Tag Archives: Selsey

Dear old Selsey

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‘It is very windy tonight,’ he wrote to his mother, ‘and I have been down to get rations and walking over some of the broken ground leaning against the wind reminded me of Selsey – dear old Selsey. I am wondering when the next time will be when you and I are sitting on that rickety little train planning walks to Pagham etc.’

Sleepy Hollow (in white) - probably before the war. (Thanks to Marilyn Smith)

The Sherriff bungalow, Sleepy Hollow (in white) – probably before the war. (Thanks to Marilyn Smith)

He thanked her for a letter he had just received, noting that he was all the more appreciative because she took the time to write it after a hard day at the hospital. ‘I am so glad you are doing that work, dear,’ he wrote, ‘ – sometimes when I see a poor, groaning man being carried down on a stretcher I think that you may be going to take care of him – you must love your work dear, I only wish I could help heal wounds instead of always being ready to make them.’

He was still hoping to be with the RE party for another 6 to 12 days: ‘I do not object a bit to the length of time I remain here, as compared with the arduous work in the line this is a rest.’ His fingers kept dipping into the almonds and raisins she had sent him: ‘I can’t stop nibbling at them – 2 RE officers came in this morning and they couldn’t help nibbling too – they said they hadn’t tasted almonds and raisins since last Xmas.’

He told her how much he enjoyed the evenings when he could be alone in the dugout, able to do exactly what he wanted, to sit and gaze at the ceiling and say nothing to anyone; and at bedtime he enjoyed ‘nestling down into my wooly sleeping bag with fleece lining in and a wooly cap  (everything nice and wooly)’. And he counselled her not to be miserable: ‘I am not miserable at present, dear – trust me to let you know when I am miserable.’

[Next letters: 6 November]

Through the Looking Glass

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‘This evening there was one of the finest sunsets I have ever seen,’ he wrote to Pips, ‘even the famous Selsey Sunsets could hardly rival it…a red glare in the sky which at first I thought was a fire…Against the glorious red sky with dark black clouds here and there were silhouetted little ruined houses and barns – some retain their walls and roofs – the latter usually only consisting of a skeleton frame like a firework set piece – then  you see little avenues of burnt frizzled up trees which once bordered one of those typical French roads – but no road remains now – no artificial features are allowed to remain when war comes – then you see little groups of black crosses dotted about amongst the rank weeds that grow everywhere…’

The sunset had clearly put him in a philosophical frame of mind, because he went on to consider the ‘two great armies’ sitting across from each other, and how it reminded him of Alice Through the Looking Glass:  the Germans were ‘just a reflection of us at present’ – they were both doing the same things – writing letters home, running away from trench mortars, wondering what the other was up to: ‘taking it all round,’ he wrote, ‘we just sit and frighten each other’.

On a happier note, he told Pips that he had enjoyed a walk to the local village, to buy some supplies, and to have his hair cut ‘in a little French Barber (or more correctly Barbress)’. The walk had been quite interesting, ‘although those items of interest cannot be described here – they must wait and be put in my book if that ever becomes written.’

Writing to his mother that he and Gibson were still ‘having quite a nice time’, he went on to praise Morris’s skills as a chef, noting that  ‘he performs marvels over a brazier (that Navvies use) and a little billy can. He cooks eggs and bacon and steaks…nearly as well as you do, as anyone has at present approached, in my opinion.’ He told her they were well taken care of with rations (including fresh eggs), and that, ‘with the delightful addition of the contents of your parcels we really live too well…’

He also told her that, although he had now been out in France for a month, the time had flown past, and that ‘it seems but yesterday since I said goodbye to you at Charing X [sic]. I can still picture that last little glimpse of you that I had as the train moved out, and I shall always remember it…’

[Next letter: 31 October]