Still behind the lines, training new recruits, Sherriff told his mother that the weather had improved: ‘Today is beautifully warm and sunny – I hope we have got rid of the winter now – everything is turning green in the country and all trees are coming into bud – I can imagine the old apple tree is beginning to show signs of life and the grass is beginning to grow again.’

He hoped that by the same time next year he would be able to see the garden at home for himself, and that he would e settled at the office again- ‘saving up money either to be a Farmer or a Schoolmaster or to stay at the office and go for those long-looked-forward-to tours round England with you in a side car – and our trip to Egypt.’

Sherriff’s mother, in nurses uniform. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/6/6/3)

He told her, as he had before, that he liked the photo she had sent him, and that he kept it in the case that his Company Commander had given him. [Captain Tetley, of ‘D’ Company – to which Sherriff had been briefly attached when he returned from the Engineers – had given him a card case to commemorate the bombardment they had faced together on New Year’s Day.] He hoped that she was getting on well with her nursing:

‘I expect you are becoming quite an important person now – it is funny that since I left England nearly 7 months ago I have not seen an English woman and you very rarely see an upper class French woman – they are all the peasant class round here.’

And with that, he signed off, apologising that, since the photographer had come to take a picture of them in their ‘trench costume’, it was time for him to leave.

[Next letter: 14 April]

It was raining hard, Sherriff told Pips, so the men could not work outdoors. Instead they had been divided into little groups under sergeants: ‘The Machine Gun Sergeant has his gun laid out in a barn with a group of men round him being initiated into the mysteries of “feed arm retaining lugs”, “extractor recesses”, “Bolt spring lugs” and such other interesting things.’

As he had come back to his billet to write home, the wind had died down. A bombardment was ‘rumbling away somewhere in the distance and the old Farmer says as I come in “beaucoup Bombard, bon pur l’Allemagne”.’ He noted that the French tended to pick up words from the English soldiers, and for this farmer the word in particular was “rotten”: ‘everything’s rotten – when he sees it’s raining he nods his head knowingly and says “rotten”.’

He expected to spend another 6 days or so training the recruits, but given how quickly things seemed to be moving at the front, he felt there was a possibility he might be moved earlier than  that. ‘I sincerely hope things will keep on moving as they are now and finish up things,’ he wrote, ‘every time I hear a bombardment I think “there are so many thousand shells the less to fire off”.’

He expected the grass was beginning to grow at home, and the spring flowers to appear. He hoped that Pips had received the snowdrop he had sent, and apologised that he could not send any other souvenirs, since pieces of shell, aerial darts etc were not allowed to be sent home. He was wondering how his salary was mounting up in his Deposit Fund – and he hoped that they would all be able to settle down safely soon, so that he could spend his money on all the things he wanted to get: ‘a good library of history books, some coin cases for my coins – stamps and antique furniture for my room and other things – including, I hope, a new set of civilian clothes.’

[Next letter: 13 April]

‘I am still back with the training Battalion and having quite an enjoyable time,’ wrote Sherriff to his mother. ‘The weather is very changeable – snow, biting winds and warm sunshine in turn – but on the whole it is very fine weather and the country is very beautiful – the spring is beginning to show everywhere’. The previous evening they had enjoyed a show performed by a Pierrot group known as The Tonies, whose songs and sketches had been ‘quite good’.

He presumed she had heard the good news from the front, which also seems to have made him more hopeful that the war might be coming to and end: ‘The time passes very quickly sometimes and sometimes very slowly – generally the time in the line hangs badly and the time out passes very quickly – but all the time is gradually passing towards the day of peace which I sincerely hope will not be very long now.’

Apologising for the lack of news in his letter he drifted into reminiscence about home, as he often did when writing to his mother:

‘Home always seems so near somehow. I can shut my eyes and see every detail of the place – the crack in the plaster outside, and above the front door – the trees in the front garden and the light in the scullery window at night – every detail seems so plain, and all the scenes, too, in the Park, and in Kingston etc. I hope it will not be long before we are back to them all again – and then all the castles we have built in the air may come true, I hope.’

