Letters to Helen: Impressions of an Artist on the Western FrontHenderson, Keith
History
Letters to Helen: Impressions of an Artist on the Western Front
Henderson, Keith
World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, English
I went into an old church in a large town ten miles from here to-day
with Sergeant Hodge. There were the usual tinsel things and red baize
and sham flowers. Sergeant Hodge much impressed. He said after we
emerged: "You know, sir, it's very fine indeed. It puts me in mind of
a bazaar." This was in all good faith, and was intended as a great
compliment to the church! We are having lots of rain, which is bad for
the horses, who are picketed in the open. And thunder. It's often
extremely difficult to tell whether, when the thunder is far away, it is
thunder or guns. Quite a novel experience, and quite pleasant after the
long period of make-believe in England. Discipline. So salutary and so
irksome. Now for the battle. I own I long to get into the thick of it
soon. We see infantry returning and going up, and we feel sick, somehow,
to be still safe.
This country is very charming, but a bit monotonous. Every road and
every field exactly like every other.
_June 13._
[Sidenote: A SERVICE FOR KITCHENER]
A service to-day for Kitchener. And we had to ride fifteen miles there
in pouring rain. Then we stood in deep mud for about an hour, the rain
gradually trickling down our necks.
To-day delicious rumours of a German defeat at Verdun. Lots of
prisoners, including the Crown Prince!
Goodness me, such rain. Jezebel bit Swallow above the eye merely to show
what her feelings were. He now has one eye enormously swollen and
almost closed up. It is dressed with iodine, so he looks most
remarkable. His beauty much damaged. But it will only be temporary.
Hunt tells me that Swallow is so frightened of Jezebel he daren't lie
down at night. But then, Hunt thinks Jezebel a sort of Bucephalus, and
the more horses she kicks or bites the more pride he takes in her. He
has no love for Swallow, unfortunately.
There's a distant cannonade going on to-day. We all eye each other.
_June 17._
In the small-hours of to-night we leave this wonderful place. Why we
were ever sent here or why moved away is one of those mysteries only
known to a few staff officials.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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