‘Here I am in the line again, and I hope if all goes well that we will soon go out for a few weeks – yes, as you say, well over 100 days I have spent out here and I hope over half the time before my leave comes…’

The remainder of Sherriff’s letter to Pips was brief. He told him that the weather had remained hard and frosty – a ‘very healthy sort of weather’ which at least kept the mud away. And he promised a series of longer letters in the future, lamenting the fact that there was so little to write about: ‘You know we are strictly forbidden to deal with military matters in any way, and the only subjects left are those about the French people and country, and when we get out I will try and give you sketches of this. In the meantime’, he wrote, ‘you will be content, I know, with short letters like this.’

[Next letters: 25 January]

‘The longer one has of the line, the nervier one gets,’ wrote Sherriff to his mother. ‘There is no “getting used to it”, I am afraid, it is simply “bearing” it’. His remarks were prompted by the awareness that he would shortly going back into the line, which, by now, he was ‘very sick of’. But he recognised that he had to go through it, and there was nothing to do but ‘hope and pray that all will go well.’

While in reserve he had been training batches of men in some engineering work, and the weather had been good – a ‘hard, crisp frost’, with snow lying on the ground, and, as yet, no signs of a thaw (of which he was glad, since it made things ‘sloppy’). He was keeping well, and noted that, while in reserve, he was having a ‘very happy time’, with ‘very nice men’, although unfortunately he didn’t have as much time to spare as when he was with the RE: ‘I always have certain duties to do which have got to be done- which, I suppose, is really much more good for you as it teaches regular habits.’

R C Sherriff  (2nd left) taking part in the Artists Rifles sports, 1916. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/6/4/1/9)

While in reserve they were doing much the same thing as they had while in their barracks in Dover – ‘in the morning the usual drill, etc – the band has just played “retreat” which reminds me of the old days in the Artists Rifles, where I should not mind being now’. He seemed to meet a lot of men he had known while the Artists – indeed, the day before he had met someone against whom he had jumped in the Regimental sports.

He hoped that everyone at home was well, and that his mother was adjusting to her night work at the hospital. He knew it could be trying at first, and that it was easy to get sleepy, but for his part he had become used to it ‘as almost all [our work] is night work’. Before closing his letter he reminded her that when he was back in the line, his letters to her were likely to be rather short until they came back out again – but he still hoped that ‘my leave will not be very long in coming’.

[Next letter: 23 January]

Having come out of the front line on 17 January, Sherriff finally had time to write some letters home.

Letter to Mother

‘I am now sitting in quite a civilised room,’ he told his mother, ‘where we will be for six days, which fly by only too quickly, two having almost gone.’ On the bright side, there were ‘plenty of amusements’ (such as ‘concerts, cinema shows, and people coming into dinner’), and the weather was staying ‘fine and frosty’. He thanked her for another parcel he had just received (‘done up in the same dear old homely way’) and he noted that they were ‘becoming famous in the Mess, they always contain such nice, homey things, and sensible things, too, which you cannot get out here.’ While he enjoyed the various activities laid on behind the lines, he felt he would ‘prefer to have a quiet time reading and writing’, as it was more restful. As it was, he had struggled even to find the time to write this letter to his mother, as he had been continually interrupted by other things. And now that it was almost time to go to the concert (which he was ‘not very keen’ on), he apologised that the letter would have to be briefer than he would have liked – but he promised another the next day.

Letters to Pips

In contrast to the three pages he sent to his mother he sent two much longer letters home to Pips (his father).

First letter

In the first of his two letters he began by noting that he was ‘sitting with polished boots and buttons…in a civilised room with a fireplace, but at present no fire, for we are out for our week’s rest.’ [actually they were in Brigade reserve in Le Philosophe, which was just a few miles back from their trench positions in Hulluch.] He was looking forward to a full week out of the line, and was very much enjoying being able to put on clean underclothes, and sleep in pyjamas again. He was also looking forward to having more time at his disposal than in the line, although ‘you can never tell when you have to go off on some working party or other.’

