‘We have had a very lively day today,’ he wrote to Pips, ‘”Fritz” evidently having saved up some shells. But we gave him a very warm reply, and by standing on a high point behind the line we watched our artillery going him a fearful “strafe”, dirt and sandbags flying up in all directions, since which he has been considerably politer’.

‘The Guns’, taken from Sherriff’s ‘Memories of Active Service’, facing page 157. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/3/9/3/2)

In the midst of all this action they had completed their Xmas preparations, and were looking forward to quite a merry time: ‘A tinned chicken, and home made plum pudding, fruit etc will make a nice Xmas dinner and a special bottle of cherry brandy (the first intoxicant I have bought for our comfort) will warm us up’.

He hoped that, knowing that they would enjoy themselves in their dugout as much as they could, Pips and the family would try to enjoy themselves too, and would give him a full account of their celebrations afterwards. After thanking him for the two postcards he had sent (of Hampton Court, and Hampton Wick), he signed off and went off to his shift in the mine.

[Next letter: 24 December]

In a short letter home to his mother he told her that the weather was keeping Xmassy:

‘… – a fine, crisp frosty atmosphere that cannot fail to make me remember that we are near the time of the year that has always had a wonderful charm to me. I don’t think anyone else enjoys Christmas as much as I do. Even before the war they seemed to look upon it as a matter of course, but I always looked forward to it months before, simply because the homely old-fashioned way we spent it was so much the best.’

Even in the trenches, he assured her, they would do their best to enjoy themselves, and he would do so by thinking of the fine times they had enjoyed in the past. If things went well he hoped they would enjoy many more such times in the future.

He told her that his ideas had not changed while being in France, that he was still longing to get back to all his old hobbies, and that there were still two professions he should like to take up most – Schoolmaster or Farmer:

‘I don’t think I shall ever give up these ideas, although I know you were never in favour of the former, but you can rely that, after the war, I shall never do any rash thing such as resign from the office to be a Schoolmaster or any thing that should in anyway affect your happiness, for I have a lot to repay you, dear.’

[Next letter: 23 December]

Writing to his mother, he told her of the trip he had taken to Bethune the day before, and apologised for having been unable to find anything suitable to buy for her, apart from a souvenir knife he was sending her – ‘it is made with a French bullet as a handle with a French military button on top.’

He then thanked her – as he had Pips the day before – for the ‘fine parcel’ he had received, with ‘exactly the things I like best, and to make things better there was the gold pin that I shall always treasure, and the book and cigarette holders as well that will also become my constant companions.’ He continued later in the letter:

‘You have done everything in your power to make things happy for me at Xmas and you have not tried in vain, dear, for who could not be happy when one thinks of the dear home waiting for me and how well you all treat me – it is impossible to explain how much I appreciate everything dear – I must simply wait until the time comes when I can show you by treating you as well as you have treated me.’

Another view of Bethune, from a postcard sent home by Sherriff. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (From Memories of Active Service, Vol 2, facing page 387; Ref: 2332/3/9/3/4)

He was now very confident that he would be spending Christmas in his present post [the Battalion having moved back into the line the day before, where they would expect to remain for 6 days or more]. He and the other officers had ordered ‘a stock of good things’ which, supplemented by the things that he had received in his parcel, ‘ought to make things pretty happy – or as happy as it can possibly be’. He only wished that he could ‘indulge in that old pleasure of stockings – but if it is denied us this year, I hope it won’t be next.’ The only thing he could thing of to ask from her was a packet of quill toothpicks – ‘not a very elegant thing to ask for, is it dear?’

In addition to the letter to his mother, he sent a quick not to Pips, letting him know that he was finally sending him the postcards he had bought for him. Unfortunately, he was being forced to ‘obliterate the names of the places’, by order of the censor, so Pips would have to wait ‘until after the war when I will tell you if I know them’.

[Next letter: 20 December]

Sherriff told Pips that he had been out all day [we know from his later Memoir that he was visiting Bethune, but censorship prevented him saying so in his letter]:

‘I started off with the other East Surrey officer at 9:00 this morning resolving to pick up a conveyance after getting out of the trenches – after an hours walk we got into the open …and were just in time to see two officers get out of a motor and walk off, and the motor turn in the direction in which we wished to go. Hurrying after it we asked the chauffeur where he was going and whether he would give us a lift and both questions receiving satisfactory answers in we got and off went the car – and then, to our surprise, we noticed the two coats the two men had left behind bore the rank of General! – and we rode to our destination in the General’s car.’

