Tag Archives: Flying Corps

Sherriff’s Dugout

Still enjoying his time in the mine, he was nevertheless chafing at the lack of certainty about how long the duty might continue. He would be happy if it went on for the duration of the war – he was enjoying the freedom it offered him [and no doubt the relative safety]. He told his mother that, when he had visited his own Company earlier that day they had told him that they were expecting him back any day – but he thought [hoped, probably] that they were only pulling his leg. He wished he could be told exactly how long he had left at the mine, rather than dealing with the possibility that he might be called away at any time.

Pips had asked him to describe his dugout, so Sherriff obliged:

‘We live in a shelter about 15ft long by 7ft broad. It is like a square hole dug into the ground, and thick sheets of corrugated iron placed over it – the door is on one broad side and used to consist of a square hole with iron girders on top; a little passage cut into the earth led to the trench. Inside (which, before we started renovating consisted of bare earth walls, which, showing signs of falling, we put good, strong wire over) we have on the wall two boxes nailed – one of wood without a door, in which we keep all tinned stuff, and the other being a tin, which has a lid, and “the rats don’t seem to be able to work out ‘ow to git in” (as Morris says) in which we keep all edibles.

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.

We have put up some wooden shelves which tilt at such an angle that things placed on them very gently slide off. Nails on the wall serve to support sandbags containing the following articles: No.1 bag – books, magazines and papers; No.2 bag – all washing things in holdall; No.3 bag – spare underclothes; No.4 bag – various oddments.

As regards furniture – 2 stout wooden frames with wire nailed across form very comfortable beds, supported at each end by sandbags; a long board with empty sandbags on it serves as a table, with a narrower board on two petrol tins forming the seat – a wooden box on its end is used as a table, on its side as a chair – so taking it all round it is a comfortable enough little home, although the roof is by no means proof against bullets or shell, but I think it would stop shrapnel splinters.

After the dugout caved in we made several improvements, a wooden frame we put in the door, and we put wire round the walls with empty sandbags hanging down behind. “You’ve only got ter paint Abrihim and a few others in to make it look like ‘ampton Court,” said Morris (who, by the way, lives in Molesey) as he surveyed his work of sandbag-hanging with some admiration.’

He told his mother that he had been into the local town shopping, and arranging baths for his men. He had bought some peaches and pears, some lobster, chocolate, and also 6 eggs, although two had broken, to make a raw omelette at the bottom of his pocket. When he had called into the Company he had received no mail – no letters or packages – but he was eagerly awaiting the one his mother had sent – with some socks, and ‘all sorts of delicious things’: ‘It is good of you to send them, dear – it is almost worth being out here to receive your letters and parcels.’

He had received news from home, both from Pips and from Bundy [his brother], telling him how the winds had blown the apples and leaves from the trees in the garden. This prompted him to reminisce about the times he would come home from school to see the garden looking just as he imagined it now. But there was more:

‘I also associate this time of the year with the time after I had left school and began to realise to the fullest extent the beauty of history and literature and when I used to go for cycle rides with Clayton [a master who had arrived at KGS in 1911, and who, in 1914, when Sherriff was unhappy at his job as a clerk with Sun Insurance, had offered advice on how to become a schoolmaster] and he used to tell me lots of things about history which he would not tell me in school for fear of making the work too much like play.’

He proceeded to repeat his ambitions for when he returned after the war – to furnish his room in Tudor style; to make a library of historical books, while continuing to collect stamps and coins as his hobbies; to travel to view historic sights around the country, in places such as York, and Hadrian’s Wall; and perhaps, one day, ‘to sit for a degree at London University – it only requires careful study to get an M.A. or B.A. in history’.