A Working Party packing up their shovels. From Memories of Active Service, facing page 275. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/3/9/3/4)

Replying to his father’s request for a description of his Xmas dinner with the RE officers, he commented on how many of them were ‘Colonials’: ‘2 from Rhodesia, one from California, one from Alaska (what he was doing there I don’t know) and the last from East Africa – mostly mining engineers.’ He continued:

‘You certainly meet a variety of people when soldiering and I think I have been acquainted with Englishmen from all parts – North Countrymen, Devonshire men, Welshmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen etc etc, and it certainly is good for you to become acquainted with them as you learn a great deal, especially as they are all educated men.’

He hoped that when they eventually went out to rest he would become a ‘kind of Engineer officer to the Battalion’, something which he would be interested to do. He was already fulfilling that duty to some extent, although his time in the role was limited by the need to fill in for the many officers who seemed to be away sick or for other reasons.  But, he cautioned, he must be careful not to say any more, for fear of running foul of the military censors.

Second Letter

Despite his concerns about military censorship, he endeavoured, in his second letter to his father, to ‘give an account of trench warfare in the winter’:

‘The day you start for the line is all bustle – the men get all their kit packed up  – they oil their feet (one of the most important points in winter) and the officers are busy getting their belongings packed and seeing their men are all properly equipped. You start off for the trenches…miles of road are covered and then you say goodbye to the last house – the last vestige of pre-war civilisation – you say goodbye to the last little french shop proudly displaying the inevitable tinned fruit and chocolate – and down you go into the trenches. It is impossible to describe what you see – after the war if possible I will show you all this in a tour of France which I hope you and I will be able to do. [in fact they did go on a 10-day tour together in 1921, which Sherriff wrote about in an article, in his old school magazine, entitled The Battlefield Today]

A ruined French village. From Memories of Active Service, Vol 2, facing p304 (By permission of the Surrey History Centre, Ref: 2332/3/9/3/4)

There are endless turns and twists – old gaunt dead trees, miserable remains of cottages, roads, hayricks – all with the appearance that a huge tidal wave has swept over everything, smashing houses and trees, killing the grass and destroying all living things. And then you come to kind of little trench villages – and by peeping in you see men squatting round their fires, eating their stew (usually excellent), or talking or singing, and the better class dugouts, which may be some Headquarters, or Officers’ quarters, and canteens with the usual cigarettes and tinned fruit (what would the British army have done without the invention of tinned foods?)

Suffice to say – you reach the line and all is sorted out – your servant turns up with your bundle of necessary belongings and comes puffing and blowing down the dugout steps and proceeds to make your bed…’

After observing that no skilled writer could give an adequate description of the trenches [rather ironically, given that he did just that in Journey’s End] he proceeded to give an account of his feelings while on duty:

‘Your tour may be, say, 3am to 6am…you may be lying warm and snug in your blanket and someone wakes you – it is the servant on duty – “time to go on, sir,” he says, “a quarter to 3, sir.” You sigh with relief – another 5 minutes before you need to get up – and you snuggle in again as though you had another 6 hours. Someone shakes you and you are told it is 5 minutes to 3 – you must get up, and you proceed to wrap up with a muffler and mackintosh, put on your steel hat and off you go. You crawl up the dugout steps and shiver when you get to the top – it may be snowing – and you button up your coat and tramp off. At a given place you meet the officer you are to relieve, itching with impatience to get away. He hands over any information and you say alright and off he goes, and you start your rounds. You come to snow-covered huddled figures sitting asleep in the open – their heads covered up with mackintosh sheets – and then you come to sentries, huddled figures gazing into the dark – into the churned-up country that they have come to get back – and I often wonder what they are thinking about: poor, old men who have left their little tobacco shops in the East End – or their cottages in the country or their rows of symmetrical smoky cottages from some great industrial town – all come out for the same reason. It is really a wonderful thing that has collected these men together and put them  in their uniform and taught them to drill and shoot.