[Next letter: 12 April]

As well as writing a short letter to his father on 9 April, Sherriff wrote a much longer letter to his mother, in which he tried to prepare her for the possibility of bad news, while trying to reassure her that he still hoped to come home safely at the end of the war.

He was writing after finishing another day’s marching, and the men were to rest the next day, prior to resuming the march the day after that: ‘This route marching is splendid training for the men, although causing many blisters and sore feet’, he wrote. The weather was ‘exceedingly hot’ (forcing him to pull down the shutter in his billet) but he preferred that to the cold.

Earlier that day they had been inspected by a General, who had ‘made the usual speech about how smart everyone was, and how proud he was etc etc’. As a result of his visit the men had been given the afternoon off, and while most of the others were going into the neighbouring town he had chosen to remain behind and write several letters – including one to Auntie Ede [Edith, his father’s sister], and one to his friend Trimm, with whom he had served in the Artists Rifles [and who was also from Kingston].

Turning to serious matters he cautioned his mother that she must not worry if she did not hear from him for a few days – it would only mean that it was impossible to write. He then went on to tackle a thorny subject:

‘And, dear, I don’t want to bring the old subject up again, but I should like just to remind you about being quite prepared to hear any news about me and, if bad, to hear it with the resignation that so many thousands of other ladies have to – you must remember that I have now had nearly 8 months in France without having been in any real battle except the monotonous trench warfare – and that sooner or later our turn will come to do something more serious.  I am not trying to worry you dear, but I am trying to say just what I think and what I would like you to think too – I have every hope of coming through the war safely – you may rely that I will never take unnecessary risks as I have far too many nice things I want to do after the war – I shall always try and do my best in everything necessary and pray every night that the day may soon come that I may return home safely – that day must come sooner or later unless I am wounded or return home sick or the very worst should happen when you have no more worry yourself and only friends can worry – I hope you see what I mean, dear, it is so difficult to explain.

I would simply like you to think that whatever happens it would be for my good – if I should be killed you have no more troubles and I have thought and can clearly realise what it means and that it is nothing terrible at all – if I should be wounded it means I return home to dear old England – and if neither of these happen I must eventually come home safely – you have only to bear a little longer, dear, and one of these must happen, and as I feel quite satisfied about each I know you will too dear…I look upon it as though the worst time of all was our parting on Charing Cross station – you knew and I knew that we might never see each other again – and, dear, that is worse than if we had known we were not to meet again…just remember that we are going through the worst time of all now, and that is the suspense of not knowing what is going to happen.’

Changing from his ‘melancholy’ subject he told her that after he had finished writing the letter he would go into the fields with his book, and while there might pick a flower or two to send home as a souvenir. His mother had told him that he looked older in a photo he had sent home, but he assured her that he did not feel any older in his thoughts: ‘I still long for days when I can go back to our tin soldier battles and stamps and all the other dear hobbies that have made home so fine – everything I wanted to do when I joined the army I still want to do now.’

[Next letter: 10 April]

Taking up his unfinished letter on Easter Monday, Sherriff told Pips that the weather had deteriorated a bit, with training broken up by some sharp showers of hail. The day before he had taken advantage of the fine weather to go for a long walk:

‘…the woods…are very fine, and much after the style of Oxshott – and from some of the high ground I could see many miles of country stretched out – some of which will be famous in the history of the world, I expect.’

Earlier in the evening he had attended a concert (‘which was very good and quite enjoyable’) given by a Brigade which was billeted nearby, and during it word had come through of ‘some very fine advances…including many prisoners and a complete set of generals. I expect things will buck up now.’ [Here he is probably referring to advances made in the Battle of Arras, which had begun that morning, and where significant territory had been gained, especially on Vimy Ridge.]

He closed by apologising to Pips that he could think of nothing more to tell him: ‘I think the best thing would be for you to jot down a few things you would like me to talk about, and I will tell as much as I can without touching Military Matters of Importance’.

Although his Battalion was back in the front line in Calonne, Sherriff had been sent back to train new recruits once more. He had time to set down a couple of contented paragraphs before setting his letter aside, to be completed the following day:

‘Today is Easter Sunday and the finest day this year – I awoke in my bedroom in the farm house to find the sun streaming in my window and all the usual farm sounds in full swing – cocks crowing, hens chuckling, doves cooing – the men’s wooden clogs clattering over the cobbled farm yard – and the voices of the men washing and polishing up for church parade.

