JOHN AYSCOUGH'S LETTERS
TO HIS MOTHER
JOHN AYSCOUGH'S MOTHER.
JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER
DURING 1914, 1915, AND 1916
EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY
FRANK BICKERSTAFFE-DREW
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1919
TO
JEAN, LADY HAMILTON,
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED
BY HER KIND PERMISSION
2068396
INTRODUCTION
IT has seemed to me possible that there might be a welcome
for this volume of letters from my cousin to his mother : partly
because of the peculiar sense of personal friendship for John
Ayscough continually testified by his readers, by readers who
have never met him, and (living far from England) probably
never will meet him; and partly because all who are his
readers must know by how rare a bond of love and devotion
he and his mother were united.
The letters contained in this volume were the last he ever
did write to her, and they were written during his absence on
active service in France and Flanders, two circumstances
which I have thought might give them a special interest.
For nve-and-twenty years Ayscough's mother had been in
every sense dependent upon her son; for many years she had
hardly suffered him to leave her, even on the briefest absence :
she was eighty-five years old and in most precarious health.
His departure for the front was a blow from which she never
recovered : the blow which did in fact bring her long life to
its end. Knowing well how this almost must be, it was her
son's 6ne preoccupation to bridge that absence as much as was
simply possible by unfailing frequency of letters, and further, by
seldom in those letters allowing her to picture him as in
danger or discomfort. He wanted, if he could, to make her
imagine him as enjoying a complete change, full of interest,
and having no drawback but the separation from herself that
it involved.
To say this is necessary, or the letters can hardly be under-
stood ; they are all bright and cheerful, and succeed in giving
an account of some of the hardships without making them
depressing.
viii INTRODUCTION
John Ayscough's mother was Elizabeth Mona Brougham,
daughter of the Rev. Pierce William Drew, for twenty-five
years Rector of Youghal, of Heathneld Towers, co. Cork. She
was born on October 3, 1829, and was one of seventeen
children (of whom, however, many died young), and was
baptized at the parish church of Shandon, the bells of which
formed the subject of Father Prout's most famous lyric.
At six years of age, in consequence of a difference of opinion
with her governess, she informed that lady that her eyes
(which the owner of them esteemed fine) " were like two
burnt holes in a blanket." The culprit, haled before her
mother, was informed that her conduct rendered her unfit for
education at home, and told her to prepare for immediate
withdrawal to the establishment of a Christian lady at Cork.
To the Christian lady, a Mrs. Bailey, the small Mona was
accordingly despatched per coach; and she proved a very
sensible person, in whose charge the child was not unhappy.
Being so much younger than any other pupil, she got much
petting, far more at school than had ever been her lot at home.
From Mrs. Bailey's, Mona Drew was later on moved to the
" finishing establishment " of a Miss Oakley, for whom all of
her pupils seem to have entertained a kind of worship. Once
finished, Mona returned home, and "came out" under the
tutelage of her only elder sister, Matilda. Throughout life
Matilda and Mona were devoted to each other, which speaks
well for the younger of the two, on whom their mother was
always impressing the superiority of Matilda in beauty,
character, and accomplishments.
It was at this time that John Ayscough's mother had her
one and only romance. She was extremely popular and
pretty, with rich blue eyes, very dark brown hair, almost
black, and all her life had the sweetest expression conceiv-
able.
For one of her many devoted admirers she felt what was
undoubtedly the great love of her life. He appears to have
been a charming man of excellent character, ample means,
and with every qualification for making a fit husband; but
although a gentleman, he was not sufficiently aristocratic to
INTRODUCTION ix
satisfy her father's ideas, so was dismissed in such a fashion
as to lead him to believe that the young lady herself thought
him beneath her. She also was deceived, and allowed to
imagine that he had no serious intentions. Captain W
then exchanged into a regiment bound for service in Canada,
and swore to his friends that he would never marry unless he
heard of the marriage of the girl he loved. It happened that
he read of it in a newspaper, while staying in an hotel, and
his terrible emotion attracted the attention of a stranger
sitting near. Thinking that the officer was taken ill, he
offered sympathy and help; they became acquainted, and
Captain W presently explained the cause of his trouble :
that the one creature he had ever loved, and who he believed
had truly loved him, had cut herself off from him for ever
by marriage with another man. The other man was
Ayscough's father, the intimate friend and fellow-collegian of
the clergyman whom Mona's elder sister had married.
It was in 1851 that she married the Rev. Henry Lloyd
Bickerstaffe, third son of the Rev. Roger Bicker staff e, Rector
of Boylestone, co. Derby. Those who have read John
Ayscough's " Fernando " will recollect that the marriage was
not much approved by the parents on either side, nor was it
fortunate; perhaps husband and wife were unsuited : at all
events, it ultimately came to a complete separation shortly
after Ayscough's birth, on February II, 1858.
Readers of " Gracechurch " and "Fernando" will remem-
ber John Ayscough's first recollections of North Wales, his
mother having moved to Llangollen about a year after his
birth. Mrs. Bickerstaffe, besides having the care and educat-
ing of her three boys, used to write stories and novels. Owing
to her many other industries, which took up the greater part
of the day, the only time for writing was at night. The
stories would now be called short stories, but they were much
longer than the average short story of to-day, many of which
appeared in the Queen. It was during this time Ayscough's
mother took a departure from the ordinary and wrote a novel
of Japanese life called "Araki the Daimio," which was
reckoned very clever.
x INTRODUCTION
During her life most of her spare time was devoted to
natural history, and she made wonderful collections of ferns,
mosses, moths, butterflies, and fossils, also sea and land shells.
As you can see, the love of Nature was not in Mrs. Bickerstaffe
the pastime of an idle woman, because it necessitated a great
deal of climbing and very long walks : how it was she
managed to find time to do so much, to bring up her children
and write novels, I don't know.
Mrs. Bickerstaffe had among her acquaintance the Dr.
Arthur Adams who wrote " Travels of a Naturalist in Man-
churia and Japan," which I believe is still read by lovers of
natural history.
John Ayscough, who was quite a small boy at this time,
went with his mother to stay with Dr. Adams and his wife
at Rockferry, opposite Liverpool. One evening Mrs. Adams
gave an intellectual evening party, which did not include
such frivolities as music and singing, but was " a feast of
reason and a flow of soul." The guests, not having dined
owing to the early hour of the party, were beginning to
feel rather hungry, when about one o'clock in the morning
Mrs. Adams provided a very light supper, consisting of jellies,
biscuits, etc. Little Johnny, who had heard about dinner-
parties, wanted to know if this was one, so he said to a young
Naval officer who happened to be standing near him : " Could
you tell me what meal this is ?" To which he replied : " God
only knows, my child !"
Mrs. Bickerstaffe, besides being pretty, was very witty and
entertaining and full of anecdote. Ayscough, when quite
small, was invited to a dinner-party with his mother. The
life and soul of the party was Mrs. Bickerstaffe, who amused
her friends by telling one anecdote after another. Her
fellow-guests were all amazed, and wanted to know how she
managed to remember them all, when little Johnny exclaimed
rather loudly : " Oh, she doesn't have to remember them for
long, because she keeps them in a little book." Of course,
everybody went in shrieks of laughter, except his mother, who,
being deaf, didn't hear; but when it had ceased, she wanted
to know what it was all about, and on being told could not
INTRODUCTION xi
help laughing herself. This, I think, will give a little idea
of her sweetness and good-nature.
Added to her many industries and occupations, Mrs.
Bickerstaffe played the piano well in spite of her deafness,
and, like Lady Bertram in "Mansfield Park," she did
embroidery and crochet, which, by the way, she did not start
until she had passed her seventieth year, and, as in the case
of her painting, had no lessons, but taught herself, and went
on continually improving till the end, so that some of her
finest work was done shortly before her death.
In 1864 or 1865 Mrs. Bickerstaffe moved to a small town
near the Welsh border of Shropshire, described in "Grace-
church." This, as is told in the book, was done in order to
place her boys at the locally famous school of the vicar, who,
however, died a week or two before her arrival.
In 1868 Ayscough's father died; in April, 1870, his mother
remarried, her second husband being Charles Brent, one of
the eight sons of the Rev. Daniel Brent, D.D., Vicar of
Grendon, in Northamptonshire, in whose church the wedding
was solemnized by himself, assisted by one of his sons.
John Ayseough gives a very interesting portrait of his
mother in " Gracechurch " and "Fernando" : "My mother in
her soft lavender silks looked lovely, and I was as proud and
pleased as if it had been arranged by me. God knows she
had had sorrow enough, and if an aftermath of gentle pros-
perity and happiness was now to be reaped by her, she
deserved it all ; and I, at least, could see nothing but cause for
joy in it."
It was in December, 1880, that Ayscough's mother took
leave of him at Euston Station for Liverpool, where she
embarked for America, Mr. Brent having bought a ranch in
Texas.
A day or two afterwards Ayseough left Cardinal Manning's
house, where he had been staying, for St. Thomas's Seminary,
Hammersmith, where he made his studies for the priesthood.
A few months earlier, Mrs. Brent had followed her son into
the Catholic Church. She was happy in her new life in Texas
—happy, indeed, it was her genius to be everywhere— but
xii INTRODUCTION
the life was much too rough, the work too hard, for one of her
years, and the food unfit for one who was rapidly becoming
an invalid. But her old resources did not fail her; Nature
was all around, and for her it was ever full of absorbing
interest ; she sketched and painted more than ever ; and then
her sketching made demands not only upon her skill, but
upon her courage, for the scenes of her painting had to be
sought in the wild and lonely brakes, the homes of panthers,
wild cats, and, much worse, of innumerable rattle-snakes.
She was always quite alone, and it will be remembered that
she was so completely deaf as to be unable to hear the nearest
sound without the aid of her speaking-trumpet. Her
husband, Mr. Brent, would often expostulate upon the danger
of those solitary ramblings, but she would laugh and declare :
" I am so fat that only a very hungry panther would think of
eating me, and as I can't hear the rattle-snakes rattle they
never frighten me."
After a dozen years it was decided that her only hope of
life was to return to England and to rest, and in the summer
of 1892 she joined her son at Plymouth, where he was Military
Chaplain, and, with the exception of his period of active
service in France and Flanders during the Great War, they
were never again separated.
John Ayscough has often told me of his horror, almost
dismay, at first meeting his mother on her return from Texas.
He had been scanning the faces of the passengers in his search
for her, and had already more than once glanced earnestly
at one very old, broken-down lady, in amazing clothes of at
least a dozen years' standing, without in the least recognizing
her. Presently she smiled, asked a question, and held out
her battered speaking-trumpet. In her smile he recognized
her ; but it was literally a shock to find in this wholly broken,
terrified-looking woman of extreme age his mother, whom
he had last seen looking fairly young, certainly not beyond
middle age, upright, and with a face bright with cheerful
courage. He says that though she lived a quarter of a century
longer, she looked many years older at her first return from
Texas than at the time of her death, and was more bowed
INTRODUCTION xiii
in figure ; she was, in fact, not sixty-three years of age on her
return to England, and looked very much more than ninety.
If she had been left a few more weeks in Texas, the rough
work and hard toil would no doubt have killed her. This
journey across the Atlantic she made entirely alone, deaf, in
shattered health, and in a very inferior boat, as she sailed
from a small port in Texas itself to avoid a long railway
journey. With astonishing rapidity she recovered health,
spirits, and cheerfulness, in a comfortable home, under the
charge of an excellent doctor: with good nursing and
attendance and good food, she very soon lost the look of
extreme age, and recovered her upright carriage, her happy
expression, and abundant interest in life. The mother and
son remained seven years at Plymouth, till 1899; the reunion
seeming an almost incredible joy. With a very large social
circle Mrs. Brent was, as she had everywhere been throughout
life, much more than popular; and the affection of these kind
friends was a peculiar delight to her, (and the beauty of the
country round Plymouth afforded endless scope for her
talent in water-colour drawing.
In March, 1 899, John Ayscough was ordered to Malta, and
she accompanied him. The voyage she thoroughly enjoyed,
and very soon she had as many friends in Malta as she had
left behind at Plymouth.
During the six years of her stay there (without a visit to
England), Mrs. Brent never seems to have had any sense of
exile, and was certainly never bored. Here, too, there was
plenty of scope for her many talents. With her son, she
explored every corner of the island, sketching, collecting
flowers, and studying the archaeology of the place.
During the six years in Malta, John Ayscough and his
mother made many visits to Italy and Sicily — visits which
have fruit in "Marotz," "San Celestino," and "A Roman
Tragedy." Also, they visited France, Switzerland, and North
Africa — the fruit of which journeys appears in " Mezzogiorno,"
"Admonition," and several of the stories in "Outsiders and
In."
Travelling was an immense joy to her, and especially was
xiv INTRODUCTION
she delighted by a trip to Crete. One of the many wonderful
things she did during her life was devoting her seventieth
birthday to an ascent of Vesuvius.
During this six years in Malta, Mrs. Brent was presented
for the second time in private audience to Pope Leo XIII.,
and, in 1904, for the first time to Pius X.
At last, in March, 1905, they returned to England, and
Salisbury Plain became their home.
After less than four years at home, John Ayscough was
ordered on a further tour of foreign service, to last probably
for five years, and she determined to go with him. At her
great age, how could she expect ever to see England again ?
Early in March, 1909, they sailed from the Port of London
for Malta, for it was to Malta they were to return.
It was a bitterly cold day, with deep snow everywhere,
and heavy snow falling, but she trudged on heavily, her son
expecting any minute to see her fall and there breathe her
last. It was at least half a mile to walk from the train to the
docks, and not a conveyance of any sort could be had. A
very devoted friend of his came and brought a beautiful
bouquet of roses, which seemed to give her fresh strength to
continue that miserable walk. In less than a quarter of an
hour, on board, she was talking and joking about herself to
complete strangers, as though she found life full of amuse-
ment.
They were welcomed in Malta by many old friends, though
many were gone. A charming house was soon found, with
a pretty garden full of fine flowers, but Mrs. Brent could no
longer enjoy things ; through the eight months of this second
stay she was too ill for anything but a wistful longing for
home. The doctors said it must be home or a prompt end;
and her son had to purchase an exchange home, and obtain
War Office sanction for it
At the end of October they started for England. The
voyage itself did good, and by the time they reached London
she was out of danger; she was, in fact, destined to live seven
years longer, though with frequent more and more alarming
illnesses. Within a few weeks of her return, Mrs. Brent
INTRODUCTION xv
received from Pius X. the Cross of Leo XIII. " Pro Ecclesia et
Pontifice " in gold, an honour which she told her son " made
her feel very humble," having, as she considered, done so little
to deserve it.
Immediately on the outbreak of war, Ayscough was sent to
France with the first British Expeditionary Force, and in
December he returned to England, as he thought, for good. I
need not describe the joy and happiness it gave his mother
to see him back again, perfectly safe and in his old home,
but, alas! it did not last for long. On the morning of
February 8, 1915, he received orders to return to France
immediately.
I am sure my readers will realize what a blow it was to
them both. The news came in the early morning; he jumped
out of bed, told his dear mother, dressed, had breakfast, and
was out of the house within an hour and a half of receiving
his orders. When he returned in December, he had been told
that he would be released from active service and continue
duty at home. Like her other troubles, his mother took it all
bravely, and, considering her age and state of health, kept
cheerful.
About the beginning of November, 1915, Ayscough became
very ill, but continued his work until the doctors discovered
how bad he was and insisted on his going into hospital, which
he did, but not until the third week of January, 1916. The
day after his admission into hospital he underwent a serious
operation, but, luckily, got through successfully. He was then
sent to a hospital in London, where he underwent another
operation, but only slight in comparison with the first, and
after being there about a fortnight, he returned home. The
medical board then offered him a few months' sick leave, but
he only accepted a month, on condition that if at the end of
that time he was unfit for duty further leave would be granted ;
this proved unnecessary, and he resumed duty at home on
Salisbury Plain. But after this second shock his mother
could never believe that he was home for good; every day,
every post, she expected that orders would come and take
him away again. The strain at last proved too much for her,
xvi INTRODUCTION
and in July she died. Oh, what a terrible loss it was for
Ayscough ! I don't think there ever was a more deep love
and affection between any mother and son than these; they
were everything to each other.
In the last chapter of " French Windows " he says : " For
his first remembered impression of life was the realization
that he was his mother's son, and almost the next his realization
of the terror lest he should lose her. The dread of that loss
remained ever afterwards, the only real dread of his life ; no
sorrow, no misfortune, threatened or fallen, seemed to affect
the substance of happiness so long as that supreme calamity
was spared. For fifty-eight years it was spared, and for that
immense reprieve he can but cry his thanks to Divine patience.
That the calamity fell upon his life during the writing of
these pages must make this, to him, a different sort of book
from any that he has written, must make of the whole book a
lingering farewell."
Owing to the recent date of the letters and their dealing
with living people, it has been necessary to omit much, and
unfortunately much that constituted by far the most enter-
taining portion of them.
Ayscough's first period in France was spent at the front
with the fighting troops, while the latter part consisted of
garrison and hospital duty at Dieppe and Versailles.
The two periods, I think, make a fascinating contrast and
an interesting volume of letters.
FRANK BICKERSTAFFE-DREW.
JOHN AYSCOUGH'S LETTERS
TO HIS MOTHER
LETTER No. 1.
\/ RAILWAY STATION,
SALISBURY.
MY OWN DARLING MOTHER,
I send this by the chauffeur to bid you another good-
bye, and to thank you very, very much for having borne this
cruel smack of fortune so well. It makes it so much better
for me your doing so.
God bless and keep you, dear, and bring me soon back to
look after you.
Oh for Peace !
Ever your own boy,
Best love to Christie.
LETTER No. 2.
DUBLIN.
Sunday (i o * clock mid-day).
MY DEAREST DEAR,
It seems one hundred years since we parted, and this
is my first opportunity of writing.
I will go back to the beginning and tell you exactly how
I have got on.
My dear, my dear, how good and noble it was of you to be
so brave and cheerful at our actual parting ; it made the pain
of leaving you, and of saying good-bye, so much easier to
bear. But I do hope that you did not collapse when I was
gone.
At Salisbury Station there was Mr. Gater come to see me
off; and though the train was an hour late starting, he stayed
2 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
on. I thought it very nice of him, and he was most cordial,
friendly, and sympathetic. I am sure you and Christie may
always send to him if you want any male assistance; he did
not offer his services as a matter of form, but as if he really
meant them. I travelled up very comfortably with Captain
George Herbert, brother of Lord Pembroke, and we talked
the whole way ; he knows scores of people I know, and we had
lots to say; besides, he is a Territorial, and frightfully keen
about the Army and the war.
It was dull but quite fine when we got to London. I first
telegraphed to you, then went straight on to Euston in a taxi.
For a quarter of an hour nearly my taxi was going at a foot-
pace beside a detachment of Lancers ; the young officer called
out to me : " Off to the front, Sir ?" and began talking. He
said all his detachment were recruits who had joined the
night before; they looked tired, but marched pluckily; they
were not going to the front, but only to St. Albans, where
they are to train for some months to fill up gaps.
In the street I saw Cardinal Gasquet walking with his
secretary. After putting my things in the cloak-room, I had
tea; went for a walk ; came back and had dinner in the Euston
Hotel, and then secured a good place in the Irish Mail.
I had all one side of the carriage to myself, and slept lying
down comfortably till Holyhead. Then I had some tea and
went below; I had a large six-berthed cabin all to myself, and
was able to undress and make myself very comfortable,
and so slept till 6.30 ; then I got up and washed and dressed,
and went ashore (not intending to go up to Dublin till 8.45),
when I took a jaunting-car and went off to Monkstown to find
Helen and Jack.
I found their house, but it was all shut up, and the creepers
much overgrown over the door, so I suppose they have been
long away visiting.
Then I had breakfast and got off my telegram to you ; then
we came up to Dublin, and I heard Mass (I could not say it,
having had tea after midnight on my journey). Then the
Church of England Chaplain attached to the same ambulance
as myself and I took a car over to Phoenix Park, where our
Ambulance is.
The Commanding Officer was not there, but his Adjutant
told us there was no tent for us, and that we could only be
allowed 35 pounds of baggage — about as much as my roll
of rugs alone. However, after about two hours' waiting and
discussion I got the C.O. to agree to my proposal that I
should be allowed to take my stuff on to the base, and there
discard almost all of it; that will enable me to find some
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 3
convent where I can leave it, and where it will be more
within reach than if I left it behind here.
Also I found an empty tent in another camp joining ours
and which they allow me to use, so that I shall have a place to
sleep in to-night and to-morrow night.
I hope you will be sitting in the garden this lovely after-
noon. Do keep well, my darling — that is what I am praying
all the time — do keep well, and let me think of you as well
and cheerful in the beloved home. I love it far, far more than
you do, and it is like an anchor to every happy thought to
recollect it and you in it.
God bless you both. Bid Christie keep a good heart, and
let her know how I thank her in advance for all her care of you.
We are quite in war conditions — no tables, chairs, beds,
baths, washing-stands — nothing but the ground and our rugs.
Ever dearest, dearest mother,
Your devoted son,
F. B. D. BICKERSTAFFE-DREW.
•LETTER No. 3.
ST. FRANCIS XAVIER'S,
UPPER GARDINER STREET,
DUBLIN.
August 17 (Monday, 10 a.m.}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I have fallen among most kind and hospitable, friendly
and pleasant people, with whom I am staying. The letter I
wrote you yesterday was written in the parlour of a little fifth-
rate hotel just outside Phoenix Park, where I had luncheon.
After finishing my letter, I got on a tram and came in to the
city, getting off at Carlyle Bridge, as the Unionists call it,
O'Connell Bridge as the Nationalists call it. Thence I walked
up O'Connell Street (Sackville Street), and presently met two
young priests, who saluted and began to talk. (All the priests
here are full of friendliness.) I told them I wanted if I could
to get a light altar-stone instead of the very heavy one I
brought from our chapel at the Manor House. They said :
"We are Jesuits from Gardiner Street Church, St. Francis
Xavier's ... go up there and ask for one." Well, I came
here, and the Father Minister (Housekeeping Father) instantly
said I must stay here. He went and round the Rector and
Father Provincial, and they would not take any refusal; I
must be their guest till we embark.
They sent Father Wrafter (the Father Minister) out to the
camp in Phoenix Park to fetch my baggage in a taxi; that
4 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
was really just so that I should not be at the cost of bringing
it all in that long way myself. And so here I am very com-
fortably installed and made a very great deal of.
After dinner we had great talk and smoking ; all the Fathers
here (there are about twenty) seem great admirers of my books.
The Rector and Provincial are charming men, and to-night
the latter is taking me to dine with his brother at Kingstown.
I said Mass this morning at the altar I send you a postcard
of. One of the Fathers insisted on giving me all these cards
to send to you.
This house is very large and fine : most comfortable. But
what I like best in it is the universal spirit of hospitality and
kindness of the Jesuits themselves.
I slept uncommon well, and so did not begin my camp life
with last night, as I had expected. I said Mass early, had an
excellent breakfast, and then they showed me the house,
church, library, etc. And now I am writing this to you; I
hope you are getting on all right; presently I shall go out to
post this, and will telegraph to ask how you are. I shall be
here till about 9 o'clock to-night, then go to camp, and
to-morrow morning, I believe, we embark.
(Unfinished.}
LETTER No. 4.
August 18, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
It is 6.30 a.m. on Tuesday, and we march off from this
camp, Phoenix Park, in half an hour.
I think it almost impossible you could hear anything from
me for days now. We are, I believe, going to France, and
will take some days to get there, and a letter would take some
day or two to return. Besides, it is quite possible they would
not let us write at first or even telegraph — they are so deter-
mined to hide all the movements of our troops.
I just write this to say good-bye. I don't quite know how
I shall get it posted. I dined at Kingstown last night with
the Provincial of the Jesuits and his brother at a charming
hotel on the sea-front. Then we trained into Dublin, and
came over here in a taxi ; I cannot tell you what all the hos-
pitality and kindness of those Jesuits has been.
Last night was my first under canvas this time, and I was
very comfortable.
Do tell the Caters I have been so incessantly on the rush it
was impossible to arrange a meeting with Cyril. Lots of
priests have been calling here in camp " to see the great Mr.
Ayscough," but none have caught me.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 5
I was so delighted to get your two telegrams and to hear
you were all well. Mind you keep well and in good spirits.
Best love to dear Christie.
Ever your loving son,
I had a charming letter from Mrs. Drummond. Her
husband has gone to France on the Headquarters Staff of the
2nd Army.
LETTER No. 5.
DUBLIN.
August 1 8, 1914 (Tuesday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
We are safely embarked, and much more comfortable it
is than the camp.
We left camp about 7.30 this morning, and the long line
of waggons with the big sections of men marching between
looked very picturesque.
Phoenix Park is extraordinarily beautiful — 1,756 acres of
it — with the Dublin mountains for background and the
exquisite flowers and trees for foreground. The weather is
beautiful and absolutely fine, but not too hot.
I have a charger, rather a nice horse, not badly bred, and
quite well educated and behaved. But I let my servant ride
him from camp to this ship and sat cocked up on an ambulance
waggon ; it was quite interesting, and also quite comfortable.
The distance is about seven miles, two of park and five of
city and docks, and all along the way people were gathered
in groups to see us go by. The Irish are enthusiastic about
the war, and the Emperor of Germany would have a painful
experience if they could handle him according to their desires.
I sat so high cocked up on my ambulance that my purple
stock attracted instant attention and drew forth innumerable
salutes — " God bless you, Father," " Come back safe, Father,"
etc. At one corner there was a big group of men, and they
called out, "Three cheers for the priest!" which were given
accordingly.
At another point there were a lot of women waving little
Union Jacks — this is " disloyal " Ireland.
General Drummond has gone out with the 2nd Army on
the Headquarter Staff of it. If you like, you might write to
her at Trent Manor, Sherborne, Dorset.
It is now about 11.30, and we shall probably not sail till
7 this evening. I must not tell you where we are going, but it
is no farther off than Belgium. I seize all these opportunities
6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
of writing because soon there must come a time when we cannot
get letters off.
It is awfully comfortable on board ship after camp. I have
a cabin to myself, and no one else (out of sixty officers) has.
It is very comfortable, and I quite long for bedtime to go to
bed in it ! In fact, I probably shall not wait till bedtime, but
have a sleep after luncheon.
I left my brown valise at the Jesuits' with the things I am
sending home. Here is the key of it.
The altar-stone should be put back in the chapel on the
altar; the papers, etc., in the bureau drawer where I told you.
No more room. God bless you and cheer you, my dear.
Ever your loving,
FRANK.
Best love to Christie and kindest remembrances to the
Gaters.
LETTER No. 6.
s.s. " CITY OF BENARES."
August 20, 1914 (Thursday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
We are just entering harbour, and I must get a short
letter ready to post whenever I get the chance. They say the
best address will be — " No. 1 5 Field Ambulance, c/o the War
Office, London, S.W.," and it is a little shorter than "C/o
Sir Charles McGrigor," etc.
We sailed the night before last about 7 p.m., and the scene
was very touching. There was a crowd of sweethearts and
wives on the quay, with other folks too — the other folk all
cheers and shouts, the poor women all tears. Our voyage
lasted about forty hours. ... It is just after breakfast, and
we are slowing in along the quays; they are covered with
people waving handkerchiefs and calling out, "Vive 1'Angle-
terre !" " Hip, hip !" and our men yell out, "Vive la France !"
and as much of the "Marseillaise" as they can sing. It
seems a fine harbour and a gay, prosperous-looking town.