Bethune – Before the War. From Memories of Active Service, Vol 2, facing page 388. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/3/9/3/4)

They took their time looking round the town,  at new hat fashions, butchers’ shops, tailors etc, and then went on to the church where they admired the stained glass window. They bought some things they couldn’t buy elsewhere (socks, fruit etc), then went for lunch at the Hotel (The ‘Lion D’Or’, the Memoir tells us), where there were lots of officers.  They sat at a round table in the middle, and after a while were joined by three ‘Frenchmen’:

‘One, from his neat black coat, white collar and shirt front looked like a bank cashier, but was somewhat marred by a big woolly muffler in brown and pink which he had twisted round his neck, dispensing with the need of an overcoat; the next was clad in a complete suit of brown corduroy with a soft collar and a gigantic tie-pin therein; and the third, who did most of the talking might have been anything – a big coarse man who kept making jokes in French which amused the others. I enjoyed watching them, as from their actions and facial expressions you can practically tell what they are talking about.’

After lunch they walked round town and enjoyed the sights, such as the market and the public buildings. Although ‘khaki is most predominant of anything’, they did see ‘a little of France here and there’ – schoolboys (‘with their little short socks and knickers and satchels on their backs’) and mostly old men, except for those in the army. The streets were usually cobbled and the paths muddy, and the shops were like the range of English shops, although with ‘a greater variety of goods for sale’. At about 2:00pm they started back, as Sherriff recounted in his Memoir a few years later:

‘A lorry helped us on our way, and as later on we slowly walked back home – as gradually all life and colour passed away once more into desolation – we had at least some consolation in thinking we had lived once more as civilised people’.

Bethune – After the War. From Memories of Active Service, Vol 2, facing page 388. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/3/9/3/4)

He told Pips that, about 3 days before Xmas, he would make another trip to Bethune to get ‘a chicken in a bottle or something like that for Xmas dinner’. Although they be spending Xmas in the trenches they wanted to make it as much like Xmas as possible, ‘for old time’s sake.’

He took some time to tell Pips how much he loved ‘good sound books’ rather than ‘light novels’:

‘…they give you such a store of things to think about. Scott’s fine books have given me much food for reflection, and I love to think of the time when I shall be free to travel with you over the north of England and other parts I have not visited and see all the fine castles and mansions and scenery that have made our country so famous.’

As well as visiting all the places mentioned in Scott’s novels, he looked forward to coming home so that he could improve on his coin and stamp collections, and make a library, and enjoy ‘that finest hobby of all – History.’

He signed off at that point, but added a Postscript the next day, in which he thanked Pips for the ‘fine big parcel’ he had just received, containing two cigarette holders, the tie pin his mother had sent, a ‘medley’ of other goodies, and, as luck would have it, a copy of Scott’s The Antiquary. Before finally ending the letter he told Pips to expect a Christmas card, as he had sent one to each member of the family (Pips, Mother, Bundy and Beryl), as well as Auntie Ede, Henham [who had worked in the Sun Insurance office with Pips, and had been his sergeant-major in the Artists], Mr Freeth [the manager of the Oxford Street branch of Sun Insurance], Auntie Beattie and another Artist friend of his. But he still had two left over if he wanted to send any more.

[Next letter: 19 November]

Sherriff told Pips that he had sent Xmas cards home, but had come up empty while shopping for Xmas presents:

‘I went into the nearest village yesterday to try and find something to buy you all for presents, but could see absolutely nothing worth buying – a few gaudy silk handkerchiefs and ornaments – little bone crucifixes etc, but really nothing worth sending home so I am afraid you will have to “make do” on the Xmas cards until I have a journey further afield…’

He told Pips he could not be sure when he would get leave, but that his Battalion appeared to be giving leave to officers once they had been in France for about 5 months (still another 2  months away for him). Of course, if he managed to secure a move to the Tunnelling regiment he might well receive it earlier.

Captain Gerald Spence Tetley M.C., as drawn by Private Edward Cole of the 9th East Surreys. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: ESR/19/2/7/1-15)

He was pleased that they were ‘now practically straight again after the sudden influx of 60 men’, although it would inevitably take some time for them to settle in properly. As for himself, he felt that if he were not relieved in the next day or two – before the Battalion went into the line once more – he might be able to stay in his present post. He told Pips, as he had his mother, that he and the other officers were laying in extra supplies for Christmas (something which he would not need to do if he were back in the Battalion, because such things were taken care of by the Mess President).

