Information provided by my second cousin, and Wilfred's nephew, John Cowan, to whom this letter belongs. It was written by Wilfred to his sister, Elsie. Near the Trenches Saturday May 20th 1916 6.30 p.m. Dear Elsie, First let me apologise to one and all for letting a fortnight elapse without sending home anything more than a Service Card. This is partly due to my disinclination for letter writing at any time, and partly due to the fact that we have been on the move a good deal. As I have a lot to tell you I send my thanks for all the home letters in one big lump; I am always very pleased to see a letter from home. The last parcel arrived quite safely, and the eatables were much enjoyed by my friends and myself. My daily “Times” has always interested me and also the “Tottenham Herald”. All good luck to Dorothy in her new venture, which I hope will prove successful in every way. I was interested to hear of the Shakespeare Tercentenary Celebration at the T.G.S.[1], and also of Sydney’s visit to Folkestone, and also of John Mulligan’s promotion, which I have no doubt he fully deserves. I should think Ethel’s cottage holiday idea would be great fun if it can be brought off. I was pleased to see Reggie’s[2] letter, and I am glad that except for the heat he is quite happy; Evelyn’s letter also gave me welcome news of his doings at Exeter. Congrats to Father on being able to get about a bit now. I hope the improvement will continue till his ankle is as strong as ever it was. Now let me glance through your splendidly voluminous epistle. Very many thanks for buying the cigarettes and sending them off. They are very expensive as you say, but you did quite right. They arrived quite safely, but as “Inky” had gone on leave and has not yet returned, he has yet to receive them. Now, as regards your Tobacco Club. If I may trouble you again, next time they come round for orders you might order a box of 100 “Three Castles” for “Inky”, and if they only come round once a month make a regular thing of it. “Inky” is a great cigarette smoker, and I think he likes Wills “Three Castles” or “Gold Flake” as much as the more expensive brands. I have no doubt Evelyn enjoyed his short visit home; truly one does not appreciate home till one is forced to leave it. Today I received Mother’s mid-week letter enclosing a letter from Reggie, and a packet of needles for which please thank her very much. I should be glad of another two pairs of socks in the next parcel. I am pleased to hear the May “Captain” is coming along; I think I had the April number all right. I enclose photos of Arthur and Jack for you to keep for me “till the boys come home”. Arthur’s was taken out here a few months ago, and it is not as good as it might be, though it is not too bad. Jack had his taken while he was home on leave, and it is an excellent likeness. I have three photos of Dolly[3], so I enclose the one I like least for you to keep for me; I may say I am expecting another one shortly. I asked “Inky” to bring me back a photo of himself, and Eric who came back from leave today has promised to give me one of himself. So I hope before very long you will see photos of all my four friends, and then I shall be very interested to hear the opinions of the family circle on their respective appearances. Now I will begin to tell you the story of my doings, which have not been lacking in excitement. In fact let me tell you candidly that when we were told this bit of line was quiet, it was the truth, but it has altered a great deal since we arrived, and it is now quite as unpleasant as our old bit of line. Instead of bullets we have shells, and instead of the trenches being built up they are dug down, those are the chief differences. Sunday May 21st 1916 I start my story from Sunday May 7th. If you remember, when I wrote last, we were billeted in a deserted semi-ruined village about 300 yards behind our first line. It was a cool and cloudy day, and we had a rifle inspection in the morning. In the evening we all turned out on working party. Our job was deepening an advanced trench, and except for a few “Whizz-bangs” which landed about 20 yards away, Fritz did not mol est us. We got back to our billet at 2 a.m. in the morning just before dawn, and were glad to get to “kip”. Monday we moved into the trenches in the afternoon, and I was on duty all night. I was not actually up at the parapet gazing at nothing all night, only for two spells of an hour each. Our company scouts, three of them, when they went out in front ran into a German patrol of six. The latter threw some bombs and fired on our chaps, one of whom was hit behind the knee, but they all got back safely. During my time off I helped “Inky” and a lance-corporal, who I am sorry to say has since been killed while on a working party, to build a dug-out. In the