The streets run right down to the quays, and not squalid
streets like those that melt into the quays at Dublin. Our
voyage was charming, the weather exquisite, and the sea a
great silver mirror. Yesterday morning we were quite close
in to Land's End, which I had never seen before. We ran
parallel to the peaceful coast for hours, then drifted south.
The Channel seemed full of shipping and commerce in spite
of the war, which shows how effectually our Navy protects it —
and you.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 7
I had a service for my men yesterday morning, and gave
them all scapulars. From luncheon till 7 p.m. I was hearing
confessions — 127 of them; it was splendid; I think every
Catholic on board came.
The ship has messed us for 55. a day, and "done us" very
well — excellent plain food; and they were only bound to
supply hot water ! I got your letter written on Sunday, and
the parcel of letters Christie forwarded, just as we sailed from
Dublin.
I was so glad and so happy to get such good accounts of
you : do keep it up. Be well, cheerful, sanguine, and I can
be happy.
I cannot tell you how many prayers I have offered for you,
and how serenely fixed I feel in God's protection of you.
We hear on arriving that the Germans are driven back all
along the line, that the French occupy the Vosges valleys, and
that the Germans have left many wounded, guns, etc., behind
them. I must not tell you the name of this place, but perhaps
the postmark will tell.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
Best love to Christie and the Gaters. I have managed to
get ashore; we stay here till to-morrow, when we go on some-
where twenty-two hours by train, we don't know where.
LETTER No. 7.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
August 21, 1914 (Friday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am going to try and write you a little letter, or begin
one at all events. . . . We are in rest camp, and arrived here
last night at dark ; nobody knows how long we are to stop :
perhaps a day or two, and perhaps we go on to our "base"
to-day. The camp is about four miles outside the town
where we disembarked.
After I wrote to you yesterday I watched the horses and
men disembark. It is rather amusing watching them. . . .
They have to run up a sort of chicken-ladder to the main deck,
then down another to the horse deck, and some of them kick
up awful trouble over it. I got leave to go up into the town,
and had some luncheon, then bought a few things — a celluloid
collar, a large waterproof sheet, a "brassard" farm-badge
8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
with Geneva cross to mark one as a non-combatant), a
haversack, valise, etc.
Then I got a warm bath at some swimming-baths, and
walked about.
There is not much to see. The town is large, prosperous,
and pretty, but not old, and the churches are nothing much.
About 6.30 I came out here, on my own, with a young
gunner officer, and 'waited for my unit to arrive; it looked
very picturesque when they did, the light almost gone, the
camp fires quickly blazing up.
I am really the "senior officer" of the unit, and was the
only one to be allotted a tent to myself; but the Church of
England Chaplain was to be one of three, so I gave him half
my tent.
I was delighted to see my baggage again ; I hadn't seen
it since Monday at Dublin, and was very dirty, in a dirty
shirt, vest, socks, etc.
Then we had supper — bread and tinned salmon. We are
regularly on field-service lines now. No chairs or stools,
tables, etc. It looked rather picturesque, the group of us
huddled on the ground, each with his platter and pannikin,
no light but a single candle crammed into a bottle-neck.
Almost immediately after supper we went to bed ; I lent my
new sheet and the bigger of my old ones to the officer in the
next tent, who had none, but I was quite warm with what I had.
When I began this it was pouring rain, thundering and
lightening, and looked like rain for the whole day; but it
soon got fine again. I am writing in my tent, sitting on my
bed, with the black box that used to be under your bed for a
table. It is quite convenient.
Some say we shall be here a week : some that we shall
go on to-night to Amiens. I would much rather push on.
I am very happy except for your being left to miss me.
God send a speedy end to the war (I am the only officer in the
British Army that says so, I dare say). It has certainly killed
our beloved Pope. I read of his death (that took place in the
early morning of yesterday) yesterday afternoon with pain
and sorrow. He was plunged into grief by the prospect of
this war, and implored the old Austrian Emperor not to
begin it. The war will have no nobler victim. Yesterday
in the streets they were selling by way of joke "The Last
Will and Testament of Wilhelm II."
As far as we can judge, the war is everywhere going against
Germany and Austria ; but, of course, there has been nothing
decisive yet.
I find it so hard to realize that I am part of an Expeditionary
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 9
Force engaged in a huge war; it is all so exactly like
manoeuvres. But no doubt we shall realize it presently when
we get to our line, and the wounded begin to come in.
It is twenty to u in the morning (Friday morning), and
you are sitting up working in bed. It seems about a year
since I was at the Manor House, and yet I was there a week
ago.
To-day Mary comes home to you. You must excuse these
scraps of paper; I was very lucky to find any, and still
luckier to have brought a fountain-pen with me. There is no
pen or ink in camp. The French are uncommonly civil, but
not (I think) so truly cordial as the Irish, though we are "out"
in their quarrel.
Everyone says the German Emperor will commit suicide,
the Crown Prince, they say, is wounded — who knows any-
thing ? On each side of the huge armed wall there is ignorance
and talk.
I think I must stop. I write plenty of letters, but never
feel sure of your getting them. I post them all myself, but
some say every letter is opened and held up if not approved.
At least, if you suffer it shall not be my neglect. I'm sure
you read my letters to Christie, or give them to her to read, so
I only send her brief messages. I am truly sorry for her, for I
know how she would like to be back at Blackheath. If by any
chance Alice were ill, and she had to go to her, would you like
to have a Blue Sister to stay with you ? Good-bye ; do keep
well and cheerful.
Ever your own loving son,
FRANK.
LETTER No. 8.
HAVRE.
AugUSt 22, 1914.
(Saturday afternoon, 3.30 p.m.")
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Here I am writing you a letter from an hotel, seated at
a civilized table, with an ordinary pen, and a very imposing
sheet of paper.
It seems quite odd ; though I only left Dublin on Monday
night and then took to my tent, I feel as if I had not been
under a roof for ages.
I think it more amusing and more healthy to live in a tent,
but certainly rooms and tables and chairs are rather conveni-
ent. As there is no danger at all of this letter being censored,
I suppose we may as well recognize between us that it is at
io JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Havre I have been since Thursday ; or rather we arrived here,
and our camp has been at Bleville, outside it.
7 was not supposed to tell you, but I thought the postcards
would ; so, as you now know, we may allude to it.
The shops and houses are excellent here, but there is nothing
interesting to see. Still, it is a gay, pleasant town.
I have bought several things — (i) a much larger water-
proof sheet; (2) a sort of galoche, or gum-boots; (3) washing-
basin; (4) collapsible bath ; (5) little haversack to carry a clean
shirt, socks, sponge, soap, tooth-brush, etc.
I wrote to you yesterday morning while it was pouring rain ;
but it only lasted half an hour, and has been ever so fine (and
hot) ever since. I came in to Havre about 12, and my
Anglican confrere begged to come with me. I much prefer
being alone, for, though he is a giant with legs a mile long, he
shambles along at the rate of half a mile an hour, and tires me
to death. He is very amiable, but looks and talks like an
enormous fourth-form boy.
We had lunch in here, and ate too much.
About tea-time we waddled home — at least, we trammed
most of the way, and had only to walk the last mile — to
Bleville, where our camp is.
As we passed a rather smart house with a big garden, a
little girl and boy dashed out with rum and water. They
said their maman wished them to refresh thus the poor tired
English soldiers. The French are in love with our soldiers'
collar and shoulder badges and wheedle them out of the men ; so
that half the people you see have 20 H. (2Oth Hussars), R.F.A.
(Royal Field Artillery), etc., worn as brooches on trie lapels
of their coats.
We sat and talked in the dark outside our tents till late
last night, then went to our rugs (no one has a bed), and I
slept the sleep of the just.
This morning I found a church ; I stayed a long time praying
there for you : but everywhere I am doing that.
We struck camp at I o'clock, and late this afternoon entrain
for Amiens, where, perhaps, I shall find letters. After that
I don't know where we go, or when we move. If I find it
likely that we are to stop some days in Amiens, I shall send
you a wire saying, " Write here, Poste Restante, Monseigneur
Bicker staffe," only.
Oh dear, I hope you are doing well. It is so trying never
hearing anything ; but it is all part of the one great nuisance.
I enjoy all this in a way, but would give one ear for the war
to be over, and for me to be at home.
It is so odd living in this impenetrable silence. We see
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 11
French newspapers, but not one of us has heard a word from
his home.
By writing this here, and posting it " on my own," I avoid
(I hope) the Military Censor. He only approves of a word or
two thus : " I am well. No change. X."
If I wrote " Active Service " on my letters they would go for
nothing, but then I should have to let the Censor read them.
I just walked in here out of the street and asked if I might
write a letter, and they said " Yes " at once.
How is Christie ? how are the Gaters ? Give them my love,
and thank them from me for being kind to you. I must stop.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 9.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
August 28, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I wrote you a hasty scribble yesterday. We arrived
here yesterday after some strenuous days; indeed, it has all
been pretty stiff since Sunday last. I cannot say more at
present, but I shall have yarns enough to spin when I get
home.
We arrived at the town near this about noon, and I was
asked to go and forage for our Mess, so was able to get some
food (the first for nearly twenty hours) and to see the fine
old cathedral.
Then I got out here to camp, and we saw our baggage (first
time since we left our landing-place), and there was a fine
washing and changing of socks, shirts, etc. We were all
filthy.
You mustn't grumble if the chicken or cutlet is tough, but
say, " What would not Frank give for it ?"
Till yesterday it was all march, march, and move, move. It
is a lovely part of France. Here rich woods and water-
meadows; everywhere splendid harvest lands; in parts very
like Salisbury Plain. If you can find Montaigne's "Essays"
(in the revolving bookcase in the study, I think, or else in the
one between the two windows) you will see at the beginning
a picture of his birthplace — one sees a house like it in every
village here. The country is a picture of peace, with "War"
overprinted on it. I have seen some lovely wild-flowers, new
to me and perhaps rare, but have never been able to stop and
pick them. Here in this field wild colchicum grows — a lovely
12 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
mauve crocus with no leaf yet. I have picked some and will
try and dry it for you. The people are so splendid to our
men ; in every village (and we have marched through dozens)
they run out and give coffee, fruit, bread, bread and jam, water,
and so on. . . .
I cannot tell you in a letter what our life is like. In some
ways it is simply like a titanic picnic with a huge country for
its scene, an army for its guests. We are all well, and we
have had supreme weather (except for about thirty hours of
drenching misery). We have never entered a house since
leaving Dublin, and never entered a tent for ten days ; one eats,
sleeps, does everything, in the open air on the open ground,
without tent, chair, table, bed, anything. We hardly get our
night through, but in the black dark have to get up, scramble
our things together as we can, and be off to some new encamp-
ment.
The night dews would amaze you ; all that is outside one's
waterproof sheet is drenched, and has to be rolled up drenched.
But no one has had a cold.
I am very comfortable in my " bed" — i.e., the rugs you saw —
and sleep splendidly; all I dislike is getting up. Yesterday
we had a hot dinner, fried ham and eggs : our first for days.
Our food is generally bread, butter, jam, potted meat, tinned
salmon, and, of course, we have no meal-times : sometimes
two or three eatings in a day, and often only one in twenty-
four hours.
Sometimes our camp is in a cornfield, and then we put
sheaves under our rugs and are very comfortable; only the
harvest bugs devour one.
Yesterday was the ist of September, and I actually saw a
covey of partridges ; it seemed so English, it gave me a lump
in my throat.
A German officer taken prisoner yesterday said that their
men had had nothing to eat for four days, and had to be
driven to fight at the point of the bayonet.
On Sunday we were at a village called Coutroy, and I had
service for my men in the church. The priest had gone off
to the war.
On Monday we passed close to Pierrefonds, a splendid
chateau given by Napoleon III. to the Empress Eugenie. I
remember so well a picture of it she has at Farnborough. It
is enormous, and gloriously placed amid vast forests. I
enclose two cards of it, all crumpled, which I can't help. They
have been two days in my pocket ; one has nowhere but one's
pocket to put anything, and . . .
(Unfinished.}
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 13
LETTER No. 10.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 2, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am going to try and get a letter ready to post when-
ever any chance arrives. It is Wednesday afternoon, and we
are having a rest, perhaps until to-morrow morning, and so I
can write.
But there is nothing but the ground to write on, and I can't
manage it very well.
We are encamped at a village called Montge, only about
twenty-four miles from Paris. It is blazing weather, but cool
in my corner of the camp under the shade of some little trees,
for there is a sweet breeze, smelling of harvest.
You, with your papers, know much more about the war than
we do. We move and move and move, always swallowed
up in a cloud of mystery and ignorance, of which the column
of hot dust that moves with us is a type.
All I can tell you is this — we have been in Belgium, rushed
thither at once; got on the fighting-line, and ever since have
been engaged in a "strategic retirement," always moving,
moving back on Paris, never far from the fighting, hearing it,
and never seeing it.
I cannot tell you how lovely, how rich, how opulent the
leagues and leagues of land have been through which we have
been ceaselessly moving : villages whose very name should
be " Peace " ; endless, endless cornlands, with the opulent
harvest all standing ready in sheaf to be carried (and never
to be carried, because a man's wicked cruelty shall waste all
that God's generous providence and poor folks' peaceful
labours have drawn out of the willing earth).
Such farms, such store-places . . . everywhere the evidence
of a people living in frugal plenty on the fruit of their steady,
contented toil . . . and everywhere flight, and abandoning
of all to the mercy of the barbarian Teutons, who know no
mercy. The lands are the richest, the loveliest, I ever saw;
and everywhere one knows that the unequalled harvest will
never be gathered in. Oh, my God, what war is !
It is only at rare intervals that one can post anything. We
got in here to-day quite early (having been roused from our
beds at 2 in the morning, in pitch dark, to come here), and
have been washing, shaving, etc.
The worst of these packings up in black darkness is that
i4 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
one always loses something; this time it was my clothes-
brush; another time it was my big waterproof sheet, only
bought at Havre ; and so on.
Please don't turn up your nose at rather elderly chicken !
Chicken ! We no more expect to see roast meat of any sort
than we expect to be offered the throne of Germany.
And soup or " sweets " ! nothing of that sort till the war
is over for us. Perhaps we shall be in Paris soon . . . but we
haven't the least idea.
I haven't had one letter from you except the one sent to
Phoenix Park. I don't know whether some day I shall get
a great pile of letters or whether they are all lost ... we
know the Germans got two bags full. Miles of country I
have seen are just like Salisbury Plain, but in this part the
wide cornlands are striped with forest.
I must stop ... I want to sleep. I hope to be able to post
this ; but when I don't know.
The flowers I send are a field campanula and a field
aquilegia.
God bless you and dear Christie, and all of them.
My kind and dear love to the Gaters, and all of them.
Ever your own boy,
F.
Please send me two stocks — the best you can find in the
left-hand top drawer in my dressing-table. Don't make one
on purpose, as they only get knocked about here, but the
dew has spoiled the one I have.
Please don't make one, as it is such a chance if I ever
receive it.
LETTER No. 11.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 4, 1914 (Friday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
It is Friday, 4th September, and I have just got two
big envelopes forwarding letters, addressed in Christie's
writing ; these contained two letters from you, the first I have
received. One told me of your having Bert to sleep in Joe's
room, a very good plan, I think.
I am so glad to hear you are well, and earnestly hope you
may keep well, and cheerful too.
The weather has been quite glorious ever since I left, except
on one day and a half, and I have been and am in excellent
health. You know I dislike heat, and the heat has been
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 15
amazing throughout; but I must say when one is out in the
field day and night, for week after week, it is a mercy to have
it fine.
We originally landed at Havre and then trained to Valen-
ciennes, whence we marched to the Belgian frontier and over
it. Since then we have marched daily, and are now within
twenty -five miles of Paris.
All details you must wait for till I am back.
I got a lot of stuff washed the day before yesterday, but we
had to go off before it was dry, and I had to roll it all up
wet as it was. To-day I am drying it.
I hate the idea of sleeping indoors now; and I never feel
cold at night, though we have thick white fogs, breast high,
at night, and then fierce heat every day.
I am writing this while waiting to march ; excuse its brevity
and its stationery.
With best love to Christie and the Gaters, and kind
messages to the good servants.
Your own boy,
F.
LETTER No. 12.
B.E.F., September 5, 1914 (Saturday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I wrote the letter accompanying this yesterday, but
could not get it posted. Nor do I know when I shall be able
to post this; it is only by a rare chance we run across a field
post office, and all the civil post offices are shut.
This day week I wrote a number of letters — to you,
Christie, Mrs. Gater, Miss Gater, my London agent, Sir
Charles McGrigor, etc., and the one to you enclosed cheques.
I sent them to a field post office for despatch, and now I hear
that all letters posted closed are torn up ! Isn't it madden-
ing— if it be true ? How can I write business letters enclosing
cheques, etc., and leave them open ?
We had a tiresome day yesterday. The idea was it was
to be a "rest day," and fellows had washed their clothes, etc.
Then at about 8.30 a.m. we had word to hold ourselves in
readiness to start, so everything was packed in five minutes
and we stood about waiting about till 1 1 p.m. — fifteen hours ! —
before the actual order to move came. And we were on the
march all night, from 1 1 p.m. to 7.30 this morning.
A lovely march, mostly through forest, but I was too tired
and cold to be enthusiastic.
We are billeted here in the grounds of a chateau very like
Palluau, only larger, and with finer country round it. It
16 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
belongs to a Mons. Boquet, who knows Count Clary well ; the
latter often comes here.
Such lovely trees and flowers.
Best love to Christie.
Ever your loving son,
F.
VISITING CARD.
September 7, 1914 (Monday'}.
No paper or post-cards available : am trying this, hoping it
will reach you.
Am excellently well, and hope you are. The weather
splendid. Altogether flourishing. Had a long talk with
Captain Newland on Saturday, and saw several Tidworthians
yesterday. Lordly forest country all yesterday.
Best love to Christie.
Ever your loving son,
F. B. D. B. D.
LETTER No. 13.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 8, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am gradually losing all of the very little I have ! And
now I have lost my fountain-pen, and must write in future in
pencil — when I can borrow one.
One can buy nothing; the few shops one comes across are
all closed. We so often arrive after dark at our night's stop-
ping-place, and so often leave again in the dark, that it is
only too easy to lose things.
I have been bitten from head to foot by harvest bugs, and
have been as miserable as if I had measles. So have most of
us : it is from sleeping on the corn sheaves or on the stubble.
One's whole body looks like a plum-pudding, and the great
heat makes the irritation worse. It is so odd knowing nothing
of the outside world. I have not seen an English paper since
leaving home, nor a French one for a fortnight. We know
nothing but the rumours of our own Division. Is there a new
Pope, I wonder ; and if so, who is he ? What are the Russians
doing ?
The other scrap was written yesterday, but I had no
envelope, and no chance of posting it. I am posting this
open, and hope you will receive it safe some day. To-day is
Our Lady's birthday ... by the time my other mother's
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 17
birthday arrives I trust I shall be with her at home. Pray for
that, and for the end of the war.
The forest we marched through all Sunday was full of lilies
of the valley, though long finished blooming, of course.
The lilac colchicum one sees everywhere is lovely.
We are just off, and I must stop.
Ever your loving son,
Will you please write a note to P. H. Prideaux, Esq., King
Edward VI.'s School, Lichfield, and tell him I am at. the front
and cannot write anything for the School Magazine till I get
back.
LETTER No. 14.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 9, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
You must not think from this paper that I am a prisoner
in the hands of the Germans.
For several days we have been pursuing them, and this sheet
of paper is the first German trophy picked up by me yester-
day. I began writing, during a halt, on a baggage waggon,
and I am trying to finish on the ground during a midday pause
for rest ; it is very hard to write with only a stubble-field for
writing-desk. I have just had an excellent dinner of bacon
and tomatoes, and am very comfortable, under the shade of a
corn-rick in a flat field on the top of a hill, with an exquisite
wooded valley skirting it and a broad, quiet river winding
round under the hill. The woods are intensely green, but a
haze of atmosphere over them.
We have now been through lots of villages and towns occu-
pied till within a few hours of our arrival by the enemy. You
have no idea of the horrible state to which they reduce every
place they occupy.
Last night I was out till about 1 1.30 searching for wounded
and we were all up again at 4. We found some English and
some German wounded; the latter don't bear their pains half
so well as our men.
All yesterday the dust on the line of march was amazing,
but a heavy shower, the first for a fortnight, laid it a little.
I called on the cure of a little town where we rested for
half an hour yesterday : a very friendly and nice old man,
with a queer old housekeeper. The whole town had been
1 8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
eaten up and turned out of doors by the Germans, who had
stayed four days; they gave me a glass of cider and wanted
to give dinner, but I doubt if they had much to eat themselves.
They were so nice and simple.
The only thing I dislike is being able to wash so little and
so seldom. To-day not at all. Yesterday I borrowed the
pint of water another fellow had washed in, and washed in it
as well as I could.
But there are no hardships, only inconveniences, and our
health is first-rate. Not one case of sickness among us. The
open-air life keeps one well. When I come home you will see
me retiring with my bedroom candlestick to the lawn or the
field ! But a room is certainly convenient to wash in, or write
letters in.
No post for days ; I wonder where all one's letters go to !
I must stop and go to sleep.
Ever your own loving son,
Best love to Christie and the Gatera, and be sure always
to tell the servants I thank them for their care of you.
LETTER No. 15.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE.
September 13, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am trying to begin a letter, but do not know if I shall
soon have an opportunity of finishing it. I am in a waggon,
not on the box, and we have come to a halt : such halts last five
hours sometimes and sometimes five minutes. Of course,
when the waggon is moving no one could write in it; the
jolting is terrific. My desk is the bottom of my washing-
bowl turned upside down. We were roused about 3 this
morning, and have been marching ever since ; it is now about 8,
and you have just had your early tea — and we shall go on
all day.
Monday, 7.30 a.m. — I could not get on with my letter yester-
day. I was too unwell, with one of my appalling goes of
neuralgia, shivering, etc. I tried to write to you, and had to
give it up ; tried to read an old newspaper a fellow had given
me, and had to give that up too.
A young doctor called McCurry, and generally nicknamed
McChutney, came and attended to me, and was most awfully
kind. For the time I really felt horribly ill, but it only lasted
a few hours, and by the afternoon I was quite well. He packed
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 19
me up on a stretcher in an ambulance with blankets, bottles
full of hot water, etc. ; gave me phenacetin and morphia, and
at last I fell asleep.
About 3 o'clock I awoke, shaved, washed (having a waggon
all to myself for dressing-room), and was packing up my things
when the order was given to move camp at once (by the way,
I began this en route; while I was ill the march ended, and we
were camped when I awoke) — a cook carrying a vegetable
marrow had had it pierced with shrapnel.
All yesterday (Sunday) there was a fierce battle between
our advanced guard and the German rear-guard.
Our lovely weather has ceased, and we have rain every day
now. Last night I had a delightful sleeping-place in a hole
someone had pierced out of the side of a corn-rick. It was
on the sheltered side, and no rain came in.
The night before we slept in a house, the first I had entered
for nearly a month ; it was a small cottage, but the people nice
and the upstairs part of the house quite clean; we had two
mattresses on the floor (seven of us!). At 3 we had to get
up and be off. I walked all day on Saturday, and as it rained
and the road was churned into mud (. . . men with their
horses, carts, etc., do make a road in a mess), I got into an
amazing pickle, all mud. Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien came by
in his motor, warm and dry (a shut motor), and Captain Bowly
with him; they pointed me out to each other and waved, and
seemed edified at my campaigning powers !
What makes the marches tedious is the long halts. On
Saturday there was a big battle all day, and the halts were
spent watching it— one doesn't really see much of an artillery
battle. What you see is a ridge beyond which is a valley,
then another ridge, and between the two a ceaseless exchange
of shells and shrapnel.
It is much more interesting to see an aeroplane being shelled.
I saw one the other day round which eleven shrapnel shells
burst in much less than eleven minutes; it was hit five times,
but not brought down. The churches in the villages are all
old in this part of France, and very nice, good architecture;
but they are all very poor — everything confiscated at the
separation of Church and State, and no money to buy any-
thing but the cheapest and most necessary things.
In many of the villages are delightful old huge farms and
homesteads, once abbeys, Cistercian or otherwise. This
house was one, and the lovely old chapel is in the farmyard
among the manure ! We are only sheltering here, during a
halt, from the rain ; I seize the opportunity to write at a table
in the scullery, where the farm-girls are washing dishes.
20 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I can only repeat again and again — don't be anxious if
you get no news; the ordinary posts do not work, and it is
only at rare intervals we come across a field post.
I have received no letter from you or any forwarded letters
since 28th August, when I received your letter of August 2Oth.
The field-post arrangements must be very odd. I feel sure
you have written often.
Any parcel you do send need only have English parcel-post
rate of stamps on it. I do long to hear you are well and
flourishing.
This paper has been for days in my pocket — that is why it
is so dirty.
My dear, I hope you are well and happy ; if that be so, I am
quite content, though I do long to be at home. I hope poor
Christie is well. I wonder if Alice would come over and see
her from Saturday to Monday or longer? Write and ask
her. . . .
It is maddening hearing nothing ; I have no means of know-
ing how you are managing.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 16.
B.E.F., September 14, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I wrote you a long letter an hour ago, but as we are still
hanging about this farm and I have a table to write at and a
pen and ink to write with, I will write a sort of postscript under
another cover, especially as there is an officer of the field post
writing at the same table, who will see that this letter at all
events gets off. And so (as I feel sure this will reach you) I
just repeat that I am perfectly safe and sound and quite well,
though yesterday I had a perfectly horrible attack of neuralgia
and a bad chill. If you read accounts in the newspapers of
such and such an ambulance suffering loss never be anxious,
but be sure that the War Office would inform you direct and at
once if there were really any casualty. For instance, No. 14
Field Ambulance, our neighbour in the field, was reported
" wiped out " in some English papers, whereas it has not lost
a single soul.
I should love to have a painting of this huge farm — once a
preceptory of Knights Templars. Another farm I was at on
the march here, on Saturday, was a Cistercian abbey, at a
charming village called St. Remy.
I will now try and give you roughly some idea of our
movements :
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 21
August 15:! left home.
1 6 : Arrived at Dublin.
1 8 : Embarked at Dublin.
20 : Arrived at Havre.
22 : Left Havre by train.
23 : Arrived at Valenciennes.
„ 23 : Left train and marched to Jenlain.
„ 24 : Marched from Jenlain to La Bosiere, near
Dour (Belgium). Battle. Marched to
Villaspol.
„ 25 : From Villaspol to Troinvilles, near Le
Cateau.
„ 26 : Big battle. Marched to St. Quentin.
And so on day after day in retreat on Paris, till we ceased
retreating at Montge, east of Paris. Since then we have been
advancing. Having lured the Germans all this way, we turn
about and force them north. There is a battle every day,
but almost entirely an artillery battle, and so we have much
fewer wounded. All yesterday the battle was furious, and yet
we got only quite a few wounded or killed.
I have one or two trophies, bayonets, etc., thrown away by
flying Germans.
I must stop ; the post is off.
Ever your own son,
F.
LETTER No. 17.
B.E.F., September 14, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
This morning I wrote you two letters, and said I had
not heard from you since 28th August.