He had decided not to pursue, at this point, his aim of joining the Flying Corps, feeling that it would be difficult to get the Adjutant to agree to a transfer, and it might prejudice his chances of staying at the mine. But if he were to return to his Battalion soon, he might then consider it. He felt that there was no chance of any leave on the horizon – although it was notionally due after three months, there were many officers in front of him in the queue. But he told his mother that, even if he did not manage to be home in time for Christmas, they could enjoy their own when he did finally come home:

‘I think the idea of Father Christmas is one of the most beautiful legends man has ever thought of – what a pity man does not give his attention to these things instead of to war – yet I suppose we must have war to appreciate these things’.

[Next letter: 12 November]

Rats!

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‘I am afraid I made rather a pig of myself over that parcel,’ he wrote to his mother: ‘I have felt rather bilious this morning.’ He then changed his mind, concluding that it wasn’t the parcel that had done it – it was more likely to have been bad water. Whatever the cause, he had been sick earlier and had a bad pain in his stomach, but at least had been able to lie down.

His mood had not been helped by rats getting into the food supplies. They had opened a couple of packets of soup powder, and carried off a couple more (to ‘goodness only knows where’). They had gnawed at some chocolate and eaten two or three candles, before starting on a bar of soap (which they soon left alone). What annoyed him most, however, was that they ‘pulled that little bag of peppermints that were in my parcel onto the floor, and those they did not eat they trampled underfoot.’ But he and Gibson had learned their lesson, and would take care to cover all their supplies in the future.

The Pied Piper

[Morris, however, had a different solution, as Sherriff outlined in his later Memoir: ‘“What we do want”, remarked Morris, after he finished the first part of the anti-rat campaign, “is that bloke who hypnertised all the rats, and tootled them away with a flute, and then took them all into a mountain and shut ‘em in – Hamilton was ‘is name, I think – I’d ‘ave a try only I ain’t got no flute, and there ain’t no convenient mountain ‘ereabouts – it ‘ud be rotten to get ‘em all out a followin’ yer, and then not know what to do wiv ‘em.’]

Before finishing his letter he told his mother that he was still intending to apply for the Flying Corps (‘directly a favourable opportunity arises’), but that he didn’t want to appear in too much of a hurry. In fact he never did get around to applying, instead setting his sights on another branch of the service (the Engineers).

[Next letters: 30 October]

Enter Private Morris…

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‘We have now spent 4 very happy days looking after a working party here,’ he wrote to Pips [in a letter dated 26 October, but probably written on 28 October – see here for more information]. ‘It is just like the old camping days on the river, except our servants do our shopping instead of our doing it personally.’ He explained that there were little shops in the nearby villages where additional supplies could be obtained, and, since their stocks were limited, it was hard for the servants to obtain exactly what Sherriff and Gibson wanted. Upon the servants’ return the dialogue with the officers would go something like this:

Private Morris, as drawn by Sherriff. Memories of Active Service, Vol 2, facing page 254. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/3/9/3/4)

‘Did you get any coffee? – No sir, they ain’t got no coffee so we bought choclut.

Eggs? – Yes sir, but two of ’ems broke and one or two seems to leak a bit, they’s been shook up a bit, them trenches is so slippery that you uses all yer ‘ands to keep yer up.

Mustard? – No sir, they ain’t got none, but they ‘ad vinegar (waves a bottle triumphantly and puts it on table).

Strawberry Jam? – No sir, they ain’t no strawberry but I got some quince marmalade (produces a rusty tin, sealed about twenty years ago).

Lemon squash? – Yes, sir (He thinks he has got one thing right, dives into bag and produces a tiny little bottle of gassy yellow liquid – of course we meant the essence, but it can’t be helped).

Pears? – No pears, sir. Hapricots, sir (a gaudy tin appears).

He told Pips that they got no end of fun out of his servant, Morris, who was a ‘born Londoner’ and who managed to cook the ‘most excellent meals over a smoky fire in a muddy trench.’ Everything was cooked in little billy cans, and since there were only two plates, they had to be washed after each course. ‘The joy of the meal,’ he wrote, ‘is the unconsciously humorous remarks he makes – he never leaves the dugout without leaving us both in fits of suppressed laughter.’