morning the chaps who had been on duty all night were allowed to leave the trenches to get a sleep in one of the billets in the village, because there were very few dug-outs in the trench where one could sleep. The weather was still rotten when we were relieved on Tuesday, and we went back to “stand to” billets about 150 yards behind the line. We “stood to” from 7.15 p.m. to 8.30 p.m. in support trenches, and then we all “kipped in” till “stand to” at 2.30 a.m. On Wednesday the bombers built a bomb store with sandbags just outside the billet. We heard bombing going on in the early part of the night and next morning we were told that A Company scouts had run into a patrol of Germans, who were acting as a guard to a German working party. As before, the Germans fired on them and threw some bombs, but all our men got back safely. Thursday morning was marked by great activity by our aeroplanes, who seemed absolutely fearless of the German shot and shell, and by the Huns’ continuous shelling of our trenches, lots of pieces falling round where I was on guard. In the evening when I had come off guard and had just returned from “stand to” Jack suddenly appeared back from leave. On top of his arrival came a message for us all to “stand to” at once, and march down to headquarters, as a bombing raid was expected. We “stood to” till after midnight, and then as nothing exciting occurred we all returned to our billets. On Friday we had a brainy idea for making our bed a bit softer; we filled a lot of sandbags with straw, and they made a jolly fine bed, on which I slept soundly. The Huns again shelled the same place all the morning, and in the afternoon we relieved our other two companies in the trenches. I was on duty during the day. I felt very tired Saturday morning, but as I had nowhere to go to sleep in, I sat on the firestep under some sheets of corrugated iron, and watched the rain making the trench muddy, and listened to the whistle and “Krupp”!! of the German shells, as they landed in our trench about 200 yards on our right. Although the Germans sent over 340 heavy shells in one small portion of trench, the damage done was comparatively slight. In the afternoon I was able to get a place in a dug-out Arthur and two other chaps had made, and I slept soundly. That night Jack, Arthur and 23 other chaps went out in front to discover what was going on behind a hedge about 150 yards in front of the German lines. They discovered the hedge was manned, and after shooting one, whom they saw fall back, they all returned quite safely. Last Sunday the weather improved a bit, and in the afternoon I was sitting in the dug-out by myself reading “The Times”, when suddenly “Krupp”!! and a shower of earth dropped all round; I made a very hasty exit I can assure you, it was much too near to be pleasant. Another shell blew in a traverse about 15 yards from where I was. While on duty at the parapet that night the Germans sent over three lots of shrapnel, which burst a little way in front of the trench, but by a hasty disappearance into the trench I avoided a “blighty one”[4], or possibly something more serious. By the way let me say that the shrapnel helmets we have are really useful things, they have saved several of our chaps from being killed already. Nothing to report on Monday except that the weather was bad again, and the Huns did a bit more shelling on our right. The night was fine and quiet, but it was the calm before the storm. At 12.30 a.m. on Tuesday morning the silence was suddenly broken by the whistling of shells and the bang of the guns, and the “Krupp”!! of the heavy shells, and in a few minutes there was a perfect pandemonium going on. The Germans were bombarding on the right and on the left of my company’s lines, and soon the order “stand to” came along, and all our chaps got up on the firestep with loaded rifle and fixed bayonet, ready for all emergencies. On our right our chaps sent the S.O.S. to our artillery and soon the noise was doubled by the crash and roar of our guns as they “strafed the strafers”. Our guns made a barrage of shrapnel all along the enemy trenches, while heavy shells kept finding their mark with a shaking crash. All our chaps behaved well with very few exceptions. After about an hour of hell, though of course it was not so bad for us, it became obvious that our artillery were getting the upper hand, and our cheery company commander passed down the message: “We’re winning”. All the company bombers were called up to the right flank, but we were not wanted as our artillery had knocked their raid on the head. At 2 a.m. the German artillery was silent, and a little later all was quiet. “D company”, who held the trenches on our left, had three casualties, while the battalion on our right, who were in the thick of it, had 8 men killed and 