Now half a dozen mails have arrived together, and I must
let you know I have heard.
You were well when you wrote, and (I think) in good,
contented spirits.
The Caters seem to have been most kind and neighbourly,
and I am truly grateful to them ; and I am delighted to hear
how good Bert is, as I thought he would be.
I heard also from Winifred G , and she says our garden
looks lovely. I'm glad you like Father Cashman; he is a
good little thing, and I am very fond of him.
Mind if you want any money you write to Sir C. McGrigor.
As to letters, it makes no difference whether you send them to
him, to the War Office, or simply to the G.P.O., so long as you
22 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
put on them my name and 15 Field Ambulance, 5th Division,
Expeditionary Force.
Winifred G says you did not receive my letters from
Havre for nearly a fortnight. I wonder how long it will be
before you receive this. You might risk sending me a box
of cigarettes : postage as for England; Mrs. P would tell
you.
The best way would be to ask her to send them, and enter
it all in my book.
I do think it good and sweet of Christie staying on to look
after you, and if she would like Alice to come over to see
her, I hope she will ask her. Why not ? It costs very little,
and Ver ought not to grudge her for a few days — if it were
only Saturday to Monday or so. But, of course, just as
Christie likes.
I have seen Sir H. Smith-Dorrien two or three times.
Now I must stop.
Ever your loving son,
LETTER No. 18.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 16, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am almost too sleepy to write; we (four out of the
fourteen of us) have been away on special service, and were
marching — really marching on foot — all last night, and all the
night before. We only got back before lunch-time to the field
ambulance, and after lunch I meant to sleep, but a long string
of wounded came in, and I have been talking to the poor
fellows. Two whole days and nights without sleep or rest
make me very drowsy now, so excuse a dull letter, please.
We are still billeted at the big farm that was a preceptory
of Knights Templars, and I love looking at the cows and sheep
in their huge stone Gothic stables, so airy, light, and comfort-
able, with quantities of deep clean straw. They at least seem
unconscious of war.
We had very wet nights to march in, and it was pitchy
dark; all the better, as the enemy were all about.
With the dawn the battle begins, and lasts till dark.
Thursday, 17 th. — I only got so far, and sleep overcame me,
so I had to give it up and go and lie down for an hour . . .
now I will go on. It is Thursday, and we have all had a long
night in bed (i.e., in our blankets and rugs), because we are
stopping on here so far as we know, and not making any
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 23
move. Four a.m. is our regular getting up time, and to-day
we did not get up till 7.
On Monday night we got an order, about 9 p.m., to send off
six ambulance waggons and their equipment to a place nine
miles from here, where many wounded were expected. I was
not supposed to go, but said I must, and went off. We
arrived just at dawn, and as we arrived the battle began.
We were under fire till dark — fifteen hours, and it was very
stimulating and exciting. Not one casualty, even the slightest,
happened to any of our horses, men, or officers. Considering
how incessant and fierce the fire was, the casualties even
among the fighting troops were, I thought, very few.
Our field hospital was installed in a charming small
country house at the outskirts of the village, the garden
delightful, sloping to water-meadows, beyond which there
were interlacing ridges of wood.
Our hospital flag was riddled with shrapnel, and lots of it
fell in the garden and in the lane beside us. But no one got
any harm there ; our wounded were brought in safely.
As soon as it was dark we buried our little group of dead —
only eight, three officers — just beyond the trenches where the
living men were lying in the miserable rain, a most poignant,
touching sight, the funeral : brief, bare, simple, and almost
silent. The enemy were quite near, listening and watching :
the poor grave very hasty and shallow. One poor lad had so
stiffened he had to be buried as he lay, and he had his arm up
and one leg up and bent, like a reel-dancer, as though he had
gone dancing to his death. The lantern-light just showed
them, but hardly showed they were dead : and of course
there was no shroud or sheet ; each was as he fell, equipped,
accoutred.
Then we had to be off ; our wounded had to be moved, and
only in dark could we do it. It was all very silent. From
our field hospital we had to get to the waggons, and through
the empty streets of the now ruined village, all battered by
shells since we reached it fifteen hours before, we had to creep
quietly for fear of snipers, of whom there were plenty in the
deserted black window-holes of the houses. The thick,
moonless, rainy night helped us.
Presently the enemy began casting searchlights over the
road we had to go; but by God's grace never did the light
fall on any open stretch of road while we were on it : it only
fell on our bit when we happened to be passing behind high
screening hedges.
To cross the river we had to wait five hours in a long line
with other troops, French and English, to get over by a small
24 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
pontoon. The rain was pitiless, the mud and slush ankle-
deep ; all our own men and ourselves and all our wounded who
could walk had to walk : and we were all drenched, whole and
wounded. We did not know it then, but the enemy had
shelled the bridge hardly an hour before we arrived there;
if they had done it while a mile-long train of troops were
waiting there, they would have made a fine mess.
We got back in the forenoon of yesterday, and have sent
our wounded on to the base ; only new ones have arrived. It
had got fine by the time we got in.
I felt very stiff and cold from being wet so many hours; but
though I was deadly tired I had determined to walk, and
that prevented my taking any ill effects. I have not caught
cold, much less pneumonia or bronchitis, and though I woke
very stiff this morning, even that has gone off.
Our people here greeted us with great friendliness and
cordiality ; they had heard we were in a tight place and hardly
knew how we were to get out of it, or whether we had been
wiped out ... so it was rather a triumph for the 1 5th Ambu-
lance that we had brought off all our wounded and got away
without the least loss.
I must confess I don't think you would have liked fifteen
hours of being under violent fire from shrapnel, lyddite,
melanite, maxims and rifles : but I really did like it. It was
far more exciting than any game, and I would not have missed
it for anything. But our Commanding Officer says he shall
not let his people be sent to such a place again. Of course,
dead doctors are not much use, and a place in the very bull's-
eye of the shelling is not the best for conducting critical
operations on wounded men.
Many thousands of shells fell in the course of the fifteen
hours : very many quite close to us, as, for example, at the
spots marked.
The noise all day was amazing.
(Unfinished^
LETTER No. 19.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 18, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am writing you this short note, not because I have
anything much to say, as I wrote you and Christie a long
letter each yesterday, but simply because I have the oppor-
tunity, and may not have another for ever so long.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 25
We are still at the farm that was a preceptory of Knights
Templars, but may get the order to move at any moment.
A lot of wounded came in this morning, but we were able
to send them on within an hour or two. Meanwhile I chatted
to most of them, and gave Extreme Unction to a dying
German prisoner. He was only twenty-one, a sad-faced,
simple country lad from Prussian Poland, with no more idea
why he should be killed or should kill anyone else than a
sheep or a cow. He was horribly wounded by shell fire on
Sunday, and had lain out in the rain ever since, till our
people found him in the woods last night (this is Thursday).
Isn't it horrible to picture ? starving, drenched, bleeding, so torn
and shot in the buttock as to be unable to drag himself out
of the woods. So his wounds had gangrened, and he must
die. He could only lie on his face ; he was fully conscious and
joined in where he could in the responses of the office of
Extreme Unction. But I know nothing more awful than the
broken-hearted patience of such lads: the whole face, the
dumb eyes, the agonized posture, without cry or moan ; if ever
anything was an appeal to Heaven from a brother's blood
crying from the earth, it was one.
I dare say you do not know any more than I did what a
field ambulance is or does. Well, its great function is to be
mobile, able to move always with the fighting troops, and be
at hand for the wounded in every action. So it can never
retain the wounded it treats ; if it did, it would at once become
immobile (a hospital full of wounded men cannot rush about),
and its troops would move on and leave it, and they would have
no ambulance any more in attendance.
Our wounded, therefore, are always " evacuated " within
six hours — i.e., we send them in ambulances to the " rail-head "
(the nearest place where there is a train running), where they
entrain and are conveyed, first to a "clearing hospital," then
to a general hospital, or perhaps direct to the " base " hospital,
whence they embark for England.
I wonder if you could send me a sort of sleeveless waistcoat,
either knitted or made of flannel. I could not bear or wear
one with sleeves, but I might manage with only a large open
arm-place and no sleeves.
Ask the Caters to see if they could find the sort of thing
in Salisbury. I believe they are made in "Jaegar," and you
could pay for it. (I believe Sir C. McGrigor sent you the £15
I asked him to.) It is possible that Father Wrafter, S.J.,
of Gardiner Street, Dublin, would do this for you quite as
well as the Gaters, if you would write and ask him, and I know
it would only be a pleasure to him.
26 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I must always beg you not to be anxious if a long time goes
by without word of me. When we are marching we never
get in touch with the field post offices, and all the others are
closed. One can never buy anything either: all shops are
long ago closed, and, indeed, most villages and towns are
deserted.
I'm so glad you saw Mrs. Profeit, and that George came to
see you ; I got a nice letter from him yesterday, and also a very
nice and affectionate, most sympathetic, one from Benie.
Now, dear, good-bye.
God bless you both, and keep you both well, cheerful, and
prosperous.
My affectionate messages to the good Gater neighbours and
to all to whom you write; and say every time to Bert and
Mary and old Slade that I am truly pleased to hear how well
they do their part in the war. I am really fond of Bert, and
know he is fond of us. And Mary is sound and a good
trustworthy girl.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 20.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 19, 1914 (Saturday night}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Another mail arrived to-night, and brought in a
letter from you, dated 6th September, thirteen days ago,
telling of George's arrival at your Manor House.
I am so glad he went to you and was made comfortable,
and am delighted to hear how old Slade played up and rose
to the emergency. I heard something to-day that made me very
sad. I walked down to the Headquarters of our Division,
and saw our General, Sir Charles Fergusson, who was most
amiable and civil. His A.D.C. is young Lord Malise Graham,
son of the Duke of Montrose (or Athole, I forget which), whom
I had met before. He is a very nice fellow, and we were
talking together. I asked him for news of Percy Wyndham,
and he said, "He has been killed." I asked if there was
any doubt about it, and he said, " Unfortunately, there is
no doubt." Poor dear lad ! so handsome, so full of life, so
happily and lately married, with all that could make life
attractive. However, he died nobly for his country, and in
the moment of victory.
I cannot say how much I feel for dear old Mrs. Percy
Wyndham ; in how short a time has she lost her beloved and
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 27
brilliant husband, her eldest son, and now her grandson !
This lad was the only child of George Wyndham and Lady
Grosvenor.
I was down at Headquarters arranging for Mass here
to-morrow, which we are having in a huge barn : probably
the first time Mass has ever been said here since the Templars
were so cruelly suppressed 500 years ago.
I must say I was pleased by the very kind reception I had
at Headquarters from the whole staff, from the General
downwards. I don't wonder the delay in getting letters tires
you, but we must be patient and make the best of it.
We have got English papers with Sir John French's official
despatch detailing all the actions, including Le Cateau, Mons,
etc., into the thick of which we arrived. Very interesting
reading for us : but you have read it all long ago. The
despatch contains high praise of Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien,
which specially pleased me, as he is my own General at home.
I love to hear of the garden and how nice it was looking
when you wrote. I hope George will stay on with you and
cheer you with his fresh young presence; he is a dear boy and
he is fond of us all. His mother and grandmother will be
pleased to know he is in such good quarters.
I am off to bed, so will close this.
I dare say all my letters will not reach you; those I have
been able to give myself to one of the Censors will no doubt
get through.
Good-night, dear; I am sleepy.
Ever your own boy,
F.
LETTER No. 21.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 21, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
We moved into this farm last Monday, and now it is
Monday again — a whole week in one place, and never before
did we stay two nights in one place. Last night I slept in a
bed — there's glory for you ! Besides ourselves, nine officers
have been billeted here, and they have a couple of excellent
bedrooms ; we are sleeping on the stone floor of the entrance
hall — first come, first served, of course. Yesterday they
moved off and we got their rooms. This one (I am writing
in it) is large, clean, airy, and prettily papered, and the beds
are new, clean, and comfortable. So, having nothing else
to do, I went to bed at 8 last night and had ten hours' rest.
28 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Can you imagine me five weeks without reading anything ?
Yet that is my plight ; for five weeks I have had nothing to
read.
Yesterday morning we had Mass in one of the immense
Gothic barns, and it was crammed. Some tell me that there
were 1,000 men present, but I think there were over 600. The
men were most devout and full of piety, attention, and
interest. They sat on the hay while I preached — for over
half an hour — and listened with all their eyes, ears, and
mouths. An officer said afterwards : " I wished you would
go on for hours." It was really interesting and impressive ; the
great dim barn, the crowd of soldiers crouched in the hay,
the enemy's guns booming three miles off, and the thought
that once again (after 500 years) Mass was being said in
this old place of religion, built by warrior monks, by a foreign
priest, belonging to a foreign army, for foreign soldiers. At
the end I gave away medals, and the crushing up to get them
was funny. "Here," I heard one young corporal expostu-
late, " this ain't a dance, and you aren't a swell tryin' to get an
'am and chicken ! " It was a loft barn, and all that huge
crowd had to get down by a very shaky ladder ! While they
were slowly getting off, some officers came and talked to me —
among them young Bellingham, Lady Bute's brother, son of
an old friend of mine, Sir Henry Bellingham, of Castle Belling-
ham in co. Louth ; also a fiery-headed Captain McAlister, who
used to come to see me about his marriage last time we were
in Malta ; once he lunched with us (I remember) down in the
hall. He enquired with unfeigned interest for you, remenv
bering all about your illness, etc.
The Protestant officers were all impressed by our Mass and
our people; it struck them how cheery and chatty the men
were, and how glad to get to Mass, though having to walk far
in the rain and mud.
After lunch I walked off and gave afternoon services at
two different places, preaching at each to most eagerly atten-
tive listeners.
I wish you would write a note for me to the Rev. Mother,
Sacr6 Coeur Convent, Roehampton, S.W., asking if she could
send me some medals for the soldiers ; I have given away about
1,200 and have none left. Medals, small crucifixes, rosaries,
scapulars, Agnus Deis, I could give away lots of, and am
always being asked for. If you would give the Rev. Mother
my address and tell her I asked you to write, I feel sure she
would send me some. So would the Rev. Mother Prioress,
New Hall Convent, Colchester.
Would you ask Mary to buy me three more pairs of those
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 29
red socks I bought at Hobdens ? She knows well what they
are like, and they only cost is. a pair. The colour doesn't
much matter, but red, puce, petunia, plum, etc. — any such colour
would do. And then would you send them to me ? (English
rate of postage.) Tell Christie not to waste her stamps : she
forwarded three letters in one envelope and put 3d. on it; id.
would have done. There is no fear at all of my being charged
excess postage. You must pay for the socks; I have no
account there. By the way, the shop is called Haskin, though
it belongs to Hobdens.
Ever your loving son,
LETTER No. 22.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
Se-pt ember 22, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I wonder whether my letters ever reach you; I have
written plenty — written pretty well daily since we came to an
anchor here yesterday week — but all sorts of tiresome rumours
reach us of Censors tearing up. all letters too long for them
to take the trouble of reading, etc.
Did you, for instance, ever get a letter from me dated 28th
or 29th August, and containing various cheques for wages*
etc. ? It is a scandalous shame if they simply tear up such
letters with the cheques in them without saying anything.
I cannot believe it; it is very unlikely that I alone of the
British forces should have occasion to send cheques home,
and I cannot believe that all such cheques should simply be
destroyed without explanation to the senders.
Meanwhile, if you want some money you must write to Sir
Charles McGrigor and ask for it; if you send him enclosed
slip, I think it will be all right.
We are still doing nothing but sitting still at this farm,
getting our hair cut, our linen washed, etc. A certain number
of wounded come in every day, and some sick, especially men
who have got rheumatism from lying in the trenches. Very
few of these are Catholics, and none of these few lately have
been very serious cases.
I am ever so well, eating about ten times what I ate at
home, and yet if anything, slighter, certainly no more podgy.
It was fine all day yesterday and the day before, and will be
so to-day, I think ; but unfortunately it rains every night, and
so the plague of mud continues.
I always hoped to get back in time to keep your birthday
30 jdHN AYSCOUGH'S
with you at home : that, I fear, is a dream from which I must
wake up. Still, everyone says the war must end soon, as
Germany has no money to go on with, and no reserve of men
to fill up the huge gaps.
We can only pray, as I do daily and all day long, for Peace
and reunion.
George in his letter spoke of his pleasure and relief in finding
you cheerful and bright; I was truly grateful to him for
putting it in. I must praise you, as I am always praising
Christie, and all of them : them for their care of you, and
you for doing what I asked. My last word to you was, " Keep
well and cheerful till I come back."
I cannot in each letter repeat the messages I mean you to
give from me. But whenever you see the Gaters say how
much I feel their neighbourly attentions to you, and in your
chats with Christie say how fully I appreciate her goodness in
staying away from her beloved Alice to cheer and take care
of you. . . .
Ever your loving son,
LETTER No. 23.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 23, 1914 (Wednesday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
. . . Yesterday I went for a walk, almost the first.
You see, till we stopped here ten days ago we were always on
the move and tired enough without extra walking : and even
here we are not supposed to wander about : because one might
easily walk into the enemy's lines, or outposts, or be rounded
up by their Uhlans. Therefore we never go out without
leave, and are not supposed to ask for it often. Yesterday I
did go and enjoyed it. First we (myself and a young
officer called McCurry, nicknamed McChutney) went down to
the village, a mile away, where the Headquarters of this
Division are. There I immediately fell in with Lord Malise
Graham, and we had a talk about our various friends in the
war. ... He is a very nice fellow, young, handsome, serious,
with a fine character in his face.
Then I went and said my prayers in the village church and
arranged for the use of it, if I want it, next Sunday : the
priest here (as is the case in ninety-nine cases out of a
hundred) has gone off to fight for his country. It is a beauti-
ful little church, at least eight centuries old, I should say.
Then we walked on and met three charming French officers,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 31
very keen about Mass next Sunday, with whom we stayed
chatting for nearly an hour. McCurry thought our talk very
brilliant! ("Pass the jam" is about the average of our con-
versation at Mess here.) One of the Frenchmen knows the
Clarys well.
Next we met General Forestier-Walker : I don't mean the
ghost of our old friend Sir Frederick, but his cousin who was
at Salisbury and whose wife was Lady Mary Liddell,
daughter of the Lord Ravensworth whom Athol Liddell
succeeded. He was quite gushing and insisted on driving us
home here in his motor. He told me that General Drummond
had gone home, suffering from a total breakdown. You know
he was given command of the iQth Brigade. Isn't it bad for
him ? I am sure he will be dreadfully cut up about it. You
see, in an officer of his rank it means the loss of such a chance
of distinction. It was a pleasant change of outing, and
I enjoyed it very much.
I heard something which sounds almost too good to be
true. The Commandant told me yesterday afternoon that
he knew unofficially my name had been recommended to be
"mentioned in despatches" for what I did at Missey. That
is to say, for "distinguished" or "meritorious" conduct
during the fifteen hours we were under heavy fire. If I am
mentioned in despatches it will be ripping. So old a man who
comes a-soldiering can hardly hope for more than to escape
being called behind-hand and lazy. Of course, this may
explain the wonderfully respectful welcome I got on Saturday
from the Headquarter Staff, which struck me at the time.
However, though I may have been recommended for men-
tion, it does not follow I shall be mentioned ; if I am, I dare
say the Gaters will see it in the papers, or hear it in Salisbury,
and tell you.
A soldier servant washed out some linen for me the day
before yesterday, and brought it back just now. It was
black, whereas it wasn't very dirty when I gave it him to wash :
so I have had to wash it all again !
Ever your loving son,
F.
Remember your letters are not touched by the Censors, only
ours.
LETTER No. 24.
B.E.F., September 24, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
This will be a very short letter ; but I have just received
two from you, and want to acknowledge them.
32 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
While we were on " trek " we never came near a field post
office, and neither got letters nor received them ; now we get
a irail almost every day, and can post letters every day :.
whether they will ever go anywhere or get anywhere is quite
another question.
You write as though you had not heard anything of me
for ages — that was on September I2th (just 12 days ago), but
I hope you will soon have a regular succession of letters.
Oddly enough, two of your letters arrived together, ona
nearly a fortnight older than the other — i.e., one dates
September ist and the other September I2th. George wrote
by the same mail a very nice letter indeed, dated 1 1 th
September. His letter is rather amusing, and shows he has
an observing pair of eyes in his head.
I saw Lord Graham again yesterday down at Headquarters
and gave him a letter to you to post.
Then I met some soldiers, who asked if they might come
up here to confession, so I said 7 would go to them, and fixed
last night at the village church. About forty came, and
to-day I got up in the dark — before 5 — and carried all the
things for Mass in my hand down there, and said Mass for1
them and gave Holy Communion.
The parish priest himself is away fighting for France in
the trenches, like thousands and thousands of others. It is
a lovely old church, very old, perhaps eight or nine centuries.
Now I am going to rest.
God bless you, and may He end this hateful war.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 25.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 25, 1914 (Friday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I have just written such a long letter to the Bishop that
I will merely send you a line to say I am quite well and
flourishing.
I received enclosed from George last night : isn't it a nice
letter ? Please keep it. I should like to keep all the letters
I receive during the war.
We have now got back to fine weather : the rain all gone,
the mud dried up, and now we have bright sun, blue sky, and
cool air — much nicer than the blazing drought that came before
the rain.
I wish I could draw like you; the country is so pretty,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 33
and the villages, churches, and farms are most picturesque.
But the only pictures I can make are with the pen.
Now I will stop — I said this was to be only a mere line.
Ever your own loving son,
CARD.
September 25 {Friday}.
These cards are supposed to be extra-special-bound to
reach you, and to reach you soon. I am so sorry you have not
been hearing ; I have written tons of letters. I assure you I am
extremely alive and you must believe I am so till you hear
officially to the contrary from the War Office. I had a charm-
ing letter from George, and am so glad you had him to stay.
My best love to Christie, the Gaters,etc. We are having perfect
weather now, which adds much to our comfort.
Ever your loving son,
LETTER No. 26.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 26, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Last evening I had a cheerful letter from you, dated
the 1 5th, saying you had received mine of August 28th and
September 2nd. I hope that now you will be receiving a regular
succession of letters.
Yesterday I walked down to the Divisional Headquarters,
and gave Lord Malise Graham some letters to get through
for me; the General, Sir Charles Fergusson, kept me talking
for half an hour. He is a most charming man, and a great
friend of the Drummonds. He told me his wife wrote saying
she had only had one letter and three post-cards from him
since the war began, whereas he has written between twenty
and thirty letters and scores of post-cards. So, you see, you
are not the only sufferer ! He says some enterprising young
Censor has been tearing up Sir John French's letters — who
doesn't see the joke at all !
Sir C. begged me to come down and chat again.
I got a charming letter from Christie last night, and will
answer it this afternoon; also a card from Winifred Gater
of same date, and letters from Herbert Ward and his mother.
He is near Tidworth, and I hope you will be kind to him.
The telegram was from Lady O'Conor, Mrs. Wilfrid Ward's
sister, and was about Aubrey Herbert, youngest brother of
34 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Lord Carnarvon, and cousin of the Portsmouths ! I do hope
his wounds are not severe, and that he is no longer missing.
This is only to tell you I am quite well. I must shut up
and go down to Headquarters to arrange about to-morrow's
Masses. (This is Saturday.) You will get a grey post-card
(posted to-day) on Monday, because a King's Messenger is
taking it in his bag.
With best love to Christie and the Galers.
Ever your loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 27.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
September 27, 1914 (Sunday, 7 a.m.}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Yesterday afternoon I got your big envelope enclosing
the two stocks and the bit of silk, and by the same post a
letter from Christie, one from Father Mather, and one from
you, all speaking of your being jubilant on account of a
budget of letters from me. I wish you would always date
your letters, and also mention the date of the last of mine
received. The stocks seem to have been sent off on the i6th,
and so they took exactly ten days to arrive; as the King's
Messenger does the journey from London to us in twelve
hours, I can't think why it should require ten days for an
ordinary letter.
We have just had a very annoying false alarm. . . .
Yesterday being Saturday, I arranged with the General
commanding this Division, Sir Charles Fergusson, to have the
troops here for Mass to-day at 7.30, and at the village church
at 9.30. Lots of troops were coming, and yesterday afternoon
I was hearing confessions of lots of men anxious to go to
Communion to-day . . . when, lo and behold, at 4.20 this
morning comes a motor bicyclist messenger with a despatch,
" Be ready to move at once," and all were up and off. The
altar I had rigged up yesterday, with all the Mass things on
it, had to be packed up instantly, and all, officers and men,
had to gobble up anything ready in view of a day's march
and no regular meals.
I was the last reluctantly to break my fast ; almost as soon
as I had done so news came, " False alarm : carry on as
usual."
It is maddening; of course the men are disappointed, and
wonder why there's no Mass, and it all upsets me and makes
me feel quite ill.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 35
No doubt lots of men will roll up just because the Mass has
been countermanded.
Father Mather wrote in excellent spirits and seemed to be
enjoying his brief visit to you.
LETTER No. 28.
B.E.F., September 29, 1914 (Michaelmas Day}.
We have been so long stationary in one place that you must
expect monotony in my letters. . . .
Yesterday afternoon I walked with one of our officers to a
village about four miles from here, chiefly for the walk, and
partly to buy anything we could see for our Mess. What
we did see was a goose (the first in mufti) which we bought
for to-night's dinner in honour of St. Michael.
It was a very pretty walk — into another valley, deep, green,
wooded like this one, and hiding long stone villages and
farmhouses with barns fit for churches.
At C I bought some shiny gaiters to wear when the
muddy weather returns; they were not splendid, but neither
were they dear.
(How deeply interested the Censor will be in these important
particulars ! One almost feels bound to invent something a
little exciting to put in, lest he should fall asleep in reading.)
I enjoyed the walk, the getting away from the group — a
lot of people together never do suit me — and the quiet talk
with one person. My companion was a fellow called
Thomson, a doctor, of course, but really a civilian, out here as
a volunteer. As a volunteer he went out to the Balkan War
last year, and he seems to have been everywhere — in the China
revolution, in Canada, in Australia, etc. He is a nephew of
Labouchere, the founder and originator of " Truth" and also
of Thorold, Bishop of St. Albans, whose children all became
Catholics (one of them, Algar Thorold, I knew well years
ago).
This morning I went out, attended by my servant, armed
with a market-basket, to buy some vegetables, if I could. We
found a small, rather prosperous-looking farmhouse, lonely,
in a narrow gorge-like valley. The farmer, with two men, we
saw gathering Indian corn for the cattle. He smiled, and
assumed (very easily) an expression of complete stupidity —
of vegetables, apparently, he had never heard. But his wife
"understood vegetables and anything else we wished," so we
went on to the homestead. The woman — comfortable, saga-
cious, as hard as a brick — with four children, came out to
36 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
parley, the children all idle and bored, schools being shut
cause de la guerre.
I was careful to show my money. I am always in dread of
these poor folk thinking one comes to get their stuff out of
them for nothing. Would she sell us as many vegetables as
she thought two francs would justly buy ?
She evidently meant to — and did. But while digging the
potatoes, onions, carrots, etc., she spoke, and, as I thought,
wisely.
" Money ! " says she. " Look at those four little ones with
each a mouth — and their father has a mouth too — all open.
And, when winter comes, what shall I put in, if I sell away
all the stuff we have planted and watered for our winter
provision ? . . . Presently you go back chez vous"
"Please God," says I.