Awful as the whole thing undoubtedly is, it is, and will be, an everlasting monument of wonderful organisation. You come upon a man sitting in the snow contentedly eating bread and jam: where did the food come from and how did it arrive? It is marvellous how every man is fed and fed well. All these millions who in ordinary circumstances would be elsewhere, and the majority get food far superior to that which they are used too – it is the greatest triumph of organisation ever performed.’

Sherriff rounded off his letter by expressing his plans for the future: ‘I would like to become a historian and travel over England seeing all the wonderful things in it – then to collect coins and stamps – to complete a fine library…’. But ‘all these things seem so far off that you wonder what is the use of thinking of them’

[Next letter: 21 January]

Sherriff, still in the line, wrote a quick note to his mother: ‘I have had a pretty busy day wandering round the trenches on various jobs and I have just snatched a moment or two to write your usual letter.’

As he had the day before, he promised her a longer letter when they were finally relieved: ‘If all goes well we shall soon be out having a rest and then I will write you a longer letter – but I expect you think I am always promising a long letter which never comes.’

Before finishing he thought to ask her how things were at home, and at the hospital: ‘I expect things are fairly monotonous – and you have that same longing for the end of the war as everyone else has out here and probably everyone in the world except those who are making something out of it or those who don’t know that it’s on.’

[Next letters: 19 January]

Another short letter home from the front line, this time to his mother. He told her that he was quite well, and ‘the time still goes on bringing me nearer that great day when leave becomes due.’

He let her know, as he had Pips the previous day, that he was working on an Engineering job which suited him:

‘I get far more freedom to carry out various work and I believe when we have a rest I shall have a freer hand in doing [the] sort of jobs that interest me – I hope so at any rate, for if you can have work that really interests you the time goes by in a far pleasanter manner.’

He hoped that her own work was not becoming monotonous, although he doubted that it would: ‘I should delight in your work – it is so interesting and useful – far more useful than my work, which is sometimes so sickening and weary.’ But he was hoping that they would not be much longer in the line, and when they went out for a rest ‘I may have the opportunity of training a party of men specially on Engineering work.’

Apologising for the brevity of the letter he explained it was due to pressure of work. And although, ‘when you have a special job you can have an easy time if you like, I always feel that you should work hard to make it a success.’ He often wondered how home now looked, with the new furniture that had been bought, and he felt that, once he got home, ‘I shall never want to leave it again, despite old Harman’s shop and the trains etc.’ [The local trains rattled past the end of their garden at home.]

[Next letter: 16 January]

Sherriff wrote home to his mother:

‘Just a line to tell you I am quite well at present, but have got very little time to spare as we are in the line and we have pretty long hours of duty, so you will excuse this scrappy line, dear, until I have the opportunity of writing something longer.’

He went on to thank her for the latest parcel he had received, ‘full of delicious mince pies, chocolate biscuits etc – including the very acceptable bundle of toothpicks and surveying book – it is so nice to know that I get everything I ask for…’

And with that, he was off, for he was due on duty once more…

[Next letter: 14 January]

Sherriff was writing to Pips about the time left until he might get leave:

’90 -14=76 – quite a bite into the next 3 months which I am afraid must pass before leave comes round. Still, time never stands still and every minute past brings us nearer to it – and after waiting double the time leave will come double the sweeter’.

He told his father that he had not yet received the book which his Auntie Ede [Edith, his father’s sister] had sent, but was looking forward to it: ‘I am very fond of philosophy – my only regret is that I cannot apply it as well as I wish’. He was struggling with another book which he’d been sent (at his own request, when he was hoping to be transferred to the RE) –  ‘a huge book on surveying about the size of the London News volumes’ – and  he was unsure whether to keep it in his valise (he liked the engravings), or send it back home.

On the whole he had found himself with relatively little time for reading  – or even writing – since arriving back with the battalion, which he had mixed feelings about: on the one hand it was good to be kept busy, but on the other, ‘I rather yearn for the days with the RE, when all your time was your own.’

Apologising for the ‘little scrappy’ letter he was sending, he promised Pips more, and longer, letters if they managed to go out to rest for a while. [In the meantime, however, starting later that evening, the battalion was heading back into the line].