A couple of days earlier he had been invited out to dinner by ‘a Company Commander of another company, and had quite a good time – when the Regiment is in rest it is usual to ask each other out like that and it makes a change to spending all the time with your own company officers.’ [The officer who invited him was Captain G(erald) S(pence) Tetley, Commanding ‘D’ Company, and also at the dinner was Tetley’s ‘favourite Lieutenant’, 2nd Lt William Henry (Harry) Lindsay. Sherriff wrote a long account of the dinner in his Memories of Active Service, from which it is clear that he was very fond of both officers. See more on dinner with Tetley and Lindsay here.]

2nd Lt William Henry (Harry) Lindsay M.C., as drawn by Private Edward Cole of the 9th East Surreys. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: ESR/19/2/7/1-15)

He noted how pleased he was with his growing collection of books, to which he had added another – ‘France en 1614’ – which he hoped would help him improve his French (which he could read ‘quite well’, although he could not speak it ‘hardly at all’. ‘Books absolutely fascinate me,’ he wrote, ‘and if I see any in a shop I cannot refrain from looking through and buying one.’

He turned again to the subject of Xmas, thanking Bundy for sending him out the Xmas numbers of various magazines, one of which contained ‘a fine article on English Castles’. He and Bundy had decided to maintain their usual stocking tradition for Xmas, and to enjoy it on Bob’s return, to which end he asked Pips if he would mind ‘buying a few little hairy animals etc., as I expect by the time I arrive home they would have all disappeared from the streets.’ He would, of course, be able to come home earlier ‘if only these peace negotiations would come to a head’. He had heard of a new French victory at Verdun, and trusted that it might have some effect on any peace conference if there really were to be one. In the cold weather, with his feet ‘like bricks’, it grieved him that he had to ‘waste so much time here, and cannot do something more useful – but I suppose reading good books is the best hobby.’

[Next letters: 18 December]

Sherriff was clearly busy, perhaps because of the influx of new men and officers, but his letter writing appears to have become less frequent.

In today’s letter he dwelt again on the approach of Christmas – now just ten days away – noting that just a few days later he would have been in France for fully three months, although he suspected he would still have to wait a while to get his leave. The weather seems to have been cold (he told her that he had been for a walk to the local village, ‘more to get warm than anything’), and he asked his mother if she would mind sending him out some more socks, since the ones he had were worn out, and he was wearing two or three pairs at a time to cover the holes: ‘Just two or three pairs from that Scotch wool shop, I believe it is called – do you remember the first day I joined the Artists we went into Kingston and bought some at that shop?’ He also asked if she might send him the little yellow book on Surveying which he had left on his bedroom mantelpiece – so it seems he was still hopeful of the possibility of a transfer to the Engineers.

The letter broke off on 14 December, but was taken up again on 16 December (he had temporarily misplaced it), when he wrote that he was still in his old dugout, and that, if he did not go into the line with his Battalion in two days time he could be fairly confident that he would still be in place at Christmas. He was confident enough that he and the other officers had been making plans for the ‘Christmas delicacies’ that they wanted to buy: ‘We are getting some cherry brandy, port and various stuff like tongue etc.’ If he was unlucky enough to be relieved, he was confident that at least he would get his money back, and could have the satisfaction of knowing the others were enjoying it.

[Next letter: 16 December]

Sherriff wrote two letters home today – a longer one to Pips, and a letter to his mother (of indeterminate length, since all that survives is a single page). But both letters are suffused with gloom.

The page to his mother rehearses his upset at the unwelcome note from his C.O.:

‘I am still writing in my old dugout so I have note been changed yet, I am almost certain it is coming soon, but cannot say the day – but after all I might have been with the Battalion all the while and never have been detailed for my present work which I have enjoyed for the last 7 weeks, so I am afraid I am most unreasonable to be annoyed at it – except that I might have been on the job longer if I had paid more attention to the cleanliness of my men…’

In the letter to Pips he didn’t seek to defend himself against the C.O.’s reprimand, but grumbled instead about the addition of two officers to their complement (which ‘rather upset the equilibrium of our domestic affairs’). But he soon returned to the stoicism with which he tried to shore himself up in difficult times: ‘You are quite right that it is no good worrying about being relieved or about anything else out here – the only thing is to get out my Marcus Aurelius etc, and find comfort in these wonderful books that have never failed in their effect.’