"Bien," says she; "you go back, and you find your stuff
there; but we stay, and see — ours is all gone, if we sell it to
you. Thus does it seem to me."
However, she filled the basket, and put in a little extra, after
I had given her small girl two sous to buy sweets.
I cannot tell you how entirely reasonable I thought the poor
woman, who looked at it all from the point of view of a mother
with four children and a big fifth child of a husband. Still,
I did argue a little — to encourage her.
" Doubtless Madame understands," said I, " that it is not our
joke that we come here to France, some to get killed, some to
have their ears blown off, and so following. It is perhaps "
" Nous aider" she chipped in, " bien."
"Alorsf" says I. "You give me ten francs' worth for ten
francs, and keep the rest. If we had stayed at home it would
have been the Germans who would have taken all, and there
would have been no francs."
" C'est $a" says she.
It was an interesting visit : a tiny war parenthesis.
LETTER No. 29.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
Written September 30, 1914.
Will be posted October I, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Tomorrow, Thursday, will bring us a new month :
Saturday will be your birthday, and this year you must keep
it without me — the first time for two-and-twenty years. Well,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 37
I shall say Mass for you, and say many, many prayers for you,
though that I am continually doing.
Yesterday morning we had Mass for Michaelmas in our huge
barn loft, and a number of men came to it. Just behind the
altar was the back of the great dovecote — a fine architectural
feature of the great range of once monastic buildings — and the
pigeons kept up a pleasant mothery noise all the while. " Boo-
hoo !" they seemed to be saying to war,
I wrote a long letter to Mr. Gater this morning, and it took
all the time ; it was all business, and I dare say he will bring
it to you. It contained a sort of explanation about what money
there would be in case of my death. I feel uncommonly lively,
but one may as well be business-like and get things ship-shape.
Yesterday afternoon I went for a walk all alone, which I do
not often do; we are not supposed to wander forth without
leave or saying precisely where we are going, and our C.O.
does not like me to make a practice of it lest I should be
snapped up by Uhlans (I've never seen one yet) or saunter into
the enemy's lines ! However, it was rather a treat, the purpose-
less stroll all alone, with no one to make talk for, just through
the woody valleys and not to any town or village. The path
led through a delightful wood lining a deep valley with richly
cultivated bottom, very secluded, silent, and peaceful; you
might have forgotten there was any war but for the monotonous
boom of the guns and for the busy aeroplanes spying far up
in the blue — one of these last came down most beautifully, in
a perfect corkscrew spiral of very narrow radius. I said my
rosary as I walked, and picked this flower for you — very pretty
when I did pick it. I loved my walk and the quietness and
loneliness of it; of course I was thinking of you all the time,
and as home-sick as if I were five-and-forty years younger and
a small boy at school.
Thursday, 8 a.m. — Well, October is come in — come in
wreathed in cool smiles, brilliant but autumnal. By 6.45 I was
out and enjoying a short stroll with my French dog. (I don't
know to whom he belonged originally — not to the people of the
farm — or whence he came, but he has adopted me, and goes
where I go, sits under the table at my feet at meals, and always
turns up whenever I go out.) It all looked lovely, though not
so exquisite and unearthly as last night after moonrise, when
the moonlight and the opal relics of the sunset were rivals in
the sky. . . .
There has been no return of the rain yet, and the health of
all our troops is splendid. It is no longer warm, but not really
cold ; of course, we have no fires, and are in no hurry for the
cold weather.
38 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
What a dull letter ! My best love to Christie, and cordial
messages to the Gaters, etc.
Ever your loving son,
LETTER No. 30.
B.E.F., October 2, 1914 (Friday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I write this from a new place. I was peacefully darning
my socks last night, just before dinner-time, when orders came
for an instant move, and off we came. It was a lovely night,
with a huge moon, and the "trek" was not long, so I quite
enjoyed it One could see the beautiful country through which
we we're passing perfectly — deep, deep valleys brimming with
shining mist, wooded ridges rising like islands above the white
sea of fog; then in other places no mist, but clear field and
spinneys, camp-fires setting their yellow and red lights against
the moon's silver-blue. There were big groups of soldiers
sitting round these fires, with wonderful effects of black and
red. I wish to goodness I could paint. What studies I could
get here ! Halfway along the march I felt a little soft push
against my leg, and there was my French dog, who was deter-
mined not to be left behind ; and here he is — here he was indeed
the moment I arrived last night. I spent most of yesterday
walking : a little stroll before breakfast, a walk in the woods
between breakfast and lunch, after tea a walk with one of our
Majors, and then the march.
We are again billeted in a very good house tacked on to
an old ruined castle : the latter exactly the sort you may see
in dozens of Irish villages — a thick round tower, almost with-
out windows, and not much else ; the cabins huddled close up
against it.
At our last place we could post letters every day, and got
mails four or five days a week — I don't know how it will
be here.
The man who owns this chateau or farm is away fighting
at the war, and his father is in charge here ; he is a grim, rather
dismal person, who mopes round bemoaning the war : it has
cost them, he says, 60,000 francs here already — that is £2,400.
When I have done writing this I shall read ; there are plenty
of books here, the first I have seen since leaving home — mostly
French translations of English books. I shall start on " Pick-
wick " in French.
I hope you will have a nice day for your birthday to-morrow.
It is dull here-to-day, with a Scotch mist, so that we are lucky
to have an excellent roof over our heads.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 39
I think my letters get duller and duller ; but here one hears
of nothing but the war, and it is exactly the thing one must not
write about.
Best love to Christie, Alice, Ver, the Gaters, and everybody.
Ever your loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 31.
B.E.F., October 4, 1914 (Sunday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am writing this at a comfortable writing-table in a
very beautiful room of a singularly beautiful and interesting
chateau. It was once a great Cistercian abbey, and in the huge
and lovely ruins of the abbey church I said Mass this morning.
We arrived here last night at about 1 1 o'clock, and most lovely
the ruins of the abbey looked in the brilliant moonlight.
The chateau we found full of " bosses " — Headquarters of the
Brigade, Headquarters of the Division, etc., troops every-
where : the whole beautiful park a camp.
Our billet was a barn, deep in clean straw, where we were
very comfortable, but where the rats were also very comfortable
and at home.
I got up early, and as soon as I could get hold of any of
the Staff people I arranged to have Mass in the ruins at 9.30.
The Comte and Comtesse de Montesquiou-Fezenzac, to
whom the castle, etc., belongs, came, and were very much
edified and pleased. They talk excellent English, and the
Count told me he would give me a room to write to you in.
So here I am; the castle is really huge and fine, the rooms
very large and beautifully designed, furnished, etc. It is the
most charming and most imposing private house I ever saw in
France.
And the chatelain and chatelaine seem very nice people.
The abbey was destroyed at the Revolution, about 120 years
ago, the magnificent church dating from 1250 about — it is
quite immense, as big as a cathedral.
I will try and get some picture post-cards to show you
later on.
I thought much of you yesterday, and hoped you were well
and happy on your birthday; but I could not drink your
health in anything stronger than water.
We left our last place about 6 p.m. last night, and got here
about ii.
All afternoon I was darning my socks — quite successfully.
I must stop now. With best love to Christie.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
40 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 32.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
October 6 (Tuesday, 8 a.m.}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
On Sunday I wrote to you from the chateau of Long-
bridge. (There's no such castle in France, but Longbridge is
my nickname for it, in allusion to an anecdote which I will tell
you some day.) After luncheon I went for a walk about the
place ; the park, woods, etc., remind one very much indeed of
Wardour, except that the ruins at Wardour are those of a
castle and those at Longbridge are abbey. That first walk I
took by myself, and said my rosary for you meanwhile* It
was all marvellously beautiful and picturesque, the woods full
of troops and picketed horses, exactly like some picture by
Detaille. At one point in the woods there was a pretty water-
fall, at which two soldiers were shaving ! As soon as I got
back from my solitary walk I went for another with one of our
officers. At nightfall we marched, and arrived here at 6 yester-
day (Monday) morning, after ten or eleven hours on the road.
We are in very comfortable quarters here — beds, chairs, wash-
ing-stands, etc. — and it is all exquisitely clean and fresh.
Quite close are the ruins of another abbey with a perfectly
lovely and intact rose-window in the western gable. About
a mile beyond the ruins, or less, is a magnificent castle perched
high on a rocky wooded bluff — as fine as any I have ever seen
in France; oddly enough, it belongs to people of our name —
Dru : for Dru and Drew are both given indifferently in Domes-
day Book to the same man, our famous founder. The little
village, instead of cowering under the castle, as so often
happens, hides behind it on the top of the rock. The church
is interesting, and contains many ancient pictures, given by
M. and Mme. Dru, of the castle.
After luncheon I walked through the woods behind this
house, and got magnificent views of the castle, quite different
from those one gets from the road. . . .
Last night we stayed on here, and had a luxurious sleep in
excellent clean beds, and this morning I had some warm water
to wash in ! There's a glory for you ! My new servant is a
treasure. I must shut up.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 41
LETTER No. 33.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
October 10 (8.30 a.m.}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Excuse this paper being a little dirty ; I, began and got
as far as the date yesterday, and had to pack up, so that the
paper and my brushes, sponge-bag, etc., have been jumbled
together all night.
I have been doing a good bit of marching (I mean real march-
ing on foot) lately, and we have been moving each day, so that
we have not had any letters; we only get them when we are
stationary for a day of two.
You must not picture me sleeping out in the fields now, for
I have slept indoors quite a long time : sometimes in a
regular bed with sheets even, and sometimes on the floor in
my own rugs. I can always sleep very well in the latter, and
do not find it at all uncomfortable or cold.
Also we have had heaps to eat. On the line of march meals
are odd and taken at odd times ; but when we are stationary
we get regular meals at regular hours.
On Tuesday afternoon we left the place near which was the
fine family chateau I told you of ; we marched through several
villages to a town called St. Martin, and there slept. At 6. 1 5
on Wednesday we breakfasted, and at 7.15 marched again,
passing through many villages with interesting old churches,
and one with a fine Calvary at its entrance.
About midday we reached a place on the railway, and at
6 p.m. were entrained and moved on. It was nearly eight
weeks since we had been in a train before. The Commanding
Officer and I had a first class to ourselves (my French dog
shared my half of it). I am treated as senior officer in every-
thing except the command, and get best bed, best place, etc.,
so you see I do get some good out of being a " full Colonel."
It was on the morning of that day I met Sir Horace Smith-
Dorrien and had the talk I told you of. I expect Lady
Smith-Dorrien has been to see you by this time. They are a
most devoted couple, and she,, too, must be sad without her man.
It was bitterly cold that night in the train, but as soon as the
sun was up next day it got brilliantly fine and very warm.
Besides, I was marching again, and that soon warmed me. We
marched some five or six miles to a big town called , and
another five beyond it; then a long halt to await orders; at
6 p.m. set off again on a further march of twelve miles. At
42 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
i a.m. (in the middle of the night) we reached our billet — a
small, not very clean farm. However, the kitchen was warm,
and we had a meal and went to bed. I had quite a grand one,
and the farm folk made no end of a fuss of " Monseigneur "-
certainly the first they had ever entertained.
Last night at 7 we marched to a village called , and had
good beds there. We were all in different houses — I, my
servant, and another officer. I used the Oxo cubes Winifred
Gater sent, and with the beef-tea they made and some ration
biscuit we made an excellent supper.
At 6.30 we marched on here — only two or three miles ; and
here we are stuck till 2 or 3 in the afternoon waiting for motor
lorries to carry us forward.
Unfortunately, the long stops are always in poky, uninterest-
ing places ; if we come to a cathedral town with things to see
we skirt it, or hurry through at quick march, with no chance
of seeing anything. I hope you are all well and flourishing.
My best love to Christie and to the Gaters, and be sure to tell
Bert how grateful I am to him for his care of you all.
Now I must stop, simply because there is nothing to tell you.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 34.
B.E.F.
October 12, 1914 (Monday afternoon, 4 o'clock].
I am always having to apologize for my notepaper ; by keep-
ing a sheet or two in my haversack I can often write you a
letter during a halt, or at some place on the march, when other-
wise it would be quite impossible. But then such sheets of
paper have to be crunched up with all the other contents of the
haversack, and get dirty and crumpled.
This morning we had to be up soon after 4, and dress nearly
in the dark to get off by 6, and just as we were starting an
enormous mail was put into my hands — five fat parcels and
close on fifty letters.
The parcels were — (i) Cardigan jacket and three pair red
socks from you, but addressed by Mrs. P ; (2) a writing-
block and indelible pencil from Mrs. Gater — very useful, and I
wrote to her on it during a halt on the line of march to-day ;
(3) some books from Chatto; (4) ditto from Smith, Elder
and Co.; (5) a packet of things for the men from my kind
Jesuit friend at Gardiner Street, Dublin, Father Wrafter, who
says he is also sending a rug for myself. His affectionate kind-
ness all along has been most touching, seeing how very brief
our acquaintance was.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 43
So far I wrote this afternoon; now I begin again at 9 p.m.,
but am too sleepy to finish, having been up since soon after 4.
This evening I had another big post, with two letters from
you — one telling me of Christie's departure and of Winifred
Gater's arrival. I am so sorry to hear of Ver's being ordered
away; it will be a trouble to Alice and her mother, and of
course they will be anxious for him. Still, I am glad to think
there is the Manor House for you all to be together in.
I also had charming letters from the Duchess of Wellington,
Christie, the Gaters (Mrs. and Miss), Herbert Ward, Father
Wrafter (2), Father Keating (also S.J.), Father Mather (2),
and the dear Bishop — a most delightful letter, full of heart
and cheerful encouragement. He speaks with admiration of
the courageous, cheerful letters he has had from you.
I got your letter long ago with the white heather, and am
pleased that you had mine with the bits of flowers I enclosed.
The Duchess said you had written her a delightful letter,
and both she and her husband seem to have been immensely
pleased with my letter to her.
I'm so glad you had so nice a letter from Lady O'Conor;
she is a most faithful, warm-hearted friend, and has never
cooled or wavered in a friendship of over thirty years' stand-
ing, and it touches me to hear of her speaking as if it were
anything to my credit that 7 should remain unchanged in spite
of having become a " famous author."
So Jack and George are both officers — and Herbert Ward
too : how the world hurries these days !
You say the frost has finished up asters, begonias, etc. Here
we have had some night frosts, but I see lots of begonias in
the gardens we pass.
It is hard to describe my recent occupations, as they have
all consisted of movements from place to place, and I must
not mention any of the names of those places.
Here we are, for the first time, quartered in a town (about
the size of Salisbury), with quaint, twisty streets, a huge place
with a marvellous thirteenth-century belfry in the midst of it,
a fine church, and some fine Renaissance houses.
Now I cannot hold my eyes open, and must go to bed.
I am glad you like hearing of my French dog : poor little
beast, he is so fond of me, and has followed me such a huge
distance. But he can't abide my going into a church, because
he mustn't, and it makes him frightfully jealous ; he can't make
up his mind if I go in to eat wonderful meals or to pat some
dog whom he suspects, but cannot bite.
I must shut up ; but when I can post this I have not got the
least idea.
44 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 35.
B.E.F., October 16, 1914 (Friday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Since Monday I have had a letter written for you, but
have had no opportunity to post it. On that day, about 2 p.m.,
I came away with a " section" of the Field Ambulance to open
a clearing hospital here ; and it is only when we are with our
"unit" that we can get letters censored and passed for post.
Since midday on Monday I have been busy every moment of
the day, and have been quite unable to write, nor can I write
much now, as I must go off to visit wounded in another hospital
— there are three for me to visit.
During the last four and a half days all my time has been
spent in the wards attending to wounded — not spiritually only
(or chiefly), but giving them tea, coffee, beef -tea, sweets (fellows
with slight wounds), chocolate, bread, jam, cigarettes, etc. I
had no letters for a week ; then came a huge mail on Monday
night, and a mail every day since. This morning I had a letter
from you and two from Christie. ... *
I do receive all your letters and other people's, also all
parcels, in time, but they come irregularly.
I have received the big box of biscuits, and distributed them,
with coffee, to wounded half an hour after I got them. Also
chocolates, medals, crucifixes, sweets, etc., from nuns at Darling-
ton, New Hall, etc., Father Wrafter, and others. Your cardigan
and socks arrived a week ago, and I have had all the cigarettes.
We are in a billet here, and the people of the house cook for
us — excellent French middle-class cookery — a bit swashy, but
a welcome change after our eternal bacon and tinned beef.
The French dog has been unwell, but is better ; I should like
to bring him home if possible. He is very well behaved, moral,
domestic in his tastes, and demurely intelligent, but I fear
egoistic and absorbed in his own creature comforts.
It is odd being in a town, this first time during the war ; but
I have been too busy to sally forth and view it.
With best love all round.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 36.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
MY DEAREST DEAR, October l8' '9'4 (Sunday^.
I have just been told that they are sending letters to
the field post office immediately, so I can write you a mere
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 45
word to tell you I am all right — well in health, and in very
comfortable quarters.
We are where we have been all the week, in a country town
of 65,000 inhabitants, in charge of a temporary hospital, and
I have been very busy all the time.
I say Mass at 7 each morning in the chapel of a permanent
hospital nursed by Franciscan nuns, of whom two are Irish :
dear creatures.
I heard another priest's Mass this morning before my own —
a man with a handsome, keen, manly face ; and when he took
off his vestments in the sacristy at the end of the Mass, he was
a French soldier in red pantaloons, huge knee-boots, etc. ! It
does seem to me so touching these poor priests having to go
off and soldier. You understand he is not a chaplain, just a
private soldier.
You are not to bother about me and the cold ; remember we
are indoors in good quarters, and I do not in the least believe
I shall feel the cold. The French dog sends his love.
Ever your loving son,
LETTER No. 37.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE,
5TH DIVISION.
October 20, 1914 (Tuesday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I met one of the Staff of our Division just now, and he
congratulated me on my name having been mentioned in
despatches — published in The Times of yesterday, October 19,
which a King's Messenger brought out here. He also said,
"You will be mentioned again for subsequent services^"
I am glad, I must say. . . .
All last week we were very busy in our temporary hospital,
but now we are slack again, and there are not many cases left
in it, and no new ones have come in hardly during the last
forty-eight hours.
It is the same in the other hospitals in this town which I
attend as Chaplain — most of the cases gone off to the base, and
no new ones arriving.
... I have been given such a lot of things, lately : Father
Wrafter sent me a beautiful rug, large, warm, and soft as silk ;
six large white silk handkerchiefs, one pair of soft grey leather
gloves, one pair soft brown wool-lined.
Madame Clary sent me long knitted socks, six fine cambric
handkerchiefs, and cashmere socks.
46 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
A certain General Hickey, on being invalided home, gave
me as follows : A soft woollen shirt (just like silk; I've got it
on now); a soft Jaeger jacket, as light as a feather, but very
warm ; inner vests, drawers, socks, woollen helmets, large towels,
etc. I have given some of them away and kept the rest. They
would cost a lot, and are a most useful gift. Please don't
encourage anyone now to send me anything. I have more
than I want ; also, I receive abundant presents of cigarettes, etc.
Don't let the Gaters send more; they will need now to be
thinking of Cyril and his needs.
I must stop now. I hope you are well and in good spirits.
Don't imagine me enduring any hardships, for we are in
excellent quarters. And go on looking forward to my speedy
return.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 38.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
October 22, 1914 (Friday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I hope you are quite well ; I have had plenty of parcels
lately from all sorts of people, but no letter from you quite
lately, and most of your recent letters were undated. Oddly
enough, any letters from Dublin reach me much more quickly
than those from you or other places in England.
I haven't much to say now that I am writing, because, though
we have been very busy since coming here, it is always doing
the same thing — i.e., attending to wounded.
There are four hospitals which I visit, and they are all receiv-
ing a constant stream of new wounded.
This is so terribly sad and depressing to me to see, that I
don't feel equal to writing about it too.
I am quite well and am in very comfortable quarters; in a
house quite close to our temporary hospital. The nights are
cold now ; but instead of sleeping in the fields I have a most
sumptuous bed (with sheets, blankets, etc.) to sleep in; nor is
it at all likely we shall sleep out any more.
I have given away nearly all the things I have been given !
Ever your own loving son,
F. B. D. BICKER STAFFE-DREW.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 47
LETTER No. 39.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
October 24, 1914 (Saturday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Ten weeks ago to-day I left home to join my unit at
Dublin ... it seems like ten months at least. Your last
letters have not been quite so cheerful as the earlier ones, as
though you were finding it hard to keep your courage up. But
cheer up ; I believe the war is really coming to an end. In this
battle, which still continues, there have been many, very many,
wounded ; but we hear that our own losses are nothing com-
pared to those of the Germans, and the places of the German
killed are taken by boys and old men, which shows their
reserves are being quickly used up.
Austria cannot fight much longer, and would not be fighting
now if she pleased herself.
I believe that the enemy will soon want an armistice. . . .
The French dog sends his love, and begs to say that he
hopes to see you some day.
Father Wrafter continues to send me parcels of all sorts of
things for myself and for the men. Isn't he wonderfully kind ?
I'm sure you'll say this is a very dull letter ; but I mayn't tell
you war news, and there's nothing else to tell.
With love to Bert and the other servants, and my thanks for
their care of you. -
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 40.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
October 27, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Though I wrote to you yesterday, I forgot to mention
what I was thinking of when I began writing — that it was
thirty-six years ago yesterday that I became a Catholic : the
really great event of my life.
This letter can only be a mere " Good-morning," for I have
nothing to say.
For over two weeks now my time has been entirely spent
in work among the wounded, in hospitals, and one day is
exactly like another.
Yesterday at sunset I buried the German lad to whom I gave
the last sacraments the day before. It made me very sad.
48 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Just before that I found two German prisoners in a ward
at one of the hospitals, and one of them heard me talking in
German to the other. " Who are you talking to ?" he asked.
" Am I not the only German here ?" (He was wounded in the
chest, and unable to sit up and look round.) I told him there
was another German there, and had them put side by side,
so that they could talk to one another, and they both seemed
delighted. One of them thought he would reward me by a
little flattery, and asked if I was not a German Bishop. (I
can really speak very little German, and he knew it very well.)
Another German prisoner, in our own hospital here, was found
to have six gold watches on him ! So I fear he had been
making a collection of them. . . .
LETTER No. 41.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE,
October 29, 1914 (Thursday, g a.m.}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Please excuse this funny little French envelope. I had
about 200 envelopes and lots of paper the day before yester-
day, but gave one envelope and one sheet of paper to each man
who asked me, and it all disappeared. So now I have no
envelope left but this one till I buy some more in the town.
Of course I can buy nearly everything here, for the Germans
have never been here ; in the towns where they have been one
can buy nothing, as everything has been swept away. As I
went out to Mass this morning about 6.45, it was just like a
London morning in late autumn — a chill white fog, with black
houses and trees groping through it. (I was very glad we
were not sleeping out, but in excellent beds.) Now, however,
the fog has nearly gone, and will soon be gone quite ; the sun
is bright, and we shall have another lovely day like yesterday
and the day before. I wonder if I shall have any more march-
ing— I like it, and the pictures it has left in my memory are
cheery and pleasant, except of the earlier marches, when we
passed over ground where there had been shelling or fighting.
After writing to you yesterday I worked hard in our own
hospital till 3, lunched, and went off at once to No. 6 Hospital,
where I was busy for a long time giving the last sacraments
to English and German soldiers.
There were a good many German wounded prisoners besides
those dangerous, practically dying cases I have just mentioned.
It is extraordinary how their officers keep them in the dark ;
none had the least idea whereabouts in France they were, some
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 49
did not know they were in France at all, and many thought
they were on the coast ! (Embarkation for England, I suppose.)
They are almost all nice fellows ; some few not, but very few.
One lad under eighteen, and looking fifteen, was most touch-
ing; such a baby, with such childish manners, yet fully con-
scious that he was dying, and quite cheerful about it — only
hopping with eagerness at sight of a priest. I suppose I shall
always look back on this as the most interesting time of my
life, however sad it may be.
We all feel sure that the war is on its last legs. I believe
this battle will about end it : the Germans have failed (i) in
the attempt to reach Paris ; (2) in the long battle of the Aisne —
the longest in history, with the largest number of men engaged ;
(3) and they have failed here. They meant to turn our left
and get round that way towards Paris. And they wanted to
get to Paris, and they have failed. On the Belgian coast they
have been hammered horribly.
You will see that I am right, and that the enemy will very
soon be crying out for an armistice. After her treatment of
Belgium and French towns and villages, she will never let it
come to an invasion of Germany by the French and Belgians.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 42.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
This will be a very short letter. Still, it will tell you
that I am very well and flourishing, and have heaps to do,
which always suits me.
Yesterday I got a heap of parcels (three from Father
Wrafter, and your letter of the 1 8th — that is not so bad, arriv-
ing in exactly a week. I think you may be always sure of my
getting your letters sooner or later. Father Wrafter sent me
200 more cigarettes for myself, besides all he sent for the
men. . . .
Yesterday I gave the last sacraments to a German prisoner,
most devout, and only eighteen. He died almost at once, but
thanked me again and again for my ministrations. " Oh, dear
God ! what will my mother do ?" he kept saying. " Only
eighteen, and to die to-day. Yes, to-day. And I have done
no harm to die for. Oh, my poor mother ! She will look out
always for me coming back, and never shall I come. Try to
sleep ? I shall sleep without any trying, and no trying will
ever waken me. . . ."
50 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Thank God our fellows are most, most kind to the German
prisoners ; they would do anything for them. Does it not show
a noble nature in them ? A rough English soldier you will
see strip off his own greatcoat and give up his own blanket
eagerly for a prisoner, and he feeds his prisoner like a pet
(like a wounded rabbit or bird), and would steal any other
fellow's grub to give his prisoner. When I think of our soldiers
I never know whether to laugh or cry.
God bless you, dear, and keep you happy, well, and cheerful.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 43.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
October 30, 1914 (Friday 2 p.m.}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I wrote to you this morning, and now I write another
this afternoon, just to tell you not to be surprised if there
follows a period of hearing nothing ; for we have just received
orders to clear our hospital and to rejoin our headquarters to-
morrow, and perhaps shall have no chance of writing or post-
ing letters for days to come — on the march we never can.
The building we have been using as a hospital since last
Monday fortnight — i.e., since October 12 — is to be used as a
temporary hospital for Indian troops, and we move right away.
We have had more than 2,500 patients, and the work has been
very heavy, and very sad sometimes. A little marching will
be a relief to the mind and heart, though we shall not be so
comfortably placed as to food and quarters.
The room where we eat and sit, when we have time to sit,
opens out of the kitchen, where there is a baby. From that
baby I shall part with perfect resignation. He has never
ceased yelling ever since we arrived.
My first is in 6ed, but not in pillow ;
My second's in dm, but not in willow ;
My third's a drink for afternoon :
My fourth's the first letter of honeymoon ;
My fifth is the fifth of English vowels ;
My sixth is in napkin, but not in towels ;
My last is in mating and sleeping and beating ;
My whole is a town where your son is now writing ;
While others are noisily shelling or fighting.
There's a puzzle for you.
I must stop and pack.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 51
LETTER No. 44.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
November 2, 1914 (Monday, 8.30 a.m.').
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I wrote the enclosed on Friday when I heard we were
leaving B , but after all, had no means of sending it to the
field post, and have been carting it about with me ever since.
