21 November, 1917.
Dear Father,
I am writing this at the Officer’s Club at a town called Baileuil in Northern France, which you will be able to find if you look at that map I sent you. The town itself is within range of the German long range Naval guns and comes in for its share of shells at the rate of about seven a day. This however does not seem to have any effect on the inhabitants who just shrug their shoulders and remark “C’est la guerre” in their stoical way. They who are left in the town really cannot afford to leave it and by remaining they make good money out of the troops.
Lately I’ve had a good deal of touring around and have been down to that school at Aveling, near Albert on the Somme for five weeks which was a result of my getting my commission. The work I did there was of a more advanced kind and I think I benefited thereby. When I was there about 3 weeks ago I had a further look at Pozieres including Bert Allen’s grave which had been tabulated in the Army list so that it would be possible for any one in the future to find it. Amiens is still the same old place, full of officers and other ranks. The people there think a great deal of Australians (or their money) and seem to wish they were back again and the Australians certainly did make things busy looking. The Americans have taken charge since we have left and it gives one the pip to hear the constant nosey twang and skite. The Yanks really do skite, I would not believe it for a while, until I actually experienced it. However the American troops or what I have seen of them are a very fine upstanding lot but do not appear to bother much about discipline and for that reason are similar to Australian and differ from the British who stand out on their own in that respect. When they arrive in large numbers they ought to be a very big factor.
Well, when I left Amiens Albert district I entrained and did the usual round the coast trip via Alibenville, Etaples, Boulogne, Calais, St. Orner and Hazebrook to the neighbourhood of Ypres where all the stouch is going on. I do not propose to say much about our doings in the line as it is too early yet and consequently would be valuable military information should this letter go astray. The shelling however is tremendous and the rumble and roar of the drum fire makes the windows rattle thirty miles away, and has been for three months. The people of this part of France are quite distinct from the people down about Amiens. Up here they are for the most part fair haired and angular featured and talk a mixture of Flemish and French. In fact it is not strange to meet two people living in the one house who cannot understand each other very well, one person talking French and the other Flemish. I like them much better though and they are much more reasonable in their prices for things. Just now the farmers have stacked their turnips (or Mangel-wurzels) which they use for winter cow feed. They build a stack with them about 8 ft. high and say 20 yards long, which they cover with straw and earth and use them as they require them. I am beginning to speak fair French now and often talk to Madame Moselles in the farm where I am billeted and consequently am finding out some very good first hand information about the sufferings of these people. For instance one girl had her father sniped by a German bullet and her father was the manager of a linen factory at Houplines [?] near Armatieres. They owned property worth 30,000 francs them but now are the proud possessors of 2 horses and an existence by working for a few francs a day on a farm churning butter etc. Another girl’s father owned property at Neuve Eglise to the value of 300,000 francs, and of course it all got shelled down to bricks and dust and now they have nothing and so on. One meets old men every day who have had 2 or 3 sons killed in the war, others have their sons as prisoners of war. We frequently meet girls from Lille and the less said about them the better – they are not nice to know.
The Belgians are great ones to make use of dogs to draw light cards laden with the village supply of milk and bread etc. and the poor brutes work very hard too and tug at their harness for all they are worth. Every farm house has a water wheel attached to the side of the house arrangements attached. Inside this wheel they shut a poor old dog and it has to keep on walking until their daily supply of water is drawn. They also have an arrangement by which they work their threshing machines with horses. They put the poor old blighter on an inclined platform on wheels or rollers so that the action of the poor devil, trying to keep himself from falling off, turns the machines. The farmers all seem to have quite respectable churns and separators and are very clean in their use of them.
The washing of clothes seems to be saved up for about a month, and then there is a devil of a fuss and every one bucks in, from grandpa to little Evonne or Suzanne. The clothes are washed sometimes in a running stream and sometimes in great big wash tubs made of half a hogs head. The clothes are dried by degrees, by hanging them on wires from the ceiling of the kitchen and the warmth of the stove drying them.
At night everyone assembles in the kitchen and some play cards (similar to Euchre) and old Maid, some smoke our cigarettes, Madame darns clothes, mends corsets and Suzannes pantaloons, etc. and Papa runs the show from his great chair in a corner. At 9 pip emma coffee, made of pure ground-for-the-occasion coffee beans and well diluted with milk and sweetened with loaf sugar is brought in. This is the signal that the fun is finished and we heathen get out of the road whilst they all go down on their marrow bones and have prayers. This used to sound like an approaching thunderstorm to me when I was in the next room.
All French farms are practically the same and they all have a great cesspit outside of their back door which smells not like a garden of roses. It acts as a pitfall for our drunks when they come home after tattoo at night and are not responsible for their actions. A great white sow generally regards this cesspool as its own particular domain and wallows in the muck all day. I have wandered all over this district lately through most of the villages and towns for one reason or another, travelling mostly per motor lorry or Flying Corps car etc until I know the country very well. My latest stunt was in the town of Armentieres. This town is within sight of the front line where things are very quiet, in fact it is so quiet on this part of the front that until 3 months ago most of the civilians lived and carried on business in the town. Then the Germans got nasty and showered a few hundred gas shells into the town and gassed a hell of a lot of Frenchies who bolted in a deuce of a hurry. The place now reminds me of the ruins of Pompeii – in that book where it describes bread as being left untouched etc. In Armentieres we noticed glasses half full of beer on the estaminet tables, shops with the goods on the shelves etc. denoting that the people wasted no time in evacuating. On the outskirts of the town is another called Erquingheim [?] where the civilians carry on as usual, though within sight, shells can be seen bursting on the front line. After seeing other parts of the front it seems strange to me. People much further back are very frightened but the people at Erquingheim take things very coolly.
Well I think I have cackled enough about these things for the present and now I will cackle about myself. I am at Baileui now en route for Blighty where I hope to arrive in 2 days via Calais. At present I do not intend to visit any of the relations bar the 2 Aunts of whom you have exactly the same ideas and opinions as myself. They are “dinkums” I think and quite motherly and looked after me very well as a private. Of course I stopped all parcel sending when I got my commission as it did not seem as if I would want them then. I am getting 15/- a day as an allowance to spend and have a good time with, not including my deferred allotted pay, so that I am in a position to purchase all I require. In addition I have the extra privileges of an Officer in the use of Officers Clubs, first class accommodation etc. I intend to visit Edinburgh and Glasgow this trip after paying a visit to the London folk. This leave we are getting 14 days instead of 10 so that I will have more time. I am not really due for leave as a matter of fact, but the records of our Battalion got blown up recently and of course I did not tell them that I was not due for leave so there you have it in a nutshell. I was offered it and I took the opportunity. I will write another short essay like this when I have had my leave and tell you all about it. Do not be surprised at some of the addresses you get. They are sometimes addressed somewhat strangely for a purpose.
Well good night, thanks for your last two grand big newsy letters. Hoping you are well and that things are going all right. I remain, yours affectionately Walter. Do just what you think fit with my money, but personally I don’t go much on investments..
Your affectionate son, Walter.
Page 1 of 3