The Hen chuckling brought back to mind vividly the spring mornings two years ago when we used to hear Broody and the rest out in the garden and that sound of hens anywhere always reminds me of spring mornings at home’.

[Next letter: 9 April]

While the Battalion moved into the right sub-section of Calonne, taking the place of the 8/Queen’s Regiment, Sherriff headed in the opposite direction, as he told his mother:

‘I am writing this letter back at the old Farm House where I was before, as I am back again for a short time at my old job of training recruits. I am hoping it will be for about 8 or 10 days.’

Whereas on the previous occasion he had speculated that he had been posted to the duty on account of his seniority in the Company, he felt there was a different explanation on this occasion, as he told Pips:

‘I think the reason [is] that I was laid up with my neuralgia for a day or so – this complaint is a great nuisance as it makes you feel temporarily quite unfit for work’.

He went on to tell Pips that he saw no sign of any leave on the horizon, but was hoping for the best. In the meantime he was still curious to know how things were going at the office, and often had talks with Reynolds [who had recently been posted to the Battalion] about it, although ‘he has dined in a rather different lot to mine’.

In the letter to his mother he asked how everyone and everything was at home. He was sorry to hear that puss was ill, but glad that the chickens were ‘going strong still’, and sympathised with her that she had to combine looking after them with her duties at the hospital. He was also pleased to hear about the improvements that were being made to Rossendale [the family home]:

‘I am sure it is well worth it – when we settle down if we decide to keep the house I should like a nice brick wall built round the whole of the garden and get it covered with some sort of creeper, but… as I hope we will be able to take a house well out in the country it would not be worth the expense’.

[Next letter: 8 April]

Back in reserve, Sherriff sent a couple of letters home to Pips sorting out his financial affairs. He had held on to some English money and rather than changing it into Francs, he opted to send some of it (£4) back home to add to his Office Deposit Fund. Clearly finances were on his mind because, as he told Pips, he was very busy settling up Mess Bills (in his role as Mess President).

He was with the battalion in Bully Grenay, and his time during the day was taken up with training. When he arrived back in his billet at the end of the day he took the chance to scribble a few lines, partly noting that the war seemed to be going well, but also noting the impact of the German shelling:

‘We have certainly annoyed the Huns, as they keep putting shells over round about us all day, and we fully return the compliment. It is an extraordinary thing how the French people stick to their old homes – you see them unconcernedly digging in their gardens or hanging clothes on their lines, a shell churns up their garden and makes a huge hole which they fill in and start again – it is rather wonderful but it gives the place a more homely air to see inhabitants at work’.

[Next letter: 7 April]

Back from the front line, in Divisional Reserve in Bully Grenay, Sherriff should have been happy – but, as he told his mother, his neuralgia had returned:

‘I am writing in my billet and I have not been out today owing to a return of my old complaint – neuralgia. It is funny that when I get a return of this I always get that awful nervousness again which makes me feel so useless to do any good work – when I am out I always feel I must listen for shells coming and every little noise puts me off what I am doing. It is such a trial, especially when you have to conceal it from the men…Don’t worry about this, dear, it can’t be helped as I do my best to overcome it, and if I can’t get rid of it I will have to see the doctor, it keeps me awake at night listening for these awful shells coming…’

He told Pips about the neuralgia as well – ‘a wretched complaint,’ he wrote, ‘that I believe you are subject to – it makes you feel absolutely done up sometimes’.

A couple of days earlier he had written home about the snowdrops in No Man’s Land, and now he was taking the chance to send one to each parent – freshly picked from just over the parapet.  He was pleased, as he told Pips, that things seemed to be going well with the war: ‘…everything goes to show that the Huns are practically done for’, but on the other hand the Germans had now taken to shelling towns behind the lines as well. He acknowledged the ‘present discomfort’ the shelling was causing, but he may have been understating his anxiety about it: he was usually afflicted by his nerves when his imagination got the better of him, and it is very likely that his neuralgia was at the very least aggravated by what he saw as the possibility of being randomly shelled while in reserve.

[Next letter: 4 April]