We left B about 9 on Saturday morning. I said Mass at
the chapel of the nuns in charge of the civil hospital, and said
good-bye afterwards to the two dear Irish Sisters and the
Rev. Mother. Then I ran home, had some breakfast, and off
we marched. My French dog got lost in the confusion of
departure and was left behind; an officer in Bethune has
promised to bring) him on, but I am very sad about it, because
the poor animal is so devoted to me I know he will have been
wretched.
We arrived about 4 p.m. at a long, clean village called
M , and there found billets : for the men, horses, waggons,
etc., at the village school ; for ourselves in the chateau. That
chateau will have to come into some book of mine — evidently
built about 1720 by some family of distinction (the Barons
de R ), and now bought by a decent middle-class man for
the sake of the farm only.
The house, large, fine, and in perfect repair indoors ; out of
doors just beginning to show signs of neglect and decay. A
magnificent gloomy staircase of rosewood, suites of locked
rooms, and for us the whole second floor; above, a wilderness
of ghost's bedrooms. My own room was very comfortable, and
though I fully expected to see a ghost, I did not. The lawns
and garden outside the chateau are turned into fields,
except an island garden with a stone-walled moat round it,
approached by a lovely stone bridge of five arches and glorious
wrought-iron gates : that garden is simply left to itself, and
has chosen to be a wilderness of tangled trees and shrubs.
Yesterday morning (Sunday) at 8 I said Mass in the village
church — very large, old and fine, in excellent state, with a
charming old Dean and parish priest. There was a large
congregation, to whom he belauded me from the pulpit.
He told me that the village used to belong to the Mont-
morencies, who were Dukes of it. I never saw such a clean
village anywhere — by the way, it is large for a village : 3,000
inhabitants. At 9.30 we marched again through H and
other villages and towns to P , where we rejoined the field
52 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
ambulance, after three weeks' absence, and where we found
letters, etc. I had two from you, besides others. . . .
It was rather odd, but the moment we rejoined Headquarters
(within quarter of an hour) orders to move again arrived ; and
we were all soon on the march again — a most lovely day it
was for it, sunny, still cool, but not cold. A fortnight ago the
Germans had been at P and had demanded of the cure
the keys of the church tower, that they might mount a maxim
gun at the top. He tried to explain that the sexton in the
village had the keys, but they would not listen, put him up
against the wall, and shot him.
As we marched we had to stop to let a very long line of
French African cavalry go by (Moroccans) : pretty wild-
looking, but fiercely picturesque.
The country here is absolutely flat — not beautiful, but
homely and prosperous-looking, and there are delightful
churches, farms, cottages, and windmills, the latter of this sort
(sketch).
Long after dark we reached our billet, the farm attached to
a huge lunatic asylum.
7 slept in the asylum as the guest of the director, and have
never been so well lodged during the campaign. The main
body of the asylum is like a really beautiful palace; the
director's quarters constitute a large separate block like a very
good country house ; and the staircases, corridors, rooms, etc.,
all very fine and also very convenient. The park is lovely,
and it contains isolated chalets for some of the rich patients,
who pay £500 a year each.
The director, a most kind, genial man, and his wife and
children are charming. In charge of the 1,800 patients are
seventy nuns.
Now I must stop.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 45.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 2, 1914 (6 p.m.}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I am writing this in a priest's house (while the priest
eats his supper) with the priest's pen (which is horrible) —
because I have the opportunity, not because I have anything
special to say, seeing that I wrote to you this morning. But
very likely we shall be marching to-morrow, and I write when
I get a chance.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 53
I hope you will not judge of my health by my writing, and
think it in a feeble state when the writing is like this : it all
depends on the pen.
My health is quite excellent, and no wonder, seeing what
a lot I eat, and that I digest it all perfectly.
The priest in whose house I write is the Chaplain of the
lunatic asylum where I slept last night : he is a nice man, kind
and courteous, but rather Flemish, and when he talks to his
servant I can't understand much. All the same, we are still
in France so far. The director of the asylum gave me some
charming picture post-cards of the place this morning, and
when you see them you will say they are very pretty.
This morning I went over much of the asylum with him, and
it is really beautiful, like a French palace in a beautiful pare —
not " park."
P.S. — I received this cheque just after I had given in my
letter to you this morning, and so I send it on to you in a
postscript.
Bert will always get any cheque cashed for you, and with
this one you can pay some wages.
I also received a dear but rather sad letter from you, in
which you seem to think I was cross with you for wanting me
home : indeed, I was not, I think it most natural you should
want me home, and most just, as you may be sure it is where
I would like to be ; indeed, from the beginning to now you have
been quite splendid, and no one could have been more self-
sacrificing and good.
F.
LETTER No. 46.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 4, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
This will really be a short letter, because to make it so
will be my only chance of getting it off by this mail.
I have been writing all morning, chiefly to thank people who
have sent large parcels of things for the men, and now the post
orderly will be off in a few minutes.
We are still in the same place, resting, and I still sleep in
the director's mansion of the lunatic asylum.
Yesterday we saw a whole community of Belgian nuns,
evicted from their convent, coming in over the frontier, each
carrying the little bundle that was her all ; it gave a peculiar
impression of sadness and war-ruin to see these poor orderly
54 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
creatures, whose lives are habitually so retired and private,
tramping along in the confusion of a road which had three
columns of troops (Hussars, baggage-trains, artillery) blocking
it, amidst all the noise, shouts, jingle of harness and accoutre-
ments, etc.
I walked into the town — it is close to — yesterday, and saw
the jewellers' windows filled with the empty cases out of
which the Germans have taken everything — watches, bracelets,
rings — every single thing.
I saw Gillingham again, and Colonel Boyle (who used to
command the Munsters at Tidworth) ; he jumped off his horse
and had a talk. He said : "You look a thousand times better
than 7 ever saw you. War evidently suits you."
He is on the Staff here. I got quite a charming letter from
the Bishop yesterday — no allusion in it to yours to him. I
don't believe you will find the increased deafness permanent ;
I got awfully deaf a month ago, and now it is better again.
Foggy, damp weather always increases deafness.
I must stop. *
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 47.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 6, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
We are still at B with our men, billeted at the farm
of the asylum; and the photograph I enclose represents me
surrounded by a little group of Catholics, to whom I have just
been giving crucifixes, medals, rosaries, etc. (The dog is not
my dog.) You will see my servant next to myself, and a
French soldier next but one to him.
A French photographer saw the men around me, and asked
to be allowed to " chronicle " the group. He sent me this proof,
and I thought you would like it.
Yesterday I went into B (not the B we were at last
week), and on the way met a Captain Dunlop, of the Head-
quarters Staff of this Division. He stopped, and kept me talk-
ing three-quarters of an hour; then the 4th Dragoon Guards
from Tidworth came riding by, and some of my own boys
nearly skipped out of their saddles with joy at seeing their
old friend and father again. One of them, a very nice fellow
called Doyle, his comrades told me, was being recommended
for the Victoria Cross for splendid gallantry and saving of
several lives the day before. Then the Duke of Wellington's
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 55
came by — which were at Tidworth four years ago — and a lot
of them also came running up with smiles to talk and shake
hands and wish good luck.
At last I got into B . It is a town of 12,000 inhabitants
(doubled now by the soldier population), with a long, open
market-place, a quaint belfry on the Town Hall, and a fine
church behind the Town Hall. Then I came home, as it was
raining, and wrote letters to George Shackel, Lady O'Conor,
Cardinal Gasquet, etc.
The Chaplain of the asylum lets me use his study as my
writing-room, and it is a great convenience. . . .
Please do not think, my dear, that I was cross or at all
surprised at your wanting me back; I think it exactly what
you should want, and I can only pat you on the back for your
excellent courage and patience all this time. . . .
Ever your own loving son,
P.S. — We are all moving off, and (of course) suddenly, as all
our moves are. We may dawdle away ever so long in a place,
but our move, when it comes, always comes suddenly.
I don't know, of course, where we go, or how long we may
be on this march ; if long, you will hear nothing for a correspond-
ing time.
I saw Major Newbigging (is he Major or Captain ? — I
forget) yesterday, and had a chat. He looked extremely well,
as I think we all do. He enquired for you with great regard.
I am terribly sorry for the poor Antrobuses. . . .
Ever your own loving son,
F.
(FIELD CARD.)
I am quite well.
I have received your letter.
Letter follows at first opportunity.
F. B. D. BlCKERSTAFFE-DREW,
November 9, 1914.
LETTER No. 48.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
BRITISH EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
'November 10, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
The field postman is just going, so I can only put in a
very short line to say I am, as I was yesterday, alive and very
well. The natural result of eating very well for three months
is that I am grown fat, which doesn't please me at all.
56 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
This is the nastiest billet we have had : a small and very
dirty farm (about half the size of the place where Ewence our
milkman lives) with 200 men crammed into it. Of course, no
sanitary arrangements; but dung-heaps all round. I share a
room about 5 feet by 7 with two other senior officers ; when it
is time to get up I go out and wash and dress in a very dirty
stable. Yesterday afternoon I went for a walk with one of our
officers, but I shall refuse another time, for he talked "war"
the whole time, and I'm sick of it. Fancy for three months
never having any subject but one discussed — at meals, at any
time!
/ find Flemish very easy to understand, though hideous to
the ear — a sort of unshaped, uncouth English.
The country is as flat as the people, and as dull, but rather
homely in its dun-coloured November atmosphere.
I don't call this a letter at all, but still it will show you I am
alive and well.
Quite a big mail has just come in for me, and the other mail
is just going out. So I can write the merest word of "How
do you do ?"
I heard from you (two letters ; November 9 and 12), Christie,
Alice, W. Gater, the Duchess of Wellington, the Bishop, Lady
Antrobus, Mr. Huntington, etc.
I enclose the Bishop's letter.
I was so glad to see the congratulatory letter of thanks from
the Friends of the Poor ; no wonder you are proud of it.
I must stop.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 49.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 12, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Again I must begin my letter by saying that I have
nothing to put into it, except my love and the assurance that
I am very well.
We are still squeezed into this miserable little Flemish farm
(which is no more than an English cottage), and still idle.
Of course there are heaps of wounded, but there are now so
many motor ambulances out here that run direct down to the
" rail-head " that the field ambulance stage is apt to be skipped
altogether.
To-day it is bright and clear, but there is a tearing wind,
very cold, and not a dry wind either. In the night it thundered,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 57
lightened, and hailed, and at the same time the sky was lit
up by the blaze of a couple of burning villages. The artillery
fire, of course, never stops : very, very rarely during three
months has one ever been without it, day or night, as the dull
background of sound to every other.
Yesterday morning I walked up the road to watch them
shelling D , a village three miles from here, with two fine
steeples : it was obvious the Germans were training on them ;
it is always the churches they aim at.
This region is crammed with troops, English, French, and
Belgian, but above all with French, and every little farmhouse
is crammed with them too. . . .
The people are ugly, lumpish and pudding-faced, and their
language is enough to disgust a corncrake. All this complain-
ing tone comes from the annoyance one feels at having nothing
to do, and having one's enforced leisure coincide with a place
where there is nothing on earth to do or see. When I get home
and come to tell you of the places I have been at you will find
how few were places of special interest; those we have been
near, but the fortunes of war have either kept us just away from
them or hustled us through them,
Thus we have been through Rouen, Amiens, Cambrai,
St. Quentin, etc., and quite near Soissons, Rheims, Lille, etc.,
but never at them.
I wonder if you think I am still wearing the very thin suit
I came out in ? I am not, but am wearing a thick suit made by
Style and Gerrish, and sent out here ; and boots like this . . .
made of rubber and reaching up to the knee. So one's feet are
always dry. Of course, I don't -march in them. They also
come from Salisbury, made there and sent out here.
Do you wonder if we ever get a bath ? Those of us who
were not at Bethune have hardly had any. During the three
months' war I have had five! — on an average one every three
weeks. How I long for a daily bath as a matter of course ! . . .
The place where I stayed in the lunatic asylum was called
Bailleul : one wing of it was joined to the other by a glass
corridor about 100 yards long filled with the most glorious
chrysanthemums ; I counted 197, each in its own big pot.
The farm which had been a preceptory of Knights Templars
where we stayed in September was called Mont de Soissons.
The chateau of Comte de Montesquiou-Fezensac, where I had
Mass in the ruins, is called Longpoint. There is no objec-
tion to giving you these names now.
Ever your own loving son,
58 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 50.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 18, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I have just written to Sir Ian Hamilton, the Duchess of
Wellington, Lady Antrobus, Sir Edmund Antrobus, and three
others . . . and the mail is going out very soon, so I can only
send you a mere bulletin to say I'm all right — as I am, in spite
of the cold.
We awoke to a white and frozen world this morning; then
came sun ; then snow ; now sun again. We have no fires and we
can't shut the windows, as the number of us is so great for
the two tiny rooms. One's feet are always cold, and that gives
one a headache. But — well, it is war, and one must expect
discomforts.
The noise of the battle was so furious during the night, and
so near, one could not sleep much ; but I think our affairs are
going very well.
You would not believe how entirely unconcerned one is by
an incessant artillery-fire, whose mere noise keeps one awake ;
it is a mere matter of habit.
Someone has just sent me a nice present of good things from
Fortnum and Mason's — some wounded officer gone home, I
expect, to whom / gave good things over here. . . .
Ever your own loving son,
F. B. D. BlCKERSTAFFE-DREW.
LETTER No. 51.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 20, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Yesterday I did not write to you, the first day I have
skipped when I had the chance. But directly after breakfast
I went out, meaning only to stay out for half an hour, instead
of which I only got back at 12.30, and found that the mail had
left.
I walked to R , the nearest village, about one and a half
miles from here, but along a road so blocked by artillery train
and so churned up with mud, 2 feet deep, that it took me quite
a long time to get there. Besides, I had to stop fifty times
on the way to chat with French or Belgian soldiers ; they seem
to know me now, and are always demanding medals, etc. At
R the whole village was, as it has been ever since we came,
i LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 59
crowded with French troops, and a long English artillery train
was going slowly through ; so I stood still to chat with a young
French chasseur a -pied from Dijon, with whom I was quite
an old friend before we parted. It was then snowing hard, so
I went into the church for shelter; I found a whole French
regiment bivouacked in it. It made a most picturesque scene ;
the church is old and quaint, with aisles, side-chapels, etc., so
that it affords picturesque perspectives. The men's rifles were
stacked in front of statues, on the steps of the altars, the men
themselves sitting, lying, standing, in groups everywhere.
Presently there was another group, specially large and ever
increasing in numbers — scores and scores of soldiers crowding
m upon an elderly, white-headed priest, from whom they were
getting medals, scapulars, rosaries, crucifixes, etc.
I am very fond of all soldiers, but really I love the French
ones. . . .
The flat Flemish landscape was looking beautiful as I came
home ; now it looks exquisite — deep in glistening snow, under
a brilliant sun. The mud has all frozen hard in the night, and
the roads are passable if only the sun does not thaw them.
Can you picture me, in the last half of November, in a house
with stone floors, no carpets, no fires, no beds, only one's rugs,
deep snow outside, and hard frost ? Yet really I feel the cold
very little, and once I go to " bed " not at all.
I get letters from you now nearly every day, and you seem
to be getting plenty from me. . . .
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 52.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
At a Convent of Sisters of Charity.
St. I ,
November 22, 1914 (Sunday}.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
We left our Flemish dung-hill yesterday at 1 1 , and are
now in very different quarters. However, to carry on my diary
from day to day, on Friday afternoon, the day before yester-
day, several of us went for a really delightful walk. The snow
was everywhere, and there was the peculiar exquisite mist that
goes with snow; the sun was brilliant, and the distances, in
that level land, were far off, and melted out of fields and sky-
in equal parts. Our little party consisted of the fellows I like
best in the Field Ambulance, chief of whom is a young officer
called Helm. Poor fellow, he is not long married, and he has
60 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
been in almost perpetual danger ever since the start : attached
to a regiment every officer of which who came out with him
has been killed, or sent home wounded, or taken prisoner by
the enemy.
Well, we walked up to the firing-line, and had quite an
interesting time watching some big guns of ours, 6o-pounders,
firing on the enemy. A funny sort of "object" for an after-
noon's walk, eh ?
We went for another walk the moment after breakfast
yesterday (Saturday), and when we got back found the unit
all ready to march.
The march was charming : not long and very picturesque ;
one felt like a man in a war-picture : the snow-landscape ; the
long lines of troops, waggons, guns, limbers; the cottages so
like our own; farmyards with sombre blue groups of French
soldiers round their fires. . . .
Out of the flat Flemish fields we bore up a long low hill,
wooded, with a windmill on its crown. On the top one of our
fellows photographed me, with one leg in Belgium and one in
France, a group of French soldiers on my left.
I am so glad to be again in France. . . .
About 4 o'clock we reached this village, and our men are
billeted in the village. We are in a convent. Most awfully
comfortable. We have a sitting-room with a fire; excellent
beds: real beds in bedsteads; and the bosses (I and the three
senior officers) have rooms to ourselves.
I HAVE A HOT- WATER BOTTLE ! ! !
The nuns are quite overcome by the honour of having a
" Monseigneur " in their house, and nearly cry at the idea of
my having had to sleep on the floor, and wash myself out of
an empty beef-can, and so on.
I went straight to the church to arrange for Mass, and also
to hear confessions ; the church is pretty, and quite smart and
well tended and prosperous.
I am being violently urged to go out. ... So good-bye.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 53.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 23, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
My letter of yesterday trailed off into incoherence
because two young officers were asking me every thirty
seconds to be quick and finish it and come out for a walk. I
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 61
was writing such nonsense that I gave it up at last and went.
It was really lovely: the landscape exquisite and homely,
like an old-fashioned Christmas card; brilliant sunshine over
the glittering white fields, and an air like iced champagne.
After luncheon we walked again — to B , the place where
I was lodged in the lunatic asylum. I took my two companions
to call on the Director, and we went over the place again.
When I got back there was a long letter from Mrs.
Drummond enclosing an excellent one from Dr. Fison to her,
as also one from Lady Kenmare. . . .
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 54.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 11, 1914 (Wednesday].
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I wrote you a long letter last night, which will be
posted in London this afternoon. You will receive it to-
morrow.
I have just received a jubilant letter from Christie : she
and you had just heard that I am coming home soon. Last
night the C.O. also went home on leave; he made a little
speech after dinner, full of praise of my work and my influence,
and saying that I should command the unit better than him-
self ! He thanked me again in private for my " wonderful
and splendid" influence here.
Mind you, these officers are almost all Ulster Protestants
who came out here from Carsondom, so it really is rather
a triumph to have conciliated their goodwill and good
opinion. . . .
As a matter of fact, no one can enforce a bill against
anyone on active service till the war ends.
. . . There are about ten officers all talking at the top of
their voices, and I really can't write. . . .
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 55.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 25, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien has just been to see me — a
great honour from the Commander-in-Chief of the Army
62 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Corps to a humble Chaplain — and he was full of most friendly
cordiality and kindness. He came chiefly to tell me that he
was asking for a special recognition of my services — I haven't
an idea what. I write to tell you because I know it will
please you.
This afternoon we — three of us — walked into B , where
Headquarters are. One of them had to see the Surgeon-
General ; he said to him : " I see you came in with Monsignor :
he is one of our great men I" Sir Horace said he had asked
his wife to go out and tell you how General Porter (this very
Surgeon - General) had spoken to him of my work at
Bethune.
Then I asked the other fellows to wait a minute while I went
and said my prayers for a minute or two in the church ; but
they followed, and I explained it all to them. When we got
outside one of them said : " I shall always, when the day-
month before Christmas comes, remember how we stood in
that church and you talked to us." They are all so nice and
respectful to me and the religion I represent.
Last night the C.O. in his little speech said " Monsignor's
presence among us has taught us all a wider-minded charity,
like his own, and a deeper respect for the great Church he
serves." So, you see, my time among them has not been
wasted. You were asked to bear a great trial, and I know
it will repay you to think that your sacrifice has not been
idle; and also, I think, you will understand better from all
this how reluctant I was to seem eager to run home from my
work and place here. As it is, I go with a clear conscience,
feeling that I owe my duty to you now, and that a younger
man, fresh to the work, can do it better now than I could.
The war is a great strain, and one grows stale and new blood
is wanted. As a matter of fact, -many of the Generals have
been relieved, not because they were wounded or incapable,
but simply because the strain was telling and they were grow-
ing stale.
This is not like any previous war ; those who were in South
Africa say the latter was a picnic compared with this : this is
so vast and so terrible. And no one has done better in it or
made a greater name than Sir Horace Smith-Dorrien, so that
we Salisbury Plainers may be proud of him, and all here who
have come in touch with him are enthusiastic about him.
Really this letter should be to Christie ; it is her turn ; but I
thought you would not like to hear these little chips of gossip
at second-hand, so she must not mind.
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 63
Our wounded bear the most terrible wounds without a cry
or a complaint, and nothing has struck me more than the
heroic patience of them all. I have myself helped countless
English soldiers, Protestant as well as Catholic, simply
shattered to pieces, who have talked and laughed as if they
were in bed with a chilblain. Their heroism is unspeak-
able. . . .
LETTER No. 56.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
November 27, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I had a letter from you this morning, dated 2ist, in
which you say nought of my return, though Christie in her
letter which reached me the day before yesterday writes
jubilantly of it. It has been arranged for, and I am expect-
ing the official order to return at any moment now. I shall
telegraph from the first English post office I see to tell you
I am on English soil ; but must, I think, stop in London one
night, or perhaps two, on official business.
We are all just off to walk to a Cistercian monastery that
these officers are very keen to see.
Most of the billy-looking letters you sent on prove to be
circulars or requests for Christmas orders from my old
tradesmen.
Ever your own loving son,
Field postman waiting.
LETTER No. 57.
No. 15 FIELD AMBULANCE,
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I hope this particular letter will reach you quicker than
usual, not because of its importance, for it has none in partic-
ular, but because I am giving it to someone to post in London
to-morrow or the day after. It is quite true Sir Horace Smith-
Dorrien was on leave in England, and all the officers of this
Army are getting six days' leave to England. / am not ask-
ing for any, because it is pretty certain that I shall be going
home altogether in a week or two.
Mrs. Drummond by no means neglected your letter to her,
but worked very hard about it. If I went home I should
probably remain two or three nights in London, to save
64 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
another journey up there immediately. I must see the
Cardinal and tell him about things here; I must also see
some people at the War Office ; and want also to see a dentist,
for I have been bothered all the time of the war by a tooth
badly broken, with the nerve exposed. Having to stay in
London, I shall take the opportunity of seeing friends, Lady
O'Conor, the Glenconners, etc.
I had a charming letter from Lady Glenconner last night :
most cordial and affectionate. They have done their share,
too, for the war. Bim, the eldest boy (only seventeen) has
joined the Grenadier Guards, and Christopher (only fifteen)
is on a man-of-war. Lord Glenconner has equipped, and
is bearing the whole expense of a hospital at Hull for 250
patients; he has sent out an armoured train, and a field
kitchen for a Scots regiment, and they have sent all their
motors out here and kept none for themselves. She speaks
so tenderly about you, and says : " If I had been at Wilsford
I should have gone to see her long ago, but since the war
began I have not been near it; my time has all been spent
working here (in London), or with Christopher at Weymouth,
where his ship was till it went to sea." They have Belgian
refugees at Wilsford. I think her heart is sore for her boys ;
they are such children to be fighting for their country. She
feels the death of her nephew, Percy Wyndham, very much ;
I know he was always very much devoted to her.
Lady O'Conor's box from Fortnum and Mason's duly
reached me at Midden Hall, and I must write and thank
her now I know whence it came.
Lady Glenconner sends me warm gloves, a woolly waist-
coat, socks, etc., knitted by herself.
She makes me laugh by asking me when the war is going
to end ! I tell her to ask the Prime Minister, as he is her
brother-in-law. We are no longer at Midden Hall, but in a
convent of Sisters of Charity, where the nuns spoil us all.
We have each of us an excellent bed and I a comfortable
room all to myself. And this change is all the more apropos
as the cold has been bitter.
We are no longer in Belgium, but back in my beloved
France, though only two miles from the frontier : about two
miles, too, from where the lunatic asylum is.
I had a hot bath to-day, and boiled some of the dirt off
myself — a most luxurious bath in a room with a fire in it!
Bert wrote me a charming little letter which arrived last night :
mind you say how pleased I was with it. He says : " I was
proud to read Sir John French's despatch with your name in
it for bravery on the field, and I hope you will let your humble
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 65
poor servant offer you his proud congratulations, and may
God bring you soon home to us all, safe and well, who all
miss you very, very much."
I think more of such simple, kindly congratulations than
I can say. The same mail brought me two dear letters from
you. You need never fear that in coming home I have sacri-
ficed myself for your sake. I feel I have done my "whack"
here, and now I feel in my conscience free to think of home
and you. It would be different if we were in the midst of
strenuous work.
Of course, when it comes to the point, I shall have regrets :
I have lived so long with these good comrades I shall be
unable to leave them without feeling sad at the parting, and
having to leave them out here. But I do feel that the war
is in its last phase, and please God all will be going home
soon. It would be impossible to exaggerate the kindness
they have all shown me, and show me now when they know I
am going. They all say I should go, and might well have
gone long ago; but all say how they will miss me. To live
together for over three months in the field of war is like
nothing else, and one can never forget it. One thought, never
uttered, has been common to us all, the longing for home and
for those we left there : God knows how silent it has often
made us.
The whole thing has been a dream, and one has felt like a
figure in a dream, or a man in a picture — a picture of poignant
meaning hardly realized by oneself.
I must stop. God bless you all, and may He in His great
kindness bring me soon among you all !
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 58.
AUTHORS' CLUB,
2, WHITEHALL COURT, S.W.
December 2, 1914 (5.30 p.tn.).
MY DEAREST DEAR,
How are you ? I had an excellent breakfast in the train
and read my own study " An Hour of the Day " in the Month,
and I liked it very much !
I went straight to the Cardinal, and found him most cordial
and nice. He kept me an hour listening with the keenest
interest and appreciation to what I had to tell him of the
war. Then it was too late to go to the War Office before
going to luncheon at Lady O'Conor's, so I went off to Sussex
Gardens at once.
5
66 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I found Mrs. Wilfrid Ward there too, up for the day, and
two of Lady O'Conor's daughters. They would not let me
go till 5, and we had a charming long talk about the old
times and new. Aubrey Herbert and his wife came in, and
added to the interest of the party.
Poor Mrs. Ward ! Her husband is going for the winter to
America to lecture, Herbert going off to India with his
regiment — and all his happy Oxford life knocked out of his
grasp, where he was so capable of distinction.
At 4 o'clock the Editor of The Times wanted me to go and
see him, but I am going to-morrow at 4 instead.
I hurried back here to write this little letter to you lest I
should miss the country post. Lady O'Conor's last word was,
"Mind you congratulate dear Mrs. Brent from me, and say
how much I liked getting her letters (I shall never write like
that if I am ever eighty-five), and how glad I am to hear she
is getting quite well again."
Ever your own loving son,
F.
LETTER No. 59.
AUTHORS' CLUB,
2, WHITEHALL COURT, S.W.
December 3, 1914.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
I have been dashing about all day.
1. To the War Office, where one had to wait ages before
seeing anyone.
2. To Vandyck to be photographed : he kept me an hour
trying all sorts of positions.
3. To see the Cardinal again at Archbishop's House, by
appointment.