[Next letter: 12 January]

Sherriff told his mother that today would be their last day before moving up into the line again, but he was still hopeful that ‘it will not be long now before we go into rest for a month or so, which will be a great rest after so long in and near the front line.’

He believed he might be given a special job of training men to build dugouts:

‘I was asked by the Colonel to design a shelter as he thought my knowledge of Tunnelling would come in useful and I have sent in my design which he seems quite pleased with (or perhaps I should not be so sure about it yet, as all he has seen is the drawing, whilst the chief business is in the constructing), but still it would be very nice if I could have a free hand in making one or two of these things as it was what I should have done if my transfer to the RE had come through alright.’

James Whale’s Design for the Dugout in Journey’s End. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/6/13/4) and the David Lewis Estate.

He told her that he was finding the fine, cold weather very healthy, and that he was quite well, and hoped to remain so all the way through to his leave. On that score, however, he was rather disappointed that leave would not now be possible until he had served at least six months. ‘The reason officers have got to wait,’ he told her, ‘is because there are so many men in the Regiment who have not had leave for 12 or 14 months and they are getting them away first, as I suppose is quite fair – so let us look forward to that great time to come when I should get ten glorious days at home.’

Before ending, he thanked her for the socks he had just received in his latest parcel (which must have been delayed since she had sent it before Xmas), and told her that he hoped that ‘home has still got its dear old homely look – I should love to see the new oak table and other furniture, the place must look quite Romantic and old-fashioned now.’

[Next letter: 11 January]

Now that he was back in reserve, Sherriff had more time, so was able to write a letter to both his mother and his father today. He apologised to them both for not having been able to write long letters as he would have wished, but hoped that he would be able to do so now.

‘We are at present having a rest in reserve,’ he told his mother, ‘which gives more time for writing, although not nearly as much as I had with the RE. Still, I think it is a good thing to have plenty to do and I rather enjoy it – and I think in about a months time we are going to get a rest for some weeks – which will be a great relief after all the time you have in the trenches.’

Cutting about Dick Webb, taken from Sherriff’s Scrapbook. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/9/12)

He told them that he was unlikely to be given leave in the near future, and that he would probably have to have served at least 6 months in France before he would be considered – but since more than three months had already passed, he might not have to wait much more than a couple of months – and if one of those months was spent in rest, which he thought it might be, then so much the better. He told her he was counting the days:

‘I have a chart by which I count off the days, and I have marked off six months – let’s hope they pass safely and quickly and the  what a time we will have – it should be spring and we will have some fine rides around Oxshott and all the dear old haunts…’

His father, too, was maintaining a chart, so Sherriff advised him to begin another 90 day countdown, which, since eleven days had passed since his three-month anniversary, would now begin at 90-11, which was ‘not so bad to start with’.

He told his mother that, although he had been very sorry to leave the RE – the more energetic life he was now leading was far better for him: ‘We got very slack in our habits with the RE – breakfast in bed and all that sort of thing – which, all very well in a way, was not good for you. And when you are resting out of the line you have quite a good time, and jolly little dinner parties. We had the Doctor and another Company officer in last night and had a very nice time – it is really quite good fun, but I find work in the front line rather nerve-wracking – I am afraid highly strung people do not get on well in the line – but I must put up with it as  a necessity, and, after all, only a third of your time is spent in the front line.’

After asking her how her work at the hospital was going, he went on to thank her for her second Xmas parcel, which had contained fruits, but also a christmas pudding and cigarettes for Morris [his servant]: ‘Morris was quite touched and asked me to thank you very much indeed.’ He told his mother that he had also received a letter from Dick Webb’s father, who had  enclosed a cutting about him – ‘to lose a close friend like Dick makes you realise more what we are out here for.’

Both letters were relatively short because, as he observed, even while they were in rest there was still plenty of work to do – he had plans to draw up, and had to go off to inspect a working party, but at least he could hope that the 90 days (‘already bitten into’) until his leave would pass quickly.

[Next letter: 10 January]