20 wounded. The affair was reported in three lines of the British report in Wednesday’s Times. Again we were very lucky as we nearly always have been, as we did not have a single casualty in my company. The bombardment was a terrible awe-inspiring sight, but it must have been truly awful for those in the thick of it. I have not forgotten Fromelles, and I sincerely hope that experience will not come to me again. My platoon sergeant went on leave from the trenches on Tuesday morning, and as he lives in Tottenham, he offered to deliver a message from me to you, so I hope he has looked you up. Of course he is not exactly a gentleman, but he is not a bad chap, and I thought you would like to have news of me from one who has been with me. We left the trenches in the afternoon, and my platoon was in charge of Percy Lowman much to my surprise. I could not recognize him at first, and I don’t know whether he has recognized me yet. He seemed very serious and reserved, quite different to what he used to be in the old pre-war days. We were billeted in a village about three miles back, and stayed there till this morning, when we marched to this village about another 1 1/2 miles back. On Wednesday all the chaps were cleaning off the trench mud, and having their first wash and shave for five days. In the afternoon a draft of 170 men arrived for the battalion; they look a much better lot than the last two or three drafts. That night two whole companies marched up to the trenches to dig an advanced trench. The trenches are seven or eight hundred yards apart, and this new trench was to be dug about 500 yards nearer the Germans. One by one we clambered over the parapet into “No man’s land”, and as silently as possible filed over the shell-scarred field. Suddenly a devil’s gun started pop! pop! pop! pop! and we all flung ourselves onto the ground. As we lay there with bullets flying just over us, I heard a chap two or three before me say “I’m hit”, and the nest chap said “So am I”, and word went down for the stretcher bearers. The first man was the lance-corporal I spoke of before, and he died from his wound about 48 hours after. The second chap was saved by the things in his pocket. The bullet struck his penknife, went through his purse, bent a cap badge and just pierced his skin. He has the bullet, which is a fine souvenir isn’t it? He really had a marvellous escape. Well the rest of us continued on to where the trench had been marked out with tape, and there with the fear of the terrible maxim upon us we worked furiously to get cover, and the sweat simply poured down me. However we dug our trench three feet six inches deep, and got back to our lines again without further mishap. We got back to our billet about 2.30 a.m. on Thursday morning, as dawn was breaking, and we slept till 10 a.m. when breakfast was ready. The weather changed to the proper May kind last Tuesday, and the fine spell still continues. We had a short parade on Thursday afternoon doing physical exercises. In the evening the other two companies went up to the trenches on the same job as we had been on, and they had several casualties from shrapnel, two chaps dying from their wounds later, and one was killed outright. Friday’s programme was the same as Thursday, but fortunately, although we had a new bit of advanced trench to dig, we managed to get our work done without mishap. Yesterday nothing happened worth telling you about, except the hour parade again. This morning before we moved to this village a German aeroplane flew over the village and dropped a bomb without doing any damage. It was a good job we only had a short march this morning, as our packs were very heavy, and the day was and is very hot. Both Eric and Jack had a glorious time while at home, and I expect to hear the same from “Inky” tomorrow. Now I think you have full news of me up-to-date. Much love to you all. Your loving brother, Wilfred. P.S. Monday May 22nd 7 a.m. Very many thanks for the home parcel which arrived last night. The cake is A1 and the magazines are very welcome. By the way let me give you warning that I believe that shortly all letters home will be stopped, perhaps for as long as a fortnight or possibly longer. So if you don’t hear anything of me for a bit don’t get unduly alarmed. I will let you hear from me as soon as I can afterwards, if the letters are suspended. So long my fellow little one[5], it is a glorious morning. Wilfred. [1] Tottenham Grammar School [2] Wilfred’s cousin, Ernest Reginald Cohen, 1892 - 1968 [3] My mother, Dorothy Winifred Thatcher (1895 – 1981), who might have married Wilfred, if he had survived the war. [4] “Blighty” referred to the home country and therefore a “Blighty one” was an injury necessitating a return home. [5] Wilfred and Elsie were the two youngest in the family
Robin Somes