4. To get luncheon.
5. To see the Editor of The Times, by appointment, in the
far wilds of the City.
6. Back to the far west to see Bimbo Tennant, who was in
his bath — just come off parade, etc. He came down to the
hall in his dressing-gown, and we had a long chat there; he
is not a bit the Guardsman, but just the same delightful boy
as ever.
I gave him a German bayonet, and he was delighted
with it.
Lady Glenconner telegraphed from Wilsford to ask me to
move to their house, but I told Bimbo I was going down to
Winterbourne to-morrow, and should not leave my present
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 67
quarters for the one night. I am just off to see Mrs. Drummond
by appointment.
To-morrow I have to go and face two more photographers
and see the Cardinal again. I hope to catch the 3.30, and to
reach Salisbury at 5, which would bring me to Winterboume
at 5.30 about.
The weather is excellent here.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 60.
AUTHORS' CLUB,
2, WHITEHALL COURT, S.W.
Monday.
MY DEAREST DEAR,
My guests here were Lady Glenconner and her son
Bimbo, now a Guardsman (of seventeen), and Lady O'Conor
and her daughter Fearga. Lady Glenconner begged me to
come there to dine and sleep, to meet Sir Edward Grey, the
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, whom I have always
wanted to know; he is an admirer of my books, and I am
always hearing about him from the Glenconners.
So I shall sleep up here at the Glenconners' to-night, and
go down to-morrow morning, reaching home at 1.30, so they
had better have luncheon at 1.30 or 1.45.
With best love.
Ever your own loving son,
LETTER No. 61.
B.E.F., February 13, 1915 (Saturday}.
I can't write at all a long letter this morning, as I have not
yet reported myself to the General here, and must do so ; but
I want to have a little letter in my pocket to post at Head-
quarters, so I must write before going out.
I arrived here at 7.30 last night. The journey was very
comfortable, and I was glad to come on at once. They
begged me to understand there was no hurry, and that I need
only come on when it suited me. But when I'm going any-
where I like to get on to my journey's end as soon as
possible. . . .
As I write, every time I lift my head there is the sea (dark
and grey to-day), the coast-line of white cliffs, ships passing
up and down Channel, going to England and coming from
it — I delight in it. If only you can make yourself content
68 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
without me for a bit, I shall really enjoy this place for what-
ever time I have to stay here. Do think how different this
is from my former going away — then it was to share in all
the unknown dangers of the campaign, and its hardships.
Here we are as safe as you are on Salisbury Plain, and I am
simply in luxury. I shall write a good bit here, and that will
pass the time away. . . .
LETTER No. 62.
B.E.F.
February 13, 1915 (Saturday evening).
I wrote to you this morning, and took the letter up to the
Base Commandant to post. I wonder how long it will take
to reach you — several days, 'f fear ; for I expect, though we
are within two hours of England, that our letters go back to
Rouen, which takes one day, then they go down to Havre,
and thence to London to the War Office.
I found them very civil at the Base Commandant's office,
and they lent me a motor, to go round and see the various
troops, this afternoon, directly after luncheon — it really was
civil, as they only have two.
Now I will go back a bit. At Rouen I went to see the
Cathedral, the Palais de Justice, the very famous Church of
St. Ouen, and the Church of St. Maclou. They are all quite
glorious; in the Cathedral I saw the tombs of some of our
ancestors, the Dukes of Normandy, including Rollo, and
thought how Jack Whittaker would have adored them.
The principal streets of Rouen are fine, modernized, and
full of smart shops; the side-streets very curly and picturesque
— those old houses in the picture over your bedroom chimney-
piece are in one of them. I walked about a good deal, but
did not feel in the lionizing humour a bit; and I was really
glad to get into the train with my book and opportunity
to rest and be without bothers. You have no idea of the
enormous number of officials I have had to see since leaving
home — all strangers, to whom I had to explain who I was
and what I was come for, etc. : most tedious. I think that is
nearly finished for the present. Now to bring my letter on
here again.
I walked to the Base Commandant's this morning; it is
perhaps a mile away, just at the other end of the place. In
front of this hotel there is a wide stretch of smooth grass,
about 300 yards broad and over a mile long ; along the outer
edge runs a paved esplanade, very pleasant to walk on, and
beyond that the shingle and the sea.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 69
I told you it was grey and glowering this morning; but
just as I went out the sun appeared, and it has been a very
bright, gusty day, the sea all covered with white horses. I
had to go right to the end of the plage; at the end, on a
steep cliff, is the old castle ; up a hill to the left the Comman-
dant's Headquarters.
Well, in the car I drove far out into the country and saw
six different lots of troops (but the whole garrison of English
is only 1,200, and I don't think there are a hundred Catholics,
whereas at Tidworth, etc., there are 3,000). I saw the few
there were, spoke to them a sort of little sermon, and they
were immensely nice — so glad to see me, and so gentle, loving,
and respectful : the first priest they had spoken to for three
months. I am going out to give some of them a service to-
morrow night.
I came in just now, had tea, and am writing this. I must
say I like my quarters, but I can't look at that sea without
wanting to jump over it. England is not in sight, but very
nearly.
LETTER No. 63.
B.E.F.
February 15, 1915 (Monday evening).
How I wonder how you are ! Since the letter you wrote
on the very day I left, and which I received in London on
Wednesday last (the loth), I have not heard; and, of course,
I could not hear. When letters do begin to come I shall be
curious to see how long they take ; probably nearly as long as
from the front, though if this were peace-time you would get a
letter from Dieppe the morning after it was posted.
Dieppe is quite a fascinating little place ; the two churches
(fourteenth century) most beautiful, outside and in.
Saturday afternoon was sunny and bright. That night a
very strong gale came on, and in the morning I saw a very
wild sea, with huge waves, from my window. This is a rough
attempt at the sort of thing one sees from it : Away to the
left (west) a high coast of tall white cliffs and headlands ; in
front the flat -plage and digue, and to the right the harbour
and lighthouse, etc. Thence at 12 each day the boat goes to
England, and I send my love by it each time, though it doesn't
know anything about it.
Yesterday morning I said Mass at St. Remy, one of the two
churches ; at six in the evening I motored to St. Aubyn and
held a little, very informal, service for the Catholics there —
only about sixteen of them.
I have my own little table in one of the big windows of the
70 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
dining-room, full in view of the sea. The food is excellent.
I wonder what sort of food Mrs. is giving you. And
very much I wonder whether Ver got his extension of leave,
and whether he has any likelihood of a new Staff appoint-
ment.
You have probably by now sent for the atlas and looked
up Dieppe on it ; if so, you will realize that here we are nearly
as far from the fighting as you are. This afternoon I have
been visiting the hospital; only six Catholics in it, no
wounded, only sick — influenza, colds, etc. It all seems so odd
after the front.
One of the patients I sat talking to was a young Mr. ,
son of an American Admiral ; he has enlisted in our army :
quite a gentleman, and pleasant, but with the most appalling
stammer I ever heard.
I shall go one of these days to Arques : it is quite near, and
the ruined castle was the cradle of the Drews; there Drogo
was born, his father William being Comte d' Arques.
If you were ten years younger I should just tell you to
come over here; but you could not stand the journey, and
especially the sea-passage, which is rather rough and bad,
the boats being very small and roily, so I hope you have not
had any such idea in your mind ; and the boat starts from Folke-
stone, a very long journey by rail from Salisbury. . . .
Now I will stop.
LETTER No. 64.
B.E.F., February 16, 1915.
I have just got back from Arques; the castle is really
enormously interesting, and I can't tell you how lovely the
situation is — a terrible climb up to it, but the view when you
get up truly splendid. The castle was a very important
fortress, and would interest anybody ; but it certainly is more
interesting to us, as it was the home in childhood of Drogo,
whose father Guillaume, Comte d'Arques, built it. You know
he was uncle to William the Conqueror, brother of William's
father, Robert the Devil, and himself son of Duke Richard II.
of Normandy. William the Conqueror being illegitimate, his
uncle, the other William, Count of Arques, thought he had
more right to the Norman crown, and fought for it, but lost.
Afterwards the two Williams made friends, and the Count
of Arques sent his sons Walter and Drogo to England with
their cousin.
Richard Cceur de Lion owned the castle, as King Stephen
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 71
had done ; and there King John held captive his niece Eleanor
of Brittany, and carried her off thence to another prison at
Cardiff.
All through the Middle Ages the castle was important, and
was constantly undergoing sieges, etc.
I did not expect to find a place nearly so beautiful, nor
with such extensive and fine ruins; I thoroughly enjoyed my
pilgrimage there.
The village church, far beneath the feet of the castle, is
very beautiful, but of a date long subsequent to our family
connection with the place.
It has been an exquisite day, very warm and sunny, and an
amazing contrast to the day before yesterday. The sea is
smooth and creamy, and there are no big waves breaking
along the shore. . . .
I'm going to shut up now, so with best, best love.
LETTER No. 65.
B.E.F., February 17, 1915.
This will be a very short and dull letter. To-day — Ash
Wednesday — has been another day of wild rain and wind,
and I have been indoors in my comfortable room a good deal
of it.
I went out early to say Mass at St. Jacques, the finest of the
two very fine churches here. There are really more than two,
but the others are quite modern and quite uninteresting.
There is a small party of English Naval officers in this
hotel, on what is called Naval transport duty, and I talk a
good lot to them. The senior of them is called Captain
Benwell, a name which at once reminded me of the broken-
hearted Captain Benwell in Jane Austen's " Persuasion," whose
broken heart Miss Louisa Musgrove mended up by tumbling
down the steps of the Cobb at Lyme Regis.
The Lieutenant is called B , and he has a very fine eye :
only one fine one, large and brown and liquid; he showed
great taste in the purchase of it ; the other (a very poor match)
was provided by Nature, and is small, of a muddy colour, and
looks much more glassy than the one which really is glass.
He manages to be nice-looking, and I believe someone will
fall in love with his younger eye.
The third is called , and he is in an awful fright of
being thought Irish, whereas, he carefully explains, his family
is a London family.
Captain Benwell is very nice, pleasant and cordial. He
72 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
knows Malta, Plymouth, and Portsmouth, and some of the
people we knew.
We are all wondering whether the Germans will really do,
or try to do, anything to-morrow, the i8th.
I wish to goodness they would bring their fleet out and
smack at us ; it would do something to end the old war.
People went to-day to see off the Sussex, the packet that
runs to England; it leaves here at midday, and it ought to
come back to-morrow, but of course it may be prevented. No
letters have come yet, but I begin now to expect them every
day; I am keen to know how you are. You must keep well
and in good spirits: at all events, you may feel sure I am
comfortable and safe.
It is so odd, after the front, to be splendidly housed, with
excellent beds, food, and attendance, and as much hot water
as one wants — and also shops to buy anything one wants.
I purposely brought no English books with me, as I want to
read only French here, and so practise and improve my-
self. . . .
LETTER No. 66.
B.E.F., February 19, 1915.
I did not write last night, because the letter I had written
the night before had not left for England ; the mail-packet for
England did not sail, nor (I believe) has it sailed to-day.
The above address does not mean that I am in a different
place : I am in the same comfortable quarters ; but it is the
correct military address, and you had better use it. But so
far no letters have arrived, from you or anyone, except one
from Sir Ian Hamilton written on the loth. Of course, the
German blockade of England began yesterday, and perhaps
letters will arrive rather irregularly. The only sign of it one
sees here is a patrol of torpedo destroyers guarding the
approaches to this place.
You may see in the papers of to-day the account of a
merchant ship towed in here yesterday (I saw it brought in)
that had been torpedoed by the Germans. But it did not
happen in this region, but thirty miles away in the Channel.
No lives were lost.
The concierge has just come into my room and brought me
a bundle of letters. Two very cheery and bright ones from
you, dated Sunday and Monday. No other letters, though
you mention a packet of twenty-three; no doubt they'll turn
up. I'm so glad to see what satisfaction it gives you my
being in such comfortable and safe quarters. Poor Alice must
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 73
be envious. She, I see by Christie's letter, is by this time
(6.15 p.m. Friday) back with you. I am so glad of that, for
your sake and her mother's (and poor Togo's). I think she
will like the quietness and rest of our home after the noise and
rush of London.
I feel ever so much cheerier since hearing from you ; I could
not help being anxious till I did hear, and evidently you are
putting a good heart on it. Really there is so -much to be
thankful for. Here one feels so near home, and all the dis-
comforts and strain of the front are absent. . . .
This morning I received about thirty letters, twenty-three
in one envelope, and I have also received four parcels — (i)
Universes, (2) shirts, (3) boots, (4) some shirts, socks, etc., for
soldiers.
The esplanade on the sea-front is a mile long, and is
pleasant walking, always dry and easy to the feet.
I have now three pairs of good boots besides the big gum-
boots. I was never so well provided for years.
I received a very cordial letter from Gater and another
from Winifred ; the latter tells me poor Sir Edmund Antrobus
is dead. I expect my poor friend Lady A. will feel it very
much, though not in the same way she did her boy's being
killed. I gather from Winifred's letter that you have the
Bath chair, which I am glad of, as now you can get out when-
ever a fine day comes.
I am the only Chaplain of any denomination who has been
mentioned twice in despatches during this war — at least, I am
told so.
I must stop now to answer some of those other letters.
With best love to Christie and Alice.
LETTER No. 67.
B.E.F., February 21, 1915.
When I gave you the number of our Army post office in my
last letter I left out S., so I hasten to put it right.
I am in jumping spirits, having just seen last Thursday's
paper (February i8th) and seen my name in the second
despatch, as well as in Sir John French's first despatch. It is
something to get one mention, but to be mentioned in both his
despatches is tremendous luck.
It is a perfect day here, and the sea looks lovely under the
bright sunshine.
This morning I had a special Mass for the English troops
(11 of them) in a side-chapel of St. Jacques. It was rather
74 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
funny, for while I was trying to make them hear me preach-
ing in a very low voice (not to disturb the congregation in
the body of the church) they were trying not to hear a French
priest, with a voice like a bull, bellowing a sermon about 20
feet away.
The boat went again last night, and is going to-night, so I
suppose our mails will become regular again.
LETTER No. 68.
B.E.F., February 23, 1915.
It is awfully cold here to-day, though very sunny and
bright : a fierce north wind, and of course we stare due north
over the sea. It looks very pretty, sapphire, emerald, amethyst,
all mixed, and laced with strings of pearls. . . .
There is hardly anyone in this hotel now. The Naval
people stay on ; almost all the rest are gone. Did you see the
picture of me in the Daily Mail of yesterday ? I wonder how
they got hold of that old portrait when there are so many
good ones ?
To-morrow Alice comes back to you. Poor dear, she must
wish her soldier was safe and comfortable at Dieppe; all the
same, this soldier would rather be at the real front. How-
ever, I heard from my late C.O. to-day, and he evidently
thinks there would be very little for me to do up there at
present. I must go to the hospital and shut this up.
LETTER No. 69.
B.E.F., February 24, 1915 (Wednesday}.
It is 4.30 p.m., and I have just had tea, and just had a letter
from you. It had no date, but it enclosed a cutting from the
Globe alluding to my second mention in despatches.
I am so thankful and glad that you are well, and that you
are happy at my being in good and safe quarters.
It is a very cold day here, with a sleety rain and a bitter
north-east wind ; the sea outside looks very angry and grim,
like our foes who maraud upon it.
It is bad news the Russians having taken such a knock, and
lost so terrible a number of prisoners. But you may be sure
it will buck them up and make them more than ever deter-
mined to get their own back.
I always wondered what those Belgian youths were doing
at Porton ; it explains why they hid away when I went to see
them, and only sent out the fid one to talk to me.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 75
There is a huge barrack here devoted entirely to Belgian
troops, and full of young fellows drilling and training for the
front; they look very business-like and capable.
When I wrote to you on Friday I thought Alice was going
down to you that day, and pictured her just arrived : now I
am doing the same thing over again. I am sure she will con-
gratulate you on my second "mention." It is particularly
comfortable coming just at the time of my return to France,
for reasons I need not explain. . . .
When I sit up in my bed in the morning on awaking, and
look out across the sea, I think of you in your bed looking
down this way : we are pretty nearly face to face.
We have no boss officers here; the garrison so far is too
unimportant : a Colonel or Lieutenant-Colonel is the highest
I should think the English soldiers find it very dull, but I
fancy they are rather hard-worked.
The parish priest made me a little visit of ceremony yester-
day afternoon — a very nice, stout old party, full of civility and
goodwill. He seemed to think my room very chic, but I
planted him by the window, where a good strong draught
blew in his ear, and he moderated his transports.
I must bring this very dull letter to an end, with all the
usual messages to Christie, Alice, Togo, Mary, etc.
I have to write to poor Lady Antrobus.
LETTER No. 70.
B.E.F., February 26, 1915.
Please don't address Army Pay Office, as you did your last,
for the nearest Army Pay Office is at Abbeville, forty or fifty
miles away, and they might send all your letters there.
I wish my letters didn't reach you, as they seem to, in
batches ; I write every day, and should like you to get a letter
every day.
It has been horribly cold here, but now has got milder
again; the cold gets hold of my liver and makes me seedy.
Of course, this situation, exposed to north, east, and west
winds, is very cold ; and often it is quite mild in the streets of
the town behind, and bitter here. Still, it is much the nicest
situation, and I don't suppose it will always be cold.
After luncheon yesterday I went for a walk along the shore :
very pretty, but very hard going : the -plage ends where the
casino shows in your big card ; then it becomes at once quite
a desolate coast with very high, precipitous cliffs. But at
the foot of them there is no sand, only coarse shingle, very
;6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
hard to walk on, and further out a sort of floor of prickly
rock full of pools. There I found a lot of wounded French
soldiers, convalescents, busily picking mussels — millions of
them cover the rocks — and I asked if they cooked them, and
how; but they promptly proceeded to show me how they ate
them raw : limpets also.
One of the lads told me that in addition to his wound he
had just had typhoid. "You'll have it again in about half
an hour," I reassuringly told him.
There are no shells along this shore, but I think one could
pick up hundreds of pebbles that would polish well.
About a mile away I saw a family — perhaps two — living
in a cave ; they live there always, and must often be shut in by
the tide. The door of the rock-house is about forty feet above
the base of the cliff. I am trying hard to get off my chest an
immense number of letters owing to people : I write over
twenty a day, but there seems heaps still to get through. So I
am only going to make this one to you a short one.
LETTER No. 71.
B.E.F., February 26, 1915.
I found to-day in the town a card of the cave-dwellers along
the cliffs, and so I send it you. Also some of the old castle
that I happened to visit on duty to-day, in search of Catholic
soldiers; it is at present occupied by about sixty English
soldiers, and very rough their quarters are : old mediaeval
rooms tumbling to decay, with rotten floors and crumbling
roofs, no beds, and no straw, only a blanket or two on the
damp and dirty floors — and no fires ! However, they were
very cheery, and did not grumble an atom. They showed me
all over the place, quite proud of an English officer for a
visitor. I never saw a more ghostly place : and how cold it
must be these tearing nights of frost, sleet, wind, and fog,
perched up on that cliff, exposed to every gale that blows.
The sixty soldiers in it are like half a dozen peas in a
barn. . . .
Isn't the east end view of St. Jacques lovely ? and the
interior too ?
You must understand that the cave-dwelling illustrated is
high up the face of the cliff. A weird enough place to live,
with the ocean thundering at your feet in high tide, and quite
cut off from all other human intercourse at times.
It is very late, and I must go to dinner.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 77
LETTER No. 72.
B.E.F., February, 1915.
This is Sunday, and yesterday I got your letter written on
Thursday — not bad to get it the day but one after it was posted,
was it ?— and with it came the parcel containing the School
Magazines and the printed slips from Arrowsmith.
I went this morning to say Mass at 7 at St. Aubyn, one of
the outlying places where there are a few soldiers, about eight
kilometres from here. I only had about eighteen or twenty-
six there, so my congregation was not large, but it was very
attentive and devout. At 10 I said another Mass in St.
Jacques.
They have given me for my Mass a side-chapel dedicated
to Our Lady of Good Help, rather large and very interesting :
from the groined roof hang quaint models of ships, put up as
ex voto offerings from sailors or fishermen, in thanksgiving
for escape from shipwreck. Dieppe has always been a great
sea-place, and in the old days suffered continually from
English descents upon it. The old castle was built to defend
it against us, and now the streets are pervaded by English
soldiers who come as friends.
The Belgian soldiers training here are a very nice set of
men, with such good, honest, pure-minded faces : and, alas !
such boys. They drill and march splendidly.
The long line of hotels are all hospitals, except this one,
full of wounded French soldiers : and it is they who are to be
seen limping along on the -plage. And, alas ! you hardly see
a woman (not one well-dressed one) who is not in mourning.
Of course they are not all widows ! but French women put on
such tons of crape that they all look like it.
The chambermaid who does my room, "Jeanne," has her
husband fighting at the front, in the Vosges district, where
the fighting is so bitter, hand-to-hand, and incessant. She
is a very good, nice girl, and I made her very happy yester-
day by sending off to her husband a little parcel containing
two shirts and a pair of knitted socks.
The interpreter at the Base office here is a French private
soldier, also a Jesuit priest, called Pere Constant : a really
nice young fellow. Of course he is lucky to have the job, but
all the same I feel sorry for him. His only companions all
day are the other (English) private soldiers, and they just
call him " Constant," and treat him as they treat the soldiers
who are chauffeurs, etc. He tells me that thirty Jesuit priests
;8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
have been killed at the front — not Chaplains, you know, but
fighting as soldiers.
There is a nice little Belgian lady in this hotel; she came
here seventeen days ago to meet her husband, who was expect-
ing seven days' leave from the front. To-day he arrived, and
she presented him to me with great pride; he is an officer,
about twenty-six, and very smart, and also very nice. It does
one good to see the little wife's happiness.
The sunset just now behind those western cliffs was quite
lovely. A very angry sea in front, dark olive-green, with
black patches, and wonderful clear yellow patches ; the head-
lands ; and behind, saffron and primrose sky showing through
rags of fierce cloud.
The tide, as you say, would be dangerous under those cliffs,
but it does not seem to go out or come in much, because the
shore is really steep, and the water is very deep quite close
in : big ships come quite close in.
The mail goes to England regularly every night, but it is
escorted by French torpedo destroyers.
The Naval officers here seem to think that since the blockade
began we have not been really losing any more ships than
were being destroyed by the Germans before the blockade
started, while we have been sinking many more of their sub-
marines.
The worst of this hotel is, it is very dear; but the others in
the town are very fifth-rate French country-town inns, and I
don't feel inclined to try them. I have looked at some, but
they were so grubby, so noisy, and so unsanitatious, that I
decided not to venture on one.
Most ,of the English officers are at one by the railway-
station, and I thought it quite beastly; and if the Germans
did send a little Zeppelin, of course they would make for the
railway-station and try to drop their bombs there! There
is really nothing to tempt the enemy here; there is only one
barrack, and that quite away from the town inland.
I must stop now and write some other letters.
LETTER No. 73.
B.E,F., March i, 1915.
I had a long and pleasant letter from Lady Glenconner
to-day. I did not confess to you that when I went to luncheon
with her in London her house was a hospital : Bimbo, the
eldest boy, the Guardsman, in bed with influenza ; David, the
third boy, with diphtheria. However, both were doing very
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 79
well; and now Bimbo has jaundice, and lies in bed, she says,
with long hands that look like rare yellow orchids. Poor
Sir Edmund Antrobus died, it seems, after an operation at
Amesbury. Christopher, Lady Glenconner's second boy, the
Naval one, is, she thinks (but does not know), helping to take
the Dardanelles.
She herself is a prey to neuralgia after all her nursing, and
lies with a hot- water bottle on the nape of her neck; but
apologizes for mentioning it, saying : " I ought to imitate the
admirable Lady Sarah Bunbury, who at the end of a long and
interesting letter about politics, etc., tells Susan Fox-Strang-
ways, in an excellently restricted postscript, 'I have lost the sight
of one eye.' " She also apologizes for a little ignorance of hers
about a minute matter, and says: "Did I ever tell you of
Sir Henry Newbolt's friend who dreamt such a good word ?
He dreamt he was arguing against a wrong-headed man, and
kept saying, ' I tell you it's more than ignorance, it's pignor-
ance.' " And she hopes 111 forgive her pignorance.
You will say I am mean to fill up my letter out of another
person's letter. But there is no news.
We had another terrific gale last night, and, indeed, it is
going on still — enormous waves breaking right over the light-
house.
I have heard quite often lately from Madame Clary, and
she always sends really loving messages to you. I think she
is more cheerful since her total blindness than she used to be.
Now good-bye.
I don't apologize for dull letters, because I know no one
here, and don't want to know anyone, and there is nothing to
tell in a daily letter.
LETTER No. 74.
B.E.F., March 2, 1915 (Tuesday).
I shall have to write rather a short letter if I finish it
to-night, for it is late, and just on dinner-time. I have been
out with the senior Naval officer here, to see that ship, the
Din or ah, which I told you the Germans torpedoed on the
1 8th, and which I saw towed in here that same day.
I went out at 6.30 this morning and said Mass for Pierce,
and shall do so to-morrow too.
At 1 1 I took my letter to the Base, and found yours of the
28th, with the little cutting about Kyffin Salter's will. Fancy
his leaving over £100,000! — most of it the Langford money
he inherited from our old friend.
8o JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
The post also brought me a letter from Lady Antrobus.
Well, at 5 I went to look at the torpedoed Dinorah, origin-
ally an Austrian ship, taken by the French, and used by the
Government for conveying oats, hay, and trench-timbers to
Dunkirk for the troops. The hole is very big, about 9 feet
high and 9 long showing, and more of it under the very low-
tide water-level in the dock. We examined it outside, then
climbed down to examine it from within. The torpedo struck
just amidship and the torn-off plate is in a coal-bunker,
separate compartment from the rest of the ship, otherwise she
would have gone straight to the bottom. We went up and
talked to the captain and engineer, I doing interpreter : such
nice men, simple, plain, honest fellows, with no buck or swash-
bucklering about them. They said the noise, when the torpedo
struck the ship, was horrible; she, poor thing, shivered and
leapt up in the air, then came down, and they no doubt
thought she was going down to the bottom of the sea. It was
2 a.m., and every light was extinguished by the explosion;
how terrible that darkness must have been ! They showed us
a bit of the torpedo itself, that the force of the explosion had
flung up on to the roof of the engine-house — a piece about
2 feet long and 18 inches wide, weighing a huge amount.
It was a most interesting visit : my Naval officer had never
seen a torpedoed ship any more than I had. After all, the
damage done is only slight and can soon be repaired ; no
doubt the Germans flatter themselves the ship and her crew
are lying far beneath the waves.
I must stop. It is not nearly so cold, and the gale has
subsided.
LETTER No. 75.
B.E.F., March 4, 1915.
Yesterday (Wednesday) I received your letter written on
Monday; it seems the regular thing now to get letters from
England the day but one after they're written.
Yesterday I also received enclosed letter from Dora Severin,
now Dora Hardy, an orphan niece of Mrs. Eland's, whom that
most generous and self-sacrificing (and very poor) woman
adopted and brought up. As a tiny child you may remember
her at Ellesmere one summer, when all the Elands took
lodgings there. . . .
Our cold weather has quite gone, and we have muggy but
much warmer weather, that in Malta would certainly be called
a sirocco, which I confess I like better. I can sit in my room
in comfort without freezing.