[Morris had actually been assigned to him on 19 October, but this was the first time he had mentioned him in his letters. Morris was very clearly the model for Mason in Journey’s End, who in turn may have been an influence on the character of Baldrick in Blackadder goes Forth. Certainly it is easy to hear the above dialogue spoken in Baldrick’s voice.]

He told his mother about Morris as well, noting how good he was and how he ‘fusses round and gets me tea in the morning without any asking’ – although Sherriff attributed that to his own tendency to treat the men well: ‘I find that saying “Good morning” to any man I meet in the trench or a little chat now and then does nothing towards making a lack of discipline, and I think the men like you better.’ It was in order to set a good example to the men that he was opting not to wear the “Bullet Body Shield” that he had bought, and had just been delivered to him – at least not in general duty in the trenches, since ‘it would not seem fair to the men to see an officer padded up with steel sheets, but I shall certainly keep it handy and if the time ever comes that we have to go ‘over the top’ I should certainly wear it then. In ordinary everyday life I prefer to share the risks with the men.’

And, on the subject of risk he wanted to reassure her that his interest in the Flying Corps (which by now she had told him she approved of) was not because he was ‘seeking to escape from a danger I cannot face in the infantry’, but more because he thought he would find flying more ‘congenial’: ‘I am quite capable of putting up with all the hardships attached to infantry work as so many thousands of other officers are.’

Thankfully, as he told both his mother and Pips, his present duty was very pleasant, even if he was slightly put out by one of the ‘C’ Company officers [Douglass], crowded out of his own dugout, sharing with him and Gibson (‘it makes us rather crowded’). He was trying to be philosophical about his good luck in securing his present post, and hoped it would continue for some time, but the army being what it was he feared he might be moved on sooner than he would want. He could still hear the sounds of battle – the ‘distant tap! tap! tap! of a machine gun’; the ‘ping!’ from a sniper’s bullet; the distant ‘Boom! Boom! Boom! and a noise like rippling water as a shell or two fly overhead, and a second later a dull crash far away’. While he was, at least, protected by twenty feet of earth, he felt trapped – lamenting his lack of freedom, and comparing himself to an earwig ‘walking solemnly round and round my candle…If I were this earwig I shouldn’t stay here long – I should start straight off this evening for England and not bother to waste my time walking round a candle.’ [The sounds of war obviously made an impact on him, and were important in Journey’s End. The little earwig would also have a minor role in the play, and would require to be translated for the benefit of American productions.]

[Next letter: An encounter with rats, on 29 October]

Thinking of home

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‘All being well we are to be relieved this afternoon and go back to a village in rear for a rest,’ he wrote to his mother. ‘I do not know how long we will stop in rear but it should be about eight days…It is no use saying I am not fed up because I am, and when I look back on the weary hours I have spent up here, I feel it will be hard to stand another eight days, but I have got to and a rest will no doubt make a difference.’

He had been thinking of putting in for the Flying Corps – he thought he would like it, and it wouldn’t be much of a greater strain than what he had experienced. Not that he had seen anything he didn’t expect – he just thought ‘there is something [more] free about the air service than in this trench in which you feel something like a worm crawling about with your head down.’ In fact, he told her, he would prefer to be in any branch of the service than the infantry. ‘Let me know,’ he asked, ‘if you would like me to try for the Flying Corps.’

‘Rossendale’, the family home in Seymour Road, Hampton Wick. By Permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 3813/14/3/1)

He told her he had felt well since arriving in France, apart from ‘an occasional touch of headache owing to the nerve strain out here’, but he had been able to sleep it off. ‘I’m always thinking of you and dear old home,’ he told her, ‘and am wondering how long it will be before I get home again; it seems so far off that it is almost like a dream but I hope the time will come again when I shall walk round Harmans corner… and come across Seymour Road [where he lived, in Hampton Wick] and see puss sitting on the wall and looking at me just as though I had never been away.’

[Next letter: 20 October]

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