for gallantry. He sent the following account to his parents, describing the momentous event.
October 22nd, 1916
My darling Mother and Father,
I do really feel ashamed for not writing to you darling old people before, but still, there it is – you know what I am.
Busy – !! Heavens, for the last 7 weeks I have done enough to last anyone a life time. It has been a wonderful time for me!
I won’t say much about ‘strafing’ the zepp L21 for two reasons; to begin with most of it is strictly secret and secondly I’m really so tired of the subject and telling people about it, that I feel as if I never want to mention it again – so I will only say a very few words about it.
When the colossal thing actually burst into flames of course it was a glorious sight – wonderful! It literally lit up as in the fire light – and [I] sat still half dazed staring at the wonderful sight before me, not realizing to the least degree the wonderful thing that had happened!
My feelings? Can I describe my feelings. I hardly know how I felt. As I watched the huge mass gradually turn on end, and – as it seemed to me – slowly sink, one glowing, blazing mass – I gradually realized what I had done and grew wild with excitement. When I had cooled down a bit, I did what I don’t think many people would think I would do, and that was I thanked God with all my heart. You know darling old mother and father I’m not what is popularly known as a religious person, but on an occasion such as that one must realize a little how one does trust in providence. I felt an overpowering feeling of thankfulness, so was it strange that I should pause and think for a moment after the first ‘blast’ of excitement, as it were, was over and thank from the bottom of my heart, that supreme power that rules and guides our destinies?
When I reached the ground once more, I was greeted with ‘was it you Robin’ etc. etc.: ‘yes, I’ve strafed the beggar’ this time I said, where upon the whole flight set up a yell and carried me out of my machine to the office – cheering like mad.
Talking of cheering, they say it was wonderful to hear all London cheering – people who have heard thousands of huge crowds cheering before say they have heard nothing like it. When Sowrey and Tempest brought down their zepps I had an opportunity of hearing something like it, although they say it wasn’t so grand as mine, which could be heard twenty and even thirty miles outside London.
It swelled and sank, first one quarter of London, then another. Thousands, one might say millions, of throats giving vent to thousands of feelings. I would give anything for you dear people to have heard it. A moment before dead silence (for the guns had ceased to fire at it) then this outburst – the relief, the thanks, the gratitude of millions of people. All the sirens, hooters and whistles of all joined in and literally filled the air – and the cause of it all – little me sitting in my little aeroplane above 13,000 feet of darkness!! – It’s wonderful!
… But the most glorious thing is that Sowrey, dear old boy, and Tempest, sweet soul, the two zepp strafers who have been awarded DSOs are both in my flight!! Some flight – five officers, of which there are two DSOs and a VC and three zepps to our credit – some record!!!
Well you darlings I’ll close now or else I’ll go on babbling on all night and I’m really tired. I’ll just tell you I’m not at present in Hornchurch, I’m somewhere in England on a secret mission but I’m going back to dear old Sutton’s farm again.
Well, do forgi
ve me for not writing before.
Ever your loving son,
Billy
Many soldiers relied on both a strong sense of patriotism and their faith to see them through the darkest days of the war. One such was William John Lynas who enlisted on 5 September 1914 and served with the Royal Irish Rifles (North Belfast Volunteers). Lynas participated in the battle of the Somme in 1916 which he survived, but his involvement was not without its dangers as this letter describes.
15 July 1916
Dear Wife,
I received your very kind and welcome letters alright. I think altogether I am glad to know that you and all at home are well and in the best of health. I am pleased to say that I am in the pink and getting along first class.
Well Mina words cannot express how thankful I am to God for his guidance and goodness to me during the past nine months that I have been in France, especially Mina during our advance. Your prayers have been answered. I am sure you are wondering why I have not written [to] you before this. Well Mina we have been on the move most of the time since we came out of the trenches, we are away down country now to get made up to strength, it may be three or four weeks before we are back to the firing line.
I need hardly begin to tell you about the gallantry of our boys for I am sure you have read more in the papers than I am fit to tell you, there is one thing, Mina, they did not disgrace the name of Ulster or their Force – little did you think as you sat writing that letter on the first day of July that our boys had mounted the top and made a name for Ulster that will never die in the annals of history. No doubt Belfast today and the rest of Ulster are in mourning for the dear ones that gave their life. May the Lord comfort all of those who have lost a beloved husband or brother or son and lastly may the Lord watch over those dear orphans…
We had a miraculous escape, it was on the night of a big bombardment and a shell paid us a visit and buried us in our dug-out. As soon as I realised what had happened I dug out of the debris as best as I could and made for the door to feel if it was blocked as we were choking on the gas from the shell and suffocating us there after a few minutes.
Letters from the Front: From the First World War to the Present Day Page 3