Good-bye for to-day.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 81
LETTER No. 76.
B.E.F., March 4, 1915.
I think I have even less than usual to make a letter out of
to-night. I walked to the Base office after Mass, and got your
letter of Tuesday — the day before yesterday — and a lot of
others. Also the Month for March : did you get a copy too ?
By same post came a perfectly charming letter from Sir
Charles Fergusson, who commanded my Division at the
beginning of the war, and was very kind to me, and who now
commands an Army Corps. He had been reading the thing
of mine in the February Montht and immediately wrote home
for the January and all successive numbers.
He begs me to go and stay with him at Headquarters of
the Army Corps, which, of course, I can't.
Also I heard from Lady O'Conor, who is sending me out
things. I really need none, but it is very nice of her.
The head priest at St. Jacques is a queer old boy, and
rather amusing. I said Mass for the Dead to-day, and told
him it was for all those killed in the war. " All those killed
among the Allies, you mean," he said. " Oh no ! for the dead
of all armies," I told him. He made a very ugly face, and
said : " I won't do that. The Bon Dieu must look after the
Germans Himself, for me." I laughed and said : " Perhaps
the Bon Dieu will say that He has no time, then, to look after
you." Whereupon the sacristan giggled, and he went away
shaking his old head.
There are two nice Miss La Primaudayes nursing in a
French hospital here : nieces of Mr. La Primaudaye at Malta,
and cousins of your beloved Margaret Pollen.
I have been answering letters for four and a half hours in
a row ; so I shall make this a short one.
To-day has been mild and windless with a thick sea mist,
very wetting, but it is only on the " front " ; in the town there's
none.
I give the little chap who serves my Mass a few pennies
every day — he is a rather sad-looking (sailor's) orphan. I
asked him to-day if he bought cakes or sweets with his pennies
(all cakes and sweets are very dear here). "Je n'en achete
rien," he answered, "je les economise." It sounds so much
finer than " I save them up."
Now to dinner.
82 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 77.
B.E.F., March 5, 1915 (Friday}.
How do you do ?
It has been very mild, almost stuffy, here for the last day
or two, sometimes quite windless; but to-day, especially to-
night, with a strong, not cold, westerly gale. A very thin
rain or sea-fog (only it isn't a fog on land) all day, thickening
towards evening.
Saturday. — I only got so far, and was interrupted last
night. To-day is a most wild day, and the sea outside a
turmoil of waves, rain, spray, spindrift, and howling wind;
inside it is very cosy, not cold a bit
The ships can't get in to port at certain states of tide,
and eighteen have just accumulated outside, with torpedo
destroyers fussing round them in case of a submarine turn-
ing up !
I have been watching them (very glad I was not on board
any of them; they jumped and rolled so horribly); they have
just been able to get into the port, and it was very pleasant
watching them slip in one by one.
I got a lot of letters to-day, including two of yours of the
3rd and 4th.
Your letters are anything but dull, always most cheery and
pleasant reading : none more interesting to me. I also got a
long and very pleasant letter from Lord Malise Graham, A.D.C.
to my other friend Sir Charles Fergusson, whom I used often
to mention to you in the early days of the war. When Sir
Charles, went home he had to return to his battery ; now
Sir Charles is commanding a whole Army Corps he has come
back to him. He says : " I had to go and shoot Germans for
two and a half months ; but the only thing I know I shot was
a Flemish cow."
Send a post-card to Ryders', Seedsmen, St. Albans, and ask
them to send you a catalogue and one to me here, Army Post
Office, S. 8, B.E.F., and between us we will choose seeds.
I must dry up, because I have to go and hear confessions at
St. Jacques.
LETTER No. 78.
B.E.F., March 7, 1915 (Sunday}.
I was delighted to get your letter to-day, and to know you
were taking good care of your little cough ; don't let it grow
a big one. Bed is the best place for coughs.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 83
I had two letters today from people who recognize I did
them good turns : Major , who has just got the D.S.O.,
and Martin, who has been mentioned in despatches. Both
say they owe it to my asking it for them, as I did. Martin
writes a long letter, and ends up : " It was a great privilege
being with you, and I shall always think you one of the finest
men in the world !"
These kindly letters do make up for the ... of some other
people.
Sir Charles Fergusson sends another letter, full of genuine
affection and respect. And I never knew him till I served
under him ! He commanded my Division then ; now he has
succeeded Sir Horace in command of an Army Corps, Sir H.
being in command of the Second Army. He says : " Will you
think it very impertinent of me if I ask you to go and see my
wife whenever you are in London again ? I have talked to
her hundreds of times about you, and our children would
simply adore you." Lady Alice Fergusson has her share of
anxiety from the war : her husband at the front, and two
brothers (a third brother already killed there).
I tell you all this, not out of vanity, but to console you with
the idea that there are plenty whose opinion is worth some-
thing who think thus of your son out here.
" The men," says Major Ormsby, "never forget you, or cease
talking of you. ' There was nobody like Monsignor,' they
say ; ' he was a gentleman.' "
You aren't the only person who thought it odd that with the
double mention in despatches there was no " recognition."
I left here to-day at 6.30 a.m. to go and say Mass for the
few sheep I have in the wilderness at St. Aubyn, and then
said Mass at St. Jacques at 10. I had quite a long talk with
the two Miss La Primaudayes — they made my congregation
thirteen ! They said : " What are you here for ? Someone
jealous somewhere, I suppose ?"
Our soldiers are playing football outside on the grass
between my window and the sea. I love to see them enjoying
themselves. The Jesuit soldier, Father Constant, is coming
to dine with me here to-night : he is a very nice man. . . .
LETTER No. 79.
B.E.F., March 8, 1915 (Monday evening}.
It is nearly dinner-time, and I have only just come in from
a rather long visit to the hospital; not because I have many
sick there, for I only have two, but because, after talking to
84 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
each of them a good while, just as I was coming away the
matron asked me if I would mind going in to chat with a
sick officer who would be very glad if I would; so I stayed
on another hour with him. He proved to be nice. His name
was Captain Lyttelton, and he was out in Malta when we
were, with the Northumberland Fusilier Militia; do you re-
member them ? Poor young Lord Encombe who died was in
them, so were the Roddams (a deaf lady), and the Jervoises,
and a lot of others whom we knew slightly or well.
My Jesuit soldier-priest who dined with me last night
enjoyed his evening, I think.
On Saturday I meant to tell you about the weekly market
here, which is rather quaint. The actual market-place by
St. Jacques is not nearly large enough, and for quarter of a
mile along the principal street the market-women plant them-
selves on the pavement and set out their goods to tempt the
public.
They are almost all uncommonly plain, and not very un-
English-looking ; there are some dark and handsome Normans,
but in general they are fairish, with eyes of no particular
colour and features of no particular shape — quite unlike the
Latin type, French or Italian. They are, like all French
people, frugal and careful, content to make a little money
slowly, but using everything and wasting nothing. Some had
a chicken to sell : one had a turkey. Some had even two
chickens : hundreds had eggs, a good lot of eggs, and there
were Belgian non-commissioned officers with big baskets buy-
ing hundreds of eggs for barracks. But some had only very
small affairs to sell — half a dozen bunches of snowdrops, a
mere handful of salad, enough white "honesty" seed-pods to
fill a small vase, three or four cheeses at 2d. each; they
despise nothing. Imagine a Wiltshire villager walking to
Salisbury to sell a handful of " honesty " pods or a handful of
radishes !
It was quaint and interesting, and I think they themselves
think the market very serious business.
The few hens and the one turkey sat very composedly by
their owners' sides, waiting to be bought.
Very few of the women wear hats — in fact, scarcely any :
the younger ones are bareheaded (even in church) ; the elder
wear very unbecoming little black knitted capes, with a sort
of cap forming part or it and drawn over the head.
I must say the capes and caps look grubby, and are not
picturesque or flattering to a plain, drab face.
One or two wear regular bonnets (very stale and greasy),
always greasy and always black, of the build I call lodging-
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 85
house woman or charwoman — generally made of wool, and
probably the ancestral home of a humble but contented popu-
lation. If you sit close to these elderly females in church you
are conscious of a sourish, frowsy atmosphere.
In all the streets (we here, of course, are not in a street, but
on the plage} there are runnels of water beside the pavements.
At intervals are sorts of taps, always running, out of which the
water (which is quite good and clean) comes. But those
runnels are really the drains. Everything out of the houses is
emptied into them in the early morning, and as I go to Mass
at 6.30 I see awful things in them !
I must say that the sea-front is the place to live on. Alt
the same, Dieppe is not smelly : the water runs so incessantly
that all atrocities are rapidly carried off into the avant-port
or arriere-port. All the same, I shouldn't care to eat mussels
here (nor oysters either).
To-day at luncheon there were mussels ; yesterday enormous
whelks. I tackled neither, nor do I think any of us do. I
saw a man go the length of tearing a whelk out of its shell, but
it looked so horrible that he got no further.
It is time to stop and go to dinner. Tell me if you can
easily read my letters written on both sides this very thin but
excellent paper. If not, I will only use one side of it, and I
think one is only supposed to write on one side of it.
LETTER No. 80.
B.E.F.
March 10, 1915 (Wednesday evening}.
This is the third letter I have written to you to-day ; first
a very short one asking for a new stock, which I took to the
Base office with a lot of other letters, and found yours in which
you were making yourself miserable because of some idea that
I was up at the front, or might be.
So I sent you a second letter to assure you I am still, and
am likely to remain, here, where I have been all along, until I
go home : if I do go home.
And now I am writing my regular evening letter to post
to-morrow.
I hope you will be fit again before this reaches you.
I promise you not to apply for any change from this place,
though my being here is ridiculous, and also horribly expen-
sive. At the front one's personal expenses were almost
nothing — £1 for messing about once in three weeks! Here
they rush me over £4 a week. Of course, if they wrote and
86 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
said there was a Chaplain needed in some more active place
and would I go, J should say " Yes."
Yesterday I was late coming in because I had been out
into the country. Up at the front I nursed a young French
cavalry soldier (among many) whom our men picked up badly
wounded and brought in. He was enormously grateful and
often wrote to me, and often wrote to his people about me :
they are Norman peasants living at a hamlet called Etran,
near here. As soon as he knew where I was, he begged me
to go and see them, which I did. It seems he had sent them
a little portrait of me cut out of a newspaper, and as soon as I
arrived they called out, " It's Charles's priest ! "
They were so nice — very simple country-folk, but respect-
able and well to do. I told them how wonderfully sweet and
patient, gentle and grateful, Charles had been when suffering
with a bad shell wound in the hip, and they sat round listening
with a most delightful, simple pride.
The mother is a stout old party with a large Norman face,
the daughter rather like her brother, but less good-looking;
the two little boys listened with all their eyes while I expati-
ated on their young uncle's bravery and goodness.
I have now been out to another place in the country:
Varengeville. The Commanding Officer there is a Colonel
Acland, a very nice man, to whom I had written to arrange
about my going out to give services for his twelve men.
He very civilly came to see me, and we motored out there,
and then I motored back.
He is a brother of Sir William Acland, an Admiral we used
to know at Plymouth, and he and Sir William married sisters,
both daughters of W. H. Smith and Lady Hambleden,
Rebecca Power's sister. So we had great talks. I have
promised to go to luncheon with him, and go and see a wonder-
ful old house, called the Manoir d'Argo, near there.
I send you the German Hymn of Hate ! Ask Alice to try
the music of it. It was in the Weekly Dispatch wrapped
round a book. I did not buy the book, but one of the French
waiters here gave it me for a present.
LETTER No. 81.
B.E.F., March n, 1915 (Thursday}.
I received a nice letter from Alice this morning, in which
she mentions that you had reappeared, or were reappearing,
in the drawing-room, and were really better, which it cheered
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 87
me very much to hear. I asked them at the Army Post Office
what the rates are for postage to us, and they say —
Up to 5- pound for letters, etc. (anything), id.
Over i pound and up to I pound, 4d.
Over i pound and up to 2 pounds, 8d.
But even if letters are overweight they have never sur-
charged, and (never from you) I have received plenty that
were a good bit overweight.
To-day is mild and warm, rather misty, and I must say I
prefer it to the tearing windy days, because the wind is always
cold.
Both yesterday and to-day I have been overtaken in the
street by the Base Commandant, who joined on and walked
and talked: he does the latter with great vigour; he is clever,
but full of theories. He has all sorts of theories about races
(I don't mean the Derby or the Grand National, but peoples),
and he loves to sit on their backs (the theories' backs) and
ride them.
Unfortunately, I don't think history quite confirms them.
He is serenely aware that the French, Spaniards, Romans,
Greeks, Assyrians, etc., all had their day, and passed it; but
he cannot perceive that what happened to them might some
day happen to the British . . . because we are Northerns.
Northern races, he seems to think, are immortal. I hope so.
However, he is not quite sure whether the British or the
Russians are to boss the world after the war. I think he finds
me an agreeable listener, for I have had three goes of his
theories in twenty-four hours; anyway he's uncommonly civil,
and I would rather listen to theories, for a change, than unend-
ing war-talk.
Beside the two Church of England Army Chaplains here now,
there's a regular Church of England Chaplain for the Dieppe
English Colony. He's a German, and the French, of course,
hate him, and his wife is an Irish Catholic, which the members
of his congregation highly disapprove. The senior Church
of England Military Chaplain lives in this hotel, and we sit
together at meals. He is a very friendly and pleasant person,
and we get on very well. He can't take his eyes off a very
remarkable-looking young French lady who sits at the next
table (with her husband). She dresses beautifully, and would
not be bad-looking, only she whitewashes her face and paints
her lips bright scarlet, which makes her truly alarming to
look at, and I avoid an acquaintance. My brother-Chaplain
is always watching to see if the scarlet comes off her lips on
to her napkin.
88 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
You never saw anybody so thin as this lady : Mrs. H. C
is fat and podgy in comparison with her. She and her
husband look very well bred and are very quiet.
You see what stuff I have to fill my letters with ; this place
is not remarkable for incident, and I carefully avoid getting
to know the English Colony. In places like Boulogne,
Dieppe, etc., there is always an English colony, always furi-
ously gossipy and quarrelsome, and the only way to be safe
is to keep out of their clutches altogether. I fancy the English
who choose to live in little French towns near England have
little histories very often, and are apt to be queerish : but of
course I don't know.
So far as I can judge, there is no French aristocracy here;
you hardly ever meet anyone in the streets who looks like a
real lady, and the few gentlemen are officers who don't belong
to the place In fact, Dieppe is very expensive, and I think
French aristocrats would not choose it to live in, for it is dull,
and they would get very little for their money. Almost next
door here is one very big private house, and the princely
coronet and arms over the door made me rather curious to
know who could live there. When the Base Commandant
overtook me just now he had been to call there : they are
Rumanians, a Prince and Princess Sburza. Why on earth
should a Rumanian Prince build himself a huge house at
Dieppe ?
Now I must bring this long but very dull letter to an end.
Up at the front (and at home, as you know) I tried wearing very
thick knitted woollen socks, and they were always damp, no
matter how often I dried them. Now I've gone back to the
sort I always used to wear, thin ones, and my feet are ten
times warmer.
LETTER No. 82.
B.E.F.
March 12, 1915 (Friday evening}.
I have not changed my address ! A.P.O. is only the recog-
nized contraction for "Army Post Office," as B.E.F. is for
British Expeditionary Force. You can use the contraction or
the full as you like— the only thing that matters is the letter
S. and the number 8.
Our postal service is very well managed, and is not carried
out by ordinary soldiers, but by trained Post Office reservists
serving out here in that way.
I got your dear letter of Wednesday to-day (Friday) ; it is
such a blessing getting one's letters so soon.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 89
After luncheon I went for a walk to a place called Puys,
along the coast eastwards. I had to cross the harbour, and
then got on to the fields at the top of the cliffs : you need not
fear my walking too near the edge of them, for I am frightened
of it, I keep well away, and could not go and look over. It
doesn't make me giddy, but it gives me a sort of horror. To
tell the truth, I can't think of anything else that does frighten
me. The shells, etc., up at the front never did in the least ;
but I shrink away with a most singular dread from the edge
of cliffs, etc.
The coast is rather fine ; the cliffs enormously high ; along
the shore an odd floor of rock.
Puys isn't much to see when you get there. I hoped to
find a fishing village, but found a valley running up from the
shore (a chine really), full of empty villas and an enormous
empty hotel.
However, it was a walk.
I saw only two people, all the way, after leaving the town :
two English soldiers, walking much too near the edge of the
cliff. I warned them not to, and told them how rotten and
crumbly the chalk is; when I came back I found them both
lying fast asleep about 3 feet from the edge of a precipice 300
or 400 feet high.
I am nearly sure that old people cannot get spotted fever,
but you are right to keep suspects away.
Ryders' catalogue has not turned up yet.
I must trot off to dinner.
LETTER No. 83.
B.E.F.
March 14, 1915 (Sunday}.
I am sending you by this same post, but separately, a
Dieppe pate, which I hope will arrive in good time and in
good condition. I think them uncommonly good.
Yesterday and to-day have been heavenly days, warm, soft,
bland, with a bright sun and a windless sea. On the latter
a warm mist, but the boats near land casting the most extra-
ordinary reflections of themselves in the unrippled water.
The cliffs close at hand stand out white and gleaming, but
their line curves away, into the pearly haze, out of sight.
At this moment I feel tired: at 6 I arose and went to
Varengeville to say Mass, preach, etc., for Colonel Acland's
lot ; then back to say Mass, preach, etc., at St. Jacques.
I have just had my breakfast.
I am sitting at my big window, both leaves of it wide open,
90 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
and the French soldiers (convalescents from wounds) are
playing football on the green outside, the bright sun bringing
into full glory their exquisite red legs !
I am cracked about that colour, and want to have a dressing-
gown made of it. Please tell me how many yards of cloth
would be needed to make me a dressing-gown, putting the
breadth at a metre (40 inches). Don't forget to answer this !
This paper is not so good a quality as the last : it's rather
like what one covers jam-pots with. Can you easily read if
I write on both sides ?
I got a very nice letter this morning from a Mrs. Brent,
very cheerful, and laughing at herself for thinking her son
had been wafted up-country somewhere.
I must tell you they've made a new order now (and issued
it to every officer, so that none can say he " didn't know ") :
I enclose it. You will see we are not to put even the military
address at the head of our letters ; we may still embody it in the
text : thus, A.P.O., S.8, B.E.F. (You shouldn't put Expedi-
tionary Force and B.E.F., as one stands for the other, but
whichever you find least trouble.)
Of course, this new order sounds awful tosh, but we have
to obey it; so you see I put only the date at the top of this
letter.
I heard from you both yesterday and to-day : yesterday I
took my letters and read them on the strand in the sun. The
place I walked to on Friday afternoon, Puys, was a favourite
retreat of Alexandre Dumas the elder, and of a number of
French men of letters of his time ; I dare say it was a fishing
village when they began to go there, but their favour made
it fashionable. Alexandre Dumas died there. The late Lord
Salisbury went there every summer and his villa, Chalet Cecil,
is to the fore still.
I'm glad you enjoyed my account of market-day here; I
only wish 1 could draw.
Normans aren't a bit like real French people: they have
tow-coloured hair, and mud-coloured faces, and boiled-looking
eyes.
They can't bear the English or the Belgians — who united
to bombard the town in 1694 and utterly destroyed it, leaving
it a mere heap of ruins — and now the streets are full of Belgian
and English soldiers !
I received a most affectionate letter to-day from my late
Commanding Officer, Colonel Slayter. : . . The Presby-
terian Principal Chaplain has been going the rounds, and
visited No. 15 Field Ambulance. . . .
I must stop for to-day.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 91
LETTER No. 84.
B.E.F., March 16, 1915.
The stock arrived to-day, and fits beautifully — ever so
many thanks for it. It was not in the least crushed on the
way. You put 8d. on it, and it weighed much under i pound,
so it should only have had 4d. ; you waste your stamps every
day in writing to me.
It is very heavy, muggy weather, and I can scarcely keep
my eyes open, so I shall not attempt a real letter now; but
will take this to the post (it has to be there by 6 p.m.) for
to-night's boat, then come back and write you a decent letter.
There is no Sunday boat to England now, nor from it; so
you can get no letter from me on Tuesdays now, nor I from
you on Mondays.
I must go off to the post before I fall fast asleep.
Ever so many thanks for the stock.
LETTER No. 85.
B.E.F.
March 17, 1915 (St. Patrick's Day}.
I had another nice letter from you to-day, very cheering
and bright; also I received from you Ryders' catalogue, which
I will go through and make out an order, which I will send him
through you, so that you and I may not order the same things
twice over. As to vegetable seeds, we usually get them at the
post office, as we do seed-potatoes, and Bert had better get
them there this time. They come from a society called " One
and All," and are very good.
I wore your new stock to-day, and thank you afresh for it.
I received after Mass a box of shamrock and a large box
of good cigarettes, a present from Cork; unfortunately, they
were addressed thus, " No. 8 Post Office, Expeditionary Force,"
and had been to No. 8 P.O. up at the front, No. 8 Cavalry
Post Office, Headquarters, and finally here.
The sender is a Mrs. Scriven (Helma Scriven), a well-to-do
Irish farmer in her own right (Mr. S. is gone to Abraham's
bosom) whom I never saw, but I knew two very nice nephews
of hers in the Irish Rifles at Tidworth, John and Denis Lucy :
John (only quite a lad, but very charming and refined) is now
a sergeant; Denis unfortunately wounded and a prisoner,
since last September.
Wasn't it nice of her to think of sending me the cigarettes ?
92 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
It's not as if her boys were here and I could do anything for
them.
The Scarlet Lady, as I called her, has gone away long ago.
Her name was Mme. B . . . .
I walked to Puys along the cliffs again after luncheon
to-day ; at the top of the cliffs are quite flat fields.
On Sunday night I went out to dinner, invited by an elderly
French widow who seems to feed priests. There were six of
them ! We had quite a delicious dinner, thoroughly French,
very light and agreeable, and I liked my old hostess. . . .
I had a very cheery letter from Colin Davidson from the
front, where he is very happy. He spoke much of you, and
hoped you were well and cheerful.
Last night at 3 a.m. I heard four explosions out at sea, and
said : " There the Germans are, torpedoing some ship ; I
suppose they'll send our letters from home to the bottom."
But it was only jog-bombs, let off to signal the way in to the
mail-boat through a thick mist.
I have acquired a most painful habit of saying awkward
things. The other night I was introduced to a magnificent
old French Staff Officer, as bald as a coot ; and he said : " I
have admired your white hairs so much." " Oh yes, I've plenty
of them" I replied cheerfully. "And I none at all," he re-
marked, rather grimly.
And I was sitting talking to four Naval officers who have
all been here since the beginning of the war. They spoke of
a young Army Service Corps officer here, and I asked what
his work was. "Oh, seeing hay unloaded from England,"
they told me. Then I said tactfully : " A nice safe way of
getting the war medal." You should have seen those four
faces. Of course they'll all get the medal too ; I believe they
thought I said it on purpose. Mr. B 's glass eye glared in
its socket.
Now I must take this letter off to the post. They have to
be there by 6 or they lose the night boat.
With best love to Christie, Alice, Togo, etc.
LETTER No. 86.
B.E.F., March 18, 1915 (Thursday afternoon).
I enclose two more letters for you to read — they need
neither be returned or kept.
One is from George . His wife was the lady who said
to Lady Auckland : " Lady Auckland, why do you say ' Not
at home ' to people when they can see you are in ?" and to
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 93
whom Lady A. replied : " Mrs. , why do you paint your
face when people can see that it is painted ?"
We have another character in this hotel now : the French
Commandant of the place, an ancient Colonel, the gentleman
to whom I made the happy remark about my abundant white
hair. He is splendidly uniformed, and our fellows call him
the Chocolate Soldier. I never met such a talker : he grabs
you and keeps you an hour or two while he gabbles. Last
night he kept me in the hall till everybody else was in bed.
I saw the hall-porter cleaning his valises this morning, and
observed demurely : " A charming person ! "
" He talk mosh too mosh," said the concierge in English ;
" nobody don't want to pay no spies while he talk — everything
told for nothing."
He is a very flamboyant Catholic, and is supposed to have
been a martyr to his religion, but I should say his tongue had
something to do with it. However, he is all bows and ami-
ability.
After luncheon I walked to Puys again, because it is the
walk by which you can get at once into the country. I am sure
that the sea has washed away miles of those cliffs, and I
suppose once Hampshire and Sussex were all in one piece
with this land. You can see valleys that have evidently lost
half of themselves in the sea, quite abruptly ending, not verg-
ing down to the shore, and you can see other pieces of cliff
getting ready to collapse into the sea.
Puys itself is to me the most dismal sort of place — a crowd
of chalets and villas, all shut, not one house open, and no small
houses or cottages; not one house that is, or ever was, any-
body's home; houses built simply as pleasure resorts for a few
summer weeks. Not one house that ever grew there out of
anyone's necessity, as farms grow, and cottages.
It is a coldish, snappy day, with a raw mist, no sun, and a
nipping wind — as every day has been for a fortnight, except
Sunday and Saturday, which were enchanting.
Apropos of the Army Post Office address, I ought to tell
you that supposing by any chance (which I pray may not be)
you were seriously ill, you could telegraph to me at the hotel,
addressing thus : " Monsignor Bickerstaffe, Grand Hotel,
Dieppe." And I should get the telegram quite soon.
One of our military guests here had a mother ill, and she
telegraphed, and he got the wire very soon and got leave to
go over by that night's packet.
Now I must trot off to the post and also to the hospital,
where I have already been this morning after Mass.
With best love to Christie and Alice.
94 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 87.
B.E.F., Friday, March ig, 1915.
I am very glad the pate arrived all right, and that you
found it good. The charcutier, the man who sells all those
sorts of good things to eat, is a great institution in France.
I send you to-day a pdte tube de soldat: it does not mean
a pdte made of German soldiers slain in battle — or subse-
quently— for the table, but is intended as a little present to
send to a soldier.
I have sent lots of French soldiers things of the kind.
The point for the soldier is that it needs no tin-opener, and
that the part not used at first opening doesn't get spoiled or
dirtied, nor does it grease other things. The stuff inside is
very good.
It is bitterly cold here to-day, and I am revelling in a fire,
the first I have seen since I left England. I have to write
something to-night, and last night I found I was so cold that
I could not. So when to-day came colder than yesterday I
told them I must have a fire or change to a room with central
heating. Now I have a lovely wood fire. . . .
This is a scrubby little letter, but I must write this evening,
and first there is the journey to the post with this. It is quite
a mile away !
LETTER No. 88.
B.E.F., March 22, 1915 (Monday}.
I am writing this from Eu, where I am for a little outing
from Dieppe with Captain Benwell, the Naval Commandant.
We had luncheon at 12, caught the i o'clock train, and came
to Treport. . . . Captain Benwell had to come and inspect
the place. It is a pretty journey from Dieppe, and Treport
is pretty too. The old church stands in a fine bold position
on a rock over the little port, and inside it is very beautiful :
outside quaint and picturesque. We had tea at Treport, and
walked to Eu, about three miles along a pretty road. . . .