The War Memorial Plaque at Kingston Grammar School, originally unveiled by R C Sherriff in 1920. Source: http://archive.kgs.org.uk/Authenticated/ImageWWIMemorial.aspx

He was in particular need of comfort because, apart from the troubles with the Colonel, he had just heard that two of his school friends had been killed:

‘I am very sorry indeed to hear that Dick Webb and [Kenneth] Restall have both been killed: they were two of my earliest school-friends, and friends I kept right up till, and after, the outbreak of war. I knew Webb since I first went to the Grammar School when I was seven years old, and Restall about a year after. Yet these are things that cannot but be expected and, although they do not depress you it makes you feel all the more the hateful uselessness of the whole thing – there is nothing to do but to bear everything that fate brings along with the knowledge that it cannot be prevented. Of course I cannot absolutely realise the loss of these friends until the time comes when the whole is over and then is the time when those who come back will look round and find that they have got to find new friends to make up for the old ones. I cannot say how sorry I am to hear about Dick and Restall.’

He was, however, glad to hear that ‘all the men at O.S. [the Oxford Street branch of Sun Insurance] are still well and hope it will long remain so’.

The rest of his letter home to Pips was more prosaic. He apologised for having been unable to mail the postcards to him as he had promised (censorship restrictions), but he would find out for certain whether the practice was banned and, if it was, he would bring them home when he finally returned on leave. He had heard that his father had recently enjoyed ptarmigan, and recalled that the only time he had ever heard the bird mentioned before was when he and Pips had been on a cycle tour in Monmouth (‘Our tours are always bringing up old memories’).

He also told Pips that he had just bought a copy of The Child’s History of England, by Charles Dickens – ‘It is simply a history of England told in very simple language, and the interest is increased by it coming from such a famous writer’. He then went on to list the other books in his little trench library: Guy Mannering; Old Mortality; The Bride of Lammermoor; Marcus Aurelius; Epictetus; and Eothen (a voyage in Palestine). ‘Rather a weird mixture, aren’t they? But just a nice assortment – realy far too many to be carried about on Active Service, but I think I would sacrifice anything else in my bundle for two or three of these fine books.’

He hoped that Pips and the family would not put off Xmas until he came home – they should try to enjoy it even without him: ‘However quietly you keep it, nothing can take away the fascination of Xmas Eve and Xmas Day that lives in everyone as a sort of hereditary instinct’. he recalled a previous Xmas Eve when Pips had come home and read some Chapters from The Hero of Sedan, [written by Captain F S Brereton, first published in 1910, resembling the children’ books of G A Henty], and then they had gone to the cinema and come home in a thick fog: ‘I think I can recall all my Xmasses for the last 12 years as though they happened yesterday…’.

[Next letter: 14 December]

Sherriff’s cosy subterranean world had been upended, with the arrival of a large party of new men, come to join the existing group; two officers had come along as well – ‘one of whom I know,’ he wrote to his mother, ‘as he is an East Surrey man’ [in fact a friend from his own Company, 2nd Lt (Pat) Patterson]. They had not been warned in advance, and no shelter had been arranged for them, so Sherriff and Gibson were left ‘rushing round all day finding dugouts’.

To add to his woes, as he told both parents, his Commanding Officer had come along (‘amidst all the bustle and muddle’) and seen some of his men unshaven and dirty. Consequently he had received a note later that evening:

‘The Commanding Officer noticed with displeasure this morning that some men of the battalion unshaved and very dirty, and on being asked who they were answered”Tunnellers”. It is intended to relieve you in the near future.’

Extract from a letter to his mother, 10 December 1916. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/1/1/2/122)

‘I always hate being “told off” for anything,’ he complained to his mother, ‘and it makes me miserable’. He tended to take criticism to heart – probably more than the C.O. realised – and it tended depress him for a while. He really did not want to return to the battalion (‘and much less to go back because I am not capable of looking after my men’), but suspected that the C.O.’s note meant that he would be returning in a few days. He told Pips that he felt the criticism was unreasonable – he inspected his men regularly, but on this occasion had been so busy dealing with the new men that he had no time to inspect the others (‘if he had only known the trouble we had had that morning with all the new men I am sure he would have shown some consideration’).

After grumbling to both parents, he changed his tone, becoming more stoical. He tried to buck himself up by thinking of the lessons from his Marcus Aurelius, and by enjoying a cigarette (‘I do not smoke very much,’ he told Pips, ‘so I find more comfort in an occasional cigarette than if I was always smoking them’). And in the long term there was always home to look forward to, where everything would be ready for him – his mother, Pips and Bundy and Beryl and Puss and the chickens – ‘everything, in fact, that is nice.’

