The Letters of Julian Grenfell, October 1914

Hertfordshire Archives and Local Studies

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The Western Front

11 October 1914  

Darling Mother  

I’ve just been censoring all the men’s letters, which are the best things ever.  They are all on the one formula  

Dear Mary
Hoping this finds you as well as it leaves me
I remain Your affectionate husband
J. Smith  

It is really just as satisfying as a proper letter, and much more restrained and dignified.  

We’ve got within 15 miles of them Germans now, and hope to be at them tomorrow.  It’s all the best fun one ever dreamed of – and up to now it has only wanted a few shells and a little noise to supply the necessary element of excitement.  The uncertainty of it is so good, like a picnic when you don’t know where you are going to: and the rush and hustle of trying to settle things in the whole confusion, unpacking & packing up again, and dumping down men and horses in strange fields or houses or towns, and fighting to get water & food and beds for the horses and water and food and beds for the men and oneself, when one knows that probably another start will be made long before anything is got. 

There are really so many different things to do at the same moment that one does not bother about things one has forgotten or not done, because there is only time to go on with the actual thing of the moment.  And the extraordinary thing is that everything does seem to get done, somehow.   We have had great luck with the weather.  It has been warm ever since we landed, & bright sun; except one night, when I was of course on “inlying picket”, and I had to stay outside all night.  We bivouac generally, and billet when we can.  The people are quite frantic about us, and they line the roads giving beer and fruit and cakes to us as we ride by.  The shout “IP IP WHERRAY”, and “OLAPP” (hold up?) when a horse stumbles.  They have got some of the London motor buses out here, carting about supplies and wounded; a great fat red London driver passed us the other day, and shouted at us “Oxford Street, Bank”.  The buses have still got all the London play bills and advertisement on them.  The roads are chock a block with troops and guns and supplies and transport and wounded; and aeroplanes always in the air.  It is a wonderfully peaceful looking country here.  

Goodbye, Mummy.  Give Dad my best love – I am frightfully fit and well, and just exactly where I want to be.  Are you welly?   Bless you.  J      

24 October 1914  

……… It is sad that it is such an impossible place for cavalry.  Cavalry work  against far superior forces of infantry, like we had the other day, is not good enough.  The Germans are damn good at that house to house fighting business.  It is horrible having to leave one’s horses;  it feels like leaving half oneself behind, and one feels the dual responsibility all the time; besides which it depletes our already small numbers, for horse-holders.  I hope we get them on the run soon; then will come our chance.  They have been having terrific fighting in the line on each side of us, and it has gone well.  

I adore war.  It is like a big picnic without the objectlessness of a picnic.  I’ve never been so well or so happy.  Nobody grumbles at one for being dirty.  I’ve only had my boots off once in the last ten days; and only washed twice. We are up and standing to our rifles by 5 am when doing this infantry work; and saddled up by 4.30 am when with our horses.  Our poor horses don’t get their saddles off when we are in trenches.   The wretched inhabitants here have got practically no food left.  It is miserable to see them leaving their houses and trekking away with great bundles and children in their hands.  And the dogs and cats left in the deserted villages are piteous.  

Goodbye & bless you  J