‘I made a visit to the dentist yesterday,’ wrote Sherriff to his mother, ‘and I now know the value of Dr Wallace, for this one simply goes at it hammer and tongs, not minding what he grinds – but I suppose it is better than having no dentist at all.’

Sherriff’s sister, Beryl, in nurses uniform (around 1918). (By permission of the Surrey History Centre, Ref: 3813/14/1/4)

The weather was still cold, the frost as hard as ever, and all the local waterways were frozen to at least six inches, he reckoned. Skating was ‘in full swing’ he wrote, and he had watched it on several occasions, admiring the English officers and French people who were able to skate well. He had been for a walk the day before with two others, and had tried to get ‘all thought of the war out of my mind’, but he was finding it impossible. And it was a difficult subject to broach with the doctor:

‘you feel so guilty and it looks just as though you are simply frightened to go up the line – and what cure can there possibly be for that? I keep putting off the time of talking to him, but it must be soon – I feel I would be willing to do anything – resign my commission and work at any kind of work so long as I am only away from the awful crash of explosions which sometimes quite numb me…’

At that point he quickly apologised to his mother that he was about to cut her letter short, for he had completely forgotten his sister Beryl’s birthday the day before, and he had to write to her straightaway.

[Next letter: 2 February]