Apart from his new-found gloom he was feeling well – the weather had been kind, although there was still plenty of mud about, which meant that he was always in need of new socks, if his mother wouldn’t mind slipping a pair in one of his parcels now and then. She was coming to the end of her fortnight’s rest from the hospital, and he expected she was not looking forward to getting up on cold, dark mornings. But ‘I expect you will like to think, as you get up shivering, that I am standing somewhere shivering, too, as you are always out in the trenches whilst dawn comes, and darkness falls.’

He ended the letter to Pips with a quick apology: having promised to send him postcards from local villages and towns he had thought better of it after speaking to another officer, so despatch of the cards would have to wait. The letter to his mother was ended with the observation that he had written her rather more than usual: ‘I expect you notice that I always write longer letters to you, dear, when I have some trouble to tell you about – somehow it relieves me to write telling you everything…it is so nice to have someone you can absolutely tell everything to – particularly when I am “told off” for something that is really not my fault.’

[Next letters: 12 December]

‘I am writing this in my dugout,’ he told Pips, ‘on a brand new table which my servant and Gibson’s servant have just made – it consists of three planks about 4 1/2 feet long nailed together, and is certainly an improvement on the old duckboard we had before.’ The two servants had spent the previous evening putting up wire netting  (‘just like that used in our chicken run’) around the walls to keep the rats out. Now he was back to work on digging out the new room: ‘I am down about a foot at present and am going down six feet if I have time – I expect we will just about finish it for someone else to live in.’

Letter to Pips, 8 December 1916. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/1/1/3/120)

Things were ‘going on as usual here’ he reported, ‘…you see the same thing happens pretty well every day as though I was going up to London every day, and it is very difficult to find something I am allowed to write about.’ He was able, however, to tell Pips that, with the battalion back in the line there was no imminent prospect of him being relieved – meaning he might be there another 5 days, or perhaps as much as 17 days, ‘but providing things remain quiet I have not the slightest wish to be moved.’

Although he chafed at the censorship restrictions, he had to impose the same restrictions on his men. He read about 60 or so letters every day, most of which did not extend over one side of paper, and ‘as for anything interesting, I am afraid few try and say anything beyond “I am quite well, give Annie my love, how is Aunt Maud etc etc…”. There is an extraordinary sameness about all their letters – and to judge from their writing there are a good few educated men amongst them.’

In other news he was pleased to have found, when the servants were cleaning out the dugout, a cigarette holder which had gone missing some weeks before. A little bit had been chipped out of the top, but otherwise it was ‘quite useable’. He was glad to have found it as he had become quite attached to it. He was still waiting to hear about his transfer to the RE – but he had been told it would take a month to process, and he had only applied on 20 November, so he would probably have to wait another week or two. In the meantime he had decided to get out of his ‘rather bad habit [of] staying in bed late’, and he now intended to cure himself by getting up at an ‘appointed hour’.

Before signing off he thanked Pips for the postcard with views of Boxhill that he had just received, and promised to return the favour with postcards of France just as soon as he could get them.

[Next letter: 10 December]

He apologised to his mother that the letter was going to be shorter than usual – he had not begun writing it until 4 o’clock, because he had been too busy ‘building a new dugout – or, rather, burrowing underground’. He told her that, once they had heard they were not to be relieved immediately (thus giving them another 6, 12 or possibly 18 days in the mine), they had set to work on building themselves a ‘little bomb-proof dugout’; the Germans did shell ’round about occasionally’, and at least the new shelter would offer some sort of security when the bombs were dropping. And, he assured her, it was good exercise too.

Sherriff’s mother, Connie, in her early twenties, in the 1890s. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 3813/14/1/2)

It was Pips’ birthday, and he told his mother that he could ‘imagine him opening his usual little packets containing socks, handkerchiefs, cigarettes etc, and I wish I could get something worth sending him – but I cannot see anything nice, until I have time to go into a larger town’. He had been enjoying the contents of the parcel he had received recently, which had brought back some fond memories: ‘ I had some of Bellchambers ginger cakes for tea, dear – they always remind me of that walk through the park towards Hampton Court’.

As normal in letters to his mother, he talked to her of his longing for leave:

‘I am looking forward to the great day when I shall start home more than anything I have looked forward to before, I think – I shall plan out everything that we can do so we won’t waste any time – of course I shall look forward to the rest as well – and although I hope I shall not absolutely run you off your legs I expect you will have to be ready for some long rides and walks, dear.’

He ended by noting that she must be enjoying her leave from her nursing position, and the extra hour in bed every morning – but ‘it must also be very nice to be getting £20 for your services when you go back – you must feel your services are valuable – I am so glad you have been successful, dear.’

[Next letter: 8 December]