After having relatively little time to write during the course of his four day march back towards Ypres, Sheriff now found himself with enough time to write two letters home.

Writing first to his mother he repeated what he had written to Pips the day before – that he was now back at the place where he had been before he left on leave, and that he was expecting to go into the front line the next day. He was clearly girding himself for the thought of the trials to come:

‘It is some time now since I was last in the line and there is no doubt, of course, as to it being my turn, and I sincerely hope I shall be lucky enough to come through safely as well as through all future periods in the line… We are bound to have a fairly rough time at some period during our next spell in the line – but some have got to come through safely and the most I can do is hope and trust that i shall be one of those. There is a chance of being wounded which – providing it was slight – would in any case mean a certain rest. Even should the worst happen, as I have said before dear, it would only be others who would know or care, I would know nothing of it. Whenever you are miserable read your little Marcus Aurelius for you will know that whenever I am miserable I will be doing the same…’

He quickly closed his letter to his mother, warning her that she might not hear from him for several days at a time, but that she was not to worry – he would write whenever he was able. He then turned his attention to Pips, and it is clear that, by the time he wrote that letter, his orders had firmed up a little. His Company was moving into the trenches that night, but he was staying an extra night at the transport lines.

He noted that the nights were becoming longer again, and the mornings darker, and ‘by September we shall have an equality of night and day again.’ Whether it was due to the encroaching nights, or the anxiety about what he feared was to come in the line, his mind was turning to thoughts of home:

‘There is one thing that I long for more than I can tell and that is the joy of those long winter evenings with a big fire in the dining room and the billiards and stamps and reading and after-supper walks – they are joys that this life makes me appreciate more than ever. We get good walks in some parts of the country here – but nothing like one gets in some parts of England – you rarely see the wild meadow land, the heaths and avenues of trees that you see in England.’

Thinking of the English countryside made him contrast it with the scenes which he was shortly to encounter:

‘Now tomorrow up we go into the line again and incidentally away from everything natural and beautiful – for some days it will be simply wallowing in mud or perhaps dust with evil smelling holes to live in which one clings to like a godsend and all the time there is the incessant crash of shells – you can imagine how many men like it – but everyone – that is every one in the Infantry – has to take his turn and our turn has arrived’.

And with that he closed his letter, since he had to complete his packing. But he hoped that he would soon be back out of the line again, and able to write some more and longer letters home.

[Next letters: 23 July]