Part 34 (1/2)

_It is with the greatest of pleasure that I take up my pen_--

It is invariably a pencil, and a blunt one at that.

Crosses are ubiquitous, and the flap of the envelope usually bears the mystic formula, S.W.A.K. This apparently means ”Sealed with a kiss,”

which, considering that the sealing is done not by the writer but by the Censor, seems to take a good deal for granted.

Most of the letters acknowledge the receipt of a ”parcle”; many give a guarded summary of the military situation.

_We are not allowed to tell you about the War, but I may say that we are now in the trenches. We are all in the pink, and not many of the boys has gotten a dose of lead-poisoning yet._

It is a pity that the names of places have to be left blank. Otherwise we should get some fine phonetic spelling. Our p.r.o.nunciation is founded on no pedantic rules. Armentieres is Armentears, Busnes is Business, Bailleul is Booloo, and Vieille Chapelle is Veal Chapel.

The chief difficulty of the writers appears to be to round off their letters gracefully. _Having no more to say, I will now draw to a close_, is the accepted formula. Private Burke, never a tactician, concludes a most ardent love-letter thus: ”_Well, Kate, I will now close, as I have to write to another of the girls_.”

But to Private Mucklewame literary composition presents no difficulties. Here is a single example of his terse and masterly style:--

_Dere wife, if you could make the next postal order a trifle stronger, I might get getting an egg to my tea.--Your loving husband_, JAS.

MUCKLEWAME, _No_. 74077.

But there are features of this multifarious correspondence over which one has no inclination to smile. There are wistful references to old days; tender inquiries after bairns and weans; a.s.surances to anxious wives and mothers that the dangers of modern warfare are merely nominal. There is an almost entire absence of boasting or lying, and very little complaining. There is a general and obvious desire to allay anxiety. We are all ”fine”; we are all ”in the pink.” ”This is a grand life.”

Listen to Lance-Corporal M'Snape: _Well, mother, I got your parcel, and the things was most welcome; but you must not send any more. I seen a s.h.i.+lling stamp on the parcel: that is too much for you to afford_. How many officers take the trouble to examine the stamp on their parcels?

And there is a wealth of homely sentiment and honest affection which holds up its head without shame even in the presence of the Censor.

One rather pathetic screed, beginning: _Well, wife, I doubt this will be a poor letter, for I canna get one of they green envelopes to-day, but I'll try my best_--Bobby Little sealed and signed without further scrutiny.

V

One more picture, to close the record of our trivial round.

It is a dark, moist, and most unpleasant dawn. Captain Blaikie stands leaning against a traverse in the fire-trench, superintending the return of a party from picket duty. They file in, sleepy and dishevelled, through an archway in the parapet, on their way to dug-outs and repose. The last man in the procession is Bobby Little, who has been in charge all night.

Our line here makes a sharp bend round the corner of an orchard, and for security's sake a second trench has been cut behind, making, as it were, the cross-bar of a capital A. The apex of the A is no health resort. Brother Bosche, as already explained, is only fifty yards away, and his trench-mortars make excellent practice with the parapet.

So the Orchard Trench is only occupied at night, and the alternative route, which is well constructed and comparatively safe, is used by all careful persons who desire to proceed from one arm of the A to the other.

The present party are the night picket, thankfully relinquis.h.i.+ng their vigil round the apex.

Bobby Little remained to bid his company-commander good-morning at the junction of the two trenches.

”Any casualties?” An invariable question at this spot.

”No, sir. We were lucky. There was a lot of sniping.”

”It's a rum profession,” mused Captain Blaikie, who was in a wakeful mood.

”In what way, sir?” inquired the sleepy but respectful Bobby.