The church is very fine indeed, and the chateau is close to it ;
the back of it looks on the church, the principal facade into
the great park. It was the special family residence of Louis
Philippe, and it was there that he entertained Queen Victoria
and the Prince Consort The present owner and inhabitant
is the Comte d'Eu, grandson of Louis Philippe; and the
Comtesse d'Eu is grand-daughter of the Emperor of Brazil.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 95
I expect you remember another grandson of the Emperor of
Brazil, Prince Louis of Saxe-Coburg, who came to see us at
Plymouth, and told you that he was used to speaking-
trumpets, because his grandmother the Empress of Brazil used
one.
We are going to dine in this inn, and then catch the train
which leaves for Dieppe at 8.30, and arrives there about 10.
I have made Captain Benwell go out for a walk while I
write this. I must say I enjoy the little change and
outing. . . .
Here's Captain Benwell, and I must stop.
LETTER No. 89.
B.E.F., March 24, 1915 (Wednesday}.
I am so glad the hats arrived safe, and gave such satis-
faction, and particularly glad to think that you had your
share of them. Alice tells me you made a most engaging
summer bonnet out of the two Tuscan straws; I am sure they
would not lose their smartness in your hands.
I went to a glover's for the suede gloves, not to a draper's,
and sent you the pair of black ones by this morning's boat.
I thought the thread pair might do (to match the Tuscan
straw ! ) for sitting in the garden, etc. They are not common,
though cheap.
Yesterday I went to Arques again, and walked up the beauti-
ful wooded valley behind the castle, away from the broad main
valley in which the church and village are : in the Middle
Ages it was not a village, but a bourg, more important by far
than Dieppe, which was only a fishing village.
I took a paper with me and read it sitting by the roadside,
alone with the woods and the throstles that were tuning their
spring songs. Alas ! the first thing I saw in the paper was
that poor little McCurry, the youngest officer in our Field
Ambulance, was killed on the I5th. It made me very, very
sad. He was such a bright, boyish lad, and he was absolutely
devoted to me. Before the war he was one of Carson's gun-
runners, and of course I used to chaff him for making friends
with a terrible Popish priest; but the truth was he hadn't an
ounce of prejudice or bigotry in his whole body; he only
went in for gun-running for fun, just as he came out to the war
for fun, and this is the end of his young and hopeful life.
I was really ill one day, and only one, and he was kinder
and more tender to me than any woman could have been;
96 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
indeed, though barely twenty -one, not twenty-one then, he was
a very clever doctor.
The night I left he came to my room and said : " Monsignor,
I had to come and see you alone to say good-bye. Of course
I'm only a kid, and I don't know how to talk, and I'm not
clever or well-read ; but none of them have been so fond of you
as I am. Do let me come and see you in England, will you ?
You have taught me to look at life in a different way, and
shown me nobler things to live for. And, oh, dear Mon-
signor, I do love you so much ! "
I cannot tell you how it horrified me reading of his being
killed. We called him our baby, and death and he seemed
to have nothing to say to each other. I came home very
sadly, and to-day I said Mass for his brave and simple soul.
I bought more cards for you in the village at Arques, though
I dare say you have them nearly all. You cannot think how
many lovely views of the old ruined castle there are as one
walks up that valley. If I could have drawn I should have
made a dozen pictures : in some places it was through the
naked boughs of tall trees that one saw the stern grey fortress,
and the afternoon yellow light fell on it and them. And the
exquisite leafless woods are all spread with a golden carpet
of daffodils.
I'm glad Father M came and that you and he are
burying your very uncalled-for hatchet. . . .
Now I must stop.
Tell Alice and Christie about poor little McChutney, as we
called him; I have often made them scream with laughter
over him.
LETTER No. 90.
B.E.F., March 25, 1915.
"I hope you are quite well, as leaves me at present," and
I really don't know what else to say !
It has been raining all day to-day and yesterday, and the
sea looks very damp and cold. But this is almost the first
rain there has been in all the weeks I have been here.
Yesterday after luncheon the French Commandant (the
brilliantly uniformed old Hussar, with Eton-blue jacket
covered with embroidery and astrachan fur, and geranium-
coloured legs), to whom I made my brilliant remark about
plenty of hair, told me that he had seventy or eighty German
prisoners arriving — in fact, just arrived. I said : " Now,
Mon Colonel, don't be unkind to them." He seemed to
think it very funny, and got everyone round to tell them
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 97
how Monsignor had forbidden him to maltreat the Boches.
After dinner he told me he had seen them.
" Mind," said I, " you have promised to be nice to them."
He skipped with amusement. "You shall come to see
them." (That was just what I wanted.) "You shall give
them your Benediction."
It turned out, too, that one of them had been servant to a
friend of his, and they had recognized each other at once. . . .
I got a card yesterday from the little wife of the Belgian
officer who was here, to tell me she had got as far as Holland
on her way home.
I hate telling you sad things, but I am going to tell you
one : yesterday I heard that one of the French soldiers, con-
valescent after being wounded, in one of the hotel hospices
close to, had received the order to go back to the fighting-
line. Probably he had been here since September. The
poor lad hanged himself. Isn't it horrible to think not only
of the act, but of the unspeakable anguish of mind that ended
in it?
My poor McCurry killed, nobly, in the way of duty, all his
hopeful youth finished, that was sad enough; but how much
more horrible to think of this ignoble way of exit, in evasion
of duty, of one whose youth was hopeless. But it was not,
I am sure, mere cowardice : it was simply a breaking-point
of endurance, reached after long horrors of anticipation. To
go back to that awful fighting, remembering it, and saved from
it by a terrible wound — the thought of it so infinitely more
unbearable to a lonely, morbid mind than the first going to it
For that poor soul, too, I said Mass to-day: do say a
prayer for him.
There is another French little dog in this hotel who wants
to adopt me, but I won't be adopted; I was too sad when I
lost my other little friend. One of the landlord's many
daughters saw me talking to him, and said in English : " We
will give him you a present. 'E no one's dog. 'E 'ave no
'ouse. 'E come from no place. 'E arrive, no one sending 'im
no invitation. If you 'ave 'im, you will be the welcome."
But I pictured how welcome " 'E " would be to Togo, and
what fine ructions there would be if I took " 'im " home.
Poor little thing ! he sits and looks at me and trembles all
over, and wags, and comes forward, and stops, and shivers;
he has a ripe experience of being snubbed.
I promised you I had nothing to say, and I have kept my
word !
With best love to Christie and Alice and a lump of sugar
to Togo.
7
98 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 91.
B.E.F., March 26, 1915.
I have just got ready for the post (to-morrow morning's
another fate for you, and put in five tiny cream-cheeses,
hope the little packet will reach you safe and soon.
After luncheon I again went to Puys, my favourite walk,
as I told you, because one gets away from the town quickest
that way.
But this time I went by the shore, which takes much longer :
it is horribly rough to the feet, and ruinous to boots ; all the
way there is a flat floor of sharp rock, and at the base of the
cliffs a belt of deep shingle of flint. Near the town there is
a regular colony of cave-dwellers, and they all look miserably
poor, starved and pale.
The rock-floor is of a white stone — chalk, I suppose — but
hardened by the daily weight of the mass of tide upon it,
and it is pitted with innumerable holes out of which the
waves have banged the flints; these holes are sharp and dis-
agreeable to walk on. Nearer the water the fiat floor of rock
is carpeted with millions of tiny mussels, equally unpleasant to
walk upon — as they may think too.
I found a lonely French soldier surveying the waves, and
we sat on a rock and talked. He comes from the far south,
and talked very odd French. I consoled him with a franc
and a bundle of cigarettes.
It was a lovely day, though cold, and the sea and coast-line
looked exquisite. In front, after yesterday's wind and rain,
the water was Mississippi colour, brownish, muddy, but laced
with snowy lines; beyond these came bands of meadow-
green and slaty-blue, then wonderful primrose patches, and
then, under the horizon, great expanses of sapphire-blue. The
coast-line is really glorious, the cliffs enormous, curving away
into the clear haze, where only their tops showed like veils
of yellow cloud.
. . . The huge building is the hotel full of wounded soldiers
now. The odd terrace-line at the top of the picture is half
a Roman camp, the other half long ago fallen into the sea,
where all the rest will follow. At that point the cliff must
be quite 500 feet high.
I walked back by the fields at the top of the cliffs, very
glad to change the shingle and shag for the smooth grass :
it took about quarter of the time.
I always turn in to the little Votive chapel to pray for Ver
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 99
and all my dear comrades out at the front. I answered Dora
Hardy's letter to-day. . . .
I must stop. With best love to Christie and Alice— and
the Admiral.
LETTER No. 92.
B.E.F., March 27, 1915 (Saturday}.
There is now no mail to England from here on Sundays, so
that this cannot start on its way till midday on Monday ; but
to-morrow evening I shall be out in the country, holding
service for a few sheep in the wilderness, so I write now; not
that I have anything to say ! . . .
I confess my writing becomes worse ; I can't approve of my
way of crossing my final t's, but I can't break myself of them.
I shall continue to wear my hair like a nut till you see it;
then, if you are irreconcilable, I will alter it. It makes me feel
as if I had walked out of a wood !
It is cold to-day, and I am revelling in a wood fire,
which makes my room have a delightful smell, like the smell
Captain Cust's study used to have in winter when I was a
child. I always think that smell exactly the proper thing for
a room, and now it carries me back much more than forty-
six years and gives me a double pleasure.
I am going to send you, when I've finished it, a book I
delight in, called "Rural Rides." It is by that eccentric
genius William Cobbett, who wrote a wonderful, popular,
vulgar, but very clever "History of the Protestant Reforma-
tion in England." He was a Protestant himself, but he
thought Henry VIII., Elizabeth, and James I. atrocities, and
showed up their dealings with their luckless subjects as to
religion in a fiery fashion that no Catholic writer could or ever
did approach.
. . . He was Hampshire born, and the "Rides" are full of
the most fascinating descriptions of our part of England —
Wiltshire — and the adjoining parts of Hants, Berks, Gloucester,
etc. When I send you the book you are not to toss it away,
and say : " It's all politics and swedes and mangold-wurzels,"
for the bumble-puppy politics don't matter sixpence, and the
farming is all mixed up with exquisite appreciation of the
country, scenery, woods, trees, etc. He was a frantic Radical
in his day, but it was when half the English poor were
wretched and no social reform had begun. . . .
I'm so glad Father Cashman came; I like him very much,
and I think his brogue is part of him, and suits him: I
shouldn't like him not to have it.
ioo JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Christie says your bonnet is lovely; one of these days I'll
get you a new veil here to go with it. ...
The bay at Treport is very wide; under the cliffs at one
end is Treport; under the cliffs at the other end is another
place called Mers.
The Censor looked rather glum when I took him five or six
envelopes all addressed to one person; but I didn't care, as
they went off all right.
One day a soldier wrote twenty-eight sheets to his wife, on
purpose to give the Censor trouble. The Censor sent for him,
and said : " You may, of course, write to your wife, but you
may not compose albums"
No letter of mine has been opened since I have been here,
except one to a French soldier, and that was my fault, because
I forgot to frank it with my name outside. As the Censor
doesn't know French, I expect it bothered him.
French people's politeness; is rather funny. One day a
French soldier asked me, after a long talk, if / -was French
(a delicate way of hinting at my excellent French). " Come,"
I said, "do let us be sensible. You ask me if I am French.
How long did it take you to know very well that I was
English ? Tell the truth."
"Au premier mot, Monsieur," he answered, thus adjured !
As a matter of fact, one gets little practice during the war :
I have been in France many months, and I don't suppose that
I have talked French, or had any chance of talking it, for
anything like twenty-four hours if all the times were added
together.
Still, I had nearly forgotten it when I came out in August,
and now I know as much as I ever did know, which wasn't
much.
What a dull letter ! I'd better go to dinner.
Give my best love to Christie and thank her for her letter ;
also to Alice and the Admiral.
You see, I'm getting economical, and only give you one
sheet with the chtffre on it. Notepaper, etc, is very dear here.
The dentifrice quite cured the afflicted part !
LETTER No. 93.
B.E.F., March 29, 1915.
Very many thanks indeed for the second stock, which arrived
safely, and without any crushing or spoiling, with the other
things. The parcels reached this place on Saturday night,
and were delivered yesterday.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 101
On Sundays, after their Mass, the Belgian troops training
here have a parade on the grass just outside my window, and
I watched them with great interest, then went out and watched
them march away to their barracks. All very young, from
eighteen to twenty-one, but really wonderfully business-like;
and a very good, honest set of faces, like fair English faces ;
only here and there a sly or mean-looking countenance.
Poor things ! I do hope the nasty old war will not last
long enough to swallow them all up.
This morning I met on the plage that Belgian lady who was
staying here when I first came with her husband and a friend
or sister, and we had a long talk. (I do not mean the little
officer's wife.) They have taken a villa, and are going to
stop here till the war ends.
She is really nice, a lady of good birth and position, and
very like an Englishwoman of the best class. She says that
at their chateau in Belgium 450 Germans are billeted.
I told her Dieppe bored me, but she said : " Your Mother
must be glad to know you are so safe and so comfortable."
I know it is so; and when one thinks how many of one's
comrades are in such hourly danger one ought to be truly
thankful. I know you are.
The son of the landlord of this hotel has to go on Friday,
a very nice lad of eighteen — quite a gentleman, but very gentle
and, I think, timid; he goes to Belfort, a great frontier-town
that I remember visiting long ago — in 1879, I think.
Yesterday I met in the street that little soldier whom I
found so eagerly gathering mussels on the rocks when I first
came here. He came up, and said : " Monsieur, I go to-
morrow, first home to see my people in the south, then back
to the front." He looked a little blue about it. He also is a
little, delicate-looking thing, with a face like a very innocent
child. I've often seen him playing football out on the grass
in front, skipping about like a young gazelle. I asked him
one day what his trade was when he was not soldiering, and
he said " a hatter " ; and, as he looks a little cracked, I'm sure
it's true.
Last night I motored out to St. Aubyn to give a very
unconventional service to some stray sheep there, and the air
was like frozen daggers. However, I came back to a roaring
wooc\ fire.
Now I'm going to look up some other stray sheep. And I
must shorten this letter : which is just as well, as there is
nothing to tell you.
So good -night.
102 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 94.
B.E.F., March 30, 1915.
I received a charming letter from Miss Stewart to-day and
three parcels of things, for myself and for the men — chocolate,
cigarettes, mittens, etc. She is a good and nice little woman.
Also I received the rochet, which I must thank you for
sewing the lace on to. It came all right, not the least squashed
or tumbled. Really our military post is very good and much
quicker than the civil post. . . .
The bitter cold winds continue, and my fire continues! No
fear of my putting on thin clothes yet.
I enclose a nice letter I received from George Parker; I'm
sure he is a nice man. But I laughed at his saying "You
young men."
Also I enclose a letter from Sir Charles Fergusson — not that
it contains anything special, but I want you to see what a nice
and good man he is.
I am not going to try and write a letter myself now, because
I feel dull and headachy (not neuralgia or at all bad), and I
must go out and get a puff of air ; unfortunately, the puffs are
so strong and cold !
LETTER No. 95.
B.E.F., March 31, 1915 (Wednesday}.
I haven't much more to make a letter out of to-night than I
had yesterday, but the headache is quite gone, the day is
bright and lovely, and I feel very cheerful.
Last night I had to go to bed, and there my headache left
me in peace. (I don't mean that other nights I do not go to
bed, but that last night I retreated thither directly after
dinner.) ,
I'm so glad the gloves were what you wanted. ... As to
the Falaises of Varengeville, they are about three miles from
here, to the left, to the west. Aren't they fine ? I walked in
that direction after luncheon to-day, along the strand, and
" 'E," as Alice called the little French dog, bore me company. . . .
I found three French soldiers devouring mussels by the sea,
and talked to them for ever so long. They had all been
wounded, two of them in the thigh. "And where," I asked
the third, " were you wounded ?" " Near Ypres," he said.
" Yes ; but in what part of your body ?" " Well, Monsieur,"
he replied discreetly, " I'm sitting on it." I gave them choco-
late to cat instead of the mussels, and cigarettes and mittens.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 103
They were very nice fellows, and talked so simply and
cheerfully about their rough life at the front.
I'm sorry Ver is in hospital, but I think the rest will be good
for him.
I had a letter from Mr. Gater to-day (and one from you).
He tells me of a string of accidents and disasters.
I will write soon to Mrs. G., but it is really Winifred I owe a
letter to.
The sea outside looks heavenly, and the sun is just dipping
his extremely red nose in it. About sunset there always comes
on a peculiar and lovely pearly light ; everything takes on the
same colour, the old castle, the cliffs, the air : only the sea is
dark and strong in colour; and the western sea is not, but
shrimpy-coloured, with long bars of cinnamon, primrose, and
white.
I like walking along the shore, but it is ruinous to one's
boots.
Thank you, dear, for your prayers for that poor lad who
hanged himself. I do not fear God's mercy for him ; only I
think, as you do, of the long and lonely anguish of that
despair that led to his doing it, and it seems so horrible. If
only one could have known ! One friendly human voice
might have made such a difference.
One reason why I so often go along the cliffs to Puys is that
the first time I overtook a young Gascon — once wounded,
cured, and sent back to the front ; then ill of typhoid and sent
here. I warned him not to walk at all near the edge because
of the crumbly soil and hollow, overhanging summits, and he
said : "What an easy place pour se suicide?/" And I stuck to
him, and only left him when he met comrades going home and
went with them. I don't think he meant anything, but I
wondered ; I've often met him since, but never out of the town,
and he always seems very cheery.
Now I must go off to post.
With best love to Christie and Alice.
LETTER No. 96.
B.E.F., April i, 1915 (Thursday}.
I have just come back from the post, whither, having no
orderly, I have to go and fetch my letters in the morning, as
well as to post them in the evening. It is 11.15 a.m., and at
12 I have to go and dine with the " Archpriest" of St. Jacques.
I found at the post your letter telling of the safe arrival of
104 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
the pate and the tiny cream-cheeses. You must understand
that the pates were not both the same.
The tube seems to have lasted wonderfully : was its inside
good ? I know the pates in the " tureens," but not the tubes.
It is quite a heavenly day to-day : mild, creamy air, ex-
quisite sunlight, and a delightful air of hope and resurrection
over the country.
From the windows there seems to be no sea ; but a sky that
comes up to the shore, and up in it spirits of good ships
glorified, bound on no tedious voyages of profit, but cruising
for sheer love and memory.
But when you go out and stand by it, there the sea is,
pulsing, not moving ; waveless, not even lapping on the strand,
but lying against it as lake-water lies against its banks.
There were seventeen craft awaiting high-tide to go up
behind the town into the hidden harbours, one of them a three-
masted schooner. About 50 yards from the beach there was
a diver, with snow-white breast and coal-black back, both
gleaming in the sun, standing up in the water, splashing,
swishing, fooling, just for fun and pleasure.
There I sat and read your letter. It does cheer me so to
see you cheerful. I must say this is a lovely place, and though
dull, I enjoy it.
You are not to imagine that the fields on the way to Puys
slope down to the top of the cliffs ; at the top of them they are
as flat as pancakes. No fear of slipping down.
5 p.m. — Now I am finishing my letter up in my own room.
The midday dinner-party at the Archpriest's was much
more agreeable than I anticipated. There were six of us, and
the dinner not at all stodgy. No meat, but various dishes of
eggs, fish, vegetables, etc., and the company very pleasant.
The Archpriest is just my age, and very glad not to be
younger, as he is safe from being snapped up for a soldier.
His curate, of whom I told you, a little Redemptorist monk
of forty-four years old, was suddenly called off yesterday and
has gone to soldier. I can't picture him in uniform ; he looked
such a typical little monk.
The Archpriest is a clever old person, with a sharp and
rather stinging wit, but not malicious.
They were all complimenting me on the devotion and atten-
tion of my soldiers at Mass. One of them laughed and said :
" Perhaps they do not listen so attentively to everybody : they
tell me Monsignor is worth listening to." But I assured them,
what is true, that it made no difference; English soldiers
would always listen with the same simple and devout atten-
tion to any priest.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 105
By the same post with your letter came another from ,
and that one, I think, need not be answered. She loves
inditing portentous epistles full of mysteries and shockdoms.
I came back to the hotel after luncheon, and picked up
" Lady A ," the French dog, with whom I went for another
walk along the shore towards Varengeville — i.e., the direction
opposite to Puys.
This morning one could not have gone that way; the tide
was up to the foot of the cliffs. As I went to the Archpriest's
house in the town, I passed along the basins, or at least the
pre-port . . . the water was up to within 18 inches of the
brim, and it looked very nice. There were some little English
ships, and I chaffed the sailors and asked if I might not step
on board and be a stowaway.
. . . The Casino at the other end of the plage is now a
hospital, as are all the hotels, except this, upon the sea-front.
I believe Dieppe was a beautiful mediaeval town till 1694,
when we English, with the Dutch (it was under William of
Orange), bombarded it and utterly destroyed 2,000 houses.
The Royal architect under Louis XIV. laid out a new town,
with all the houses much alike, and not one with a staircase !
I am sending you the "Rural Rides"; don't begin at the
beginning, but at page 323. You will like the Wiltshire
descriptions. Never mind the roaring politics !
LETTER No. 97.
B.E.F., April 2, 1915.
I have written such a lot of letters, and it is so late, that I
must make this a short one, which is all the easier that I have
nothing to tell you !
This morning I received your letter promising to read
" Rural Rides," which I had just posted to you. I hope you
won't say : " How can he like this book, with its endless
tirades against the clergy, national debt, etc. !"
I like it because of its intense feeling for rural England, and
also for its sympathy with the English peasant, who often in
those days had to feed himself, his wife and children, on 55.
or 6s. a week, pay rent, buy fuel, clothes, foot-wear, etc
Cobbett's line is simply this: "Much wants to be done;
nothing can be done except by Parliament ; and what hope is
there of such a Parliament ?"
Old Sarum, with no inhabitants, returned two members
to Parliament, and hundreds of members represented other
"boroughs" with three, four, or a dozen inhabitants, who
io6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
perhaps had no votes. The members were simply sent up by
the man who owned the land.
His politics are often sheer rubbish, but they are generally
a sort of sympathy, for helpless people, gone mad. I believe
the parish clergy he abuses were then mainly an inferior and
selfish set : it was long before the Oxford Movement had
regenerated them.
His whole argument is this : " Here is a starving people,
and here is corn enough to feed a nation twenty-five times
more numerous : this must be wrong."
After it I am trying to read again " Tom Brown at Oxford,"
which I read last forty-five years ago and liked very much :
I find it rather tedious now.
"Lady A — •" is sitting by my fire, whence she comes on
her hind-legs, begging, not for sugar, but to be taken out for
a walk. So I shall take her to the post.
She is much nicer than her Dowager namesake and far
more amusing company. But, unlike the Dowager, she has a
tendency to produce puppies, and did so two or three months
ago. However, they are all drowned, and she has forgotten
the episode.
I hope it will be fine enough for you to wear the new bonnet
on Easter Sunday. I shall wear the new stock.
I must be off to post.
LETTER No. 98.
B.E.F.
Easter Sunday, 1915.
I have just written to Pierce and to Harold Skyrme, who
wrote me a nice letter from Devonport. When I was a small
boy I used sometimes, writing from school, to ask for a few
stamps : would you send me a few now, not many — say six
penny ones and six halfpenny. When one writes to any place
beyond England, like New Zealand or America, one has to
put on a penny stamp.
If any of those cards about dead priests come, be sure to
send them on at once, as I am bound to say Mass for the
departed soul.
Yesterday it rained hard all day, and so it did all this
morning, but stopped about I, so the men got their football,
outside on the grass here, this afternoon. I had a good many
men at Mass to-day, more than last Sunday, and there were
a good many then. I said two Masses, both in St. Jacques : a
parish Mass at 8, and then the soldiers' Mass at 10.
The hotel is rather full now, but no one who looks very
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 107
interesting. The Scarlet Lady and her husband have turned
up again ; and there is another painted lady, an Anglo-Indian,
between fifty and sixty, with a face like an angry bird.
Captain Benwell tells me he had a passage of arms with her
(I don't mean embraces !). He has a caustic tongue, and I
fancy he told her this was no time or place for such tourings.
However, she launches hungry smiles at him. There is also
a terrible, though not bad-looking, young Jew, with a wife :
both English.
I managed yesterday and to-day to take "Lady A "
for a brief walk; but she is just as unreasonable as Togo, and
comes up here at bedtime with violent entreaties to be taken
for another walk. Captain Benwell tried to take her out this
afternoon, but she would not go, and he was rather offended.
Into my last letter I stuck two large pages of natural
history out of the Field. I wonder if you said I was crazy ?
I thought they might interest you.
I heard from my late C.O. to-day ; he is, as I knew he would
be, very sad about dear little McCurry's death. The poor
boy was crazy to get mentioned in despatches.
They have started an English club here, and as they have
not actually asked me to join, I shall not. It would bore me
stiff. . . .
It is not the Principal Chaplain's fault I have not gone
home, or the Cardinal's ; the War Office won't let any of us go
home for the present. So you must console yourself with the
thought that I am in safe and pleasant quarters, and with the
thought that if you were really ill I could get home from this
place very quickly. Except on Sundays, there's a boat from
here every midday, and it gets to Folkestone in four hours.
For that, if need were, which I trust will not be, you could
telegraph direct to me at Grand Hotel, Dieppe. I only tell
you this lest you should fear the A.P.O. address should make
a delay.
I must stop and get ready for dinner. No fish, thank
goodness !
LETTER No. 99.
B.E.F.
April 5, 1915 (Easter Monday).
Another- day of rain — a very dirty day at sea, I expect, to
judge. from the part one sees from this window. The wet
weather spoils a "Kermesse" there was to have been this
afternoon at the Casino. A "Kermesse" is the French form
of bazaar, and the proceeds were to go to the Red Cross
charities.
io8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Just opposite me, not many hundred yards out from the
shore, is a small transport that brought horses, etc., over
yesterday, and is waiting for dark to run across to England.
I should like to be going too — but not in this weather.
I said Mass for you this morning, as I very often do, and
it was a parish Mass — i.e., said for the convenience of a con-
gregation— and I gave Holy Communion to about 300 people,
including a good many men, and some soldiers — French.
The soldiers seemed very devout and nice.
Last night I had a talk with the little French Commandant
d'Armes. He loves to button-hole you, and I should like it
very well if he did not talk so very quickly that I find it hard
to follow him. He is a handsome little creature, with very
bright blue eyes and a bright, not red, complexion. His name is
Comte du Manoir, and he is of a very old family in Calvados.
He knows the present Comte and Comtesse Clary, but not our
old friend. The French Naval Commandant, who sits at the
same table with him, is also very nice, but very English-
looking and also very quiet. His name is de Castries (pro-
nounced de Castre), a very famous name, the elder brother
Duke de Castries. Comte du Manoir seemed quite impressed
at my knowing all about these various people, and where their
name comes in in history, etc.
He is not a republican, and wants a monarchy ; but doesn't
he wish he may get it? I think Europe is much more in-
clined to get rid of its Kings than to set up new ones.
He told me an odd instance of presentiment. In the war of
1 870 he was twenty years old, and was on service as an officer ;
the Duke de Castries (elder brother of the Naval Comman-
dant here) was his comrade, and they slept, in the same tent,
on the ground. One night de Castries woke him up, and
said : " Listen, I want to tell you something." " And I," said
du Manoir, "want to sleep." "You can sleep, but I am going
to be killed, and I wanted to tell you. Now I shall go out
and walk !" After walking for a while he came back, lay
down, and slept till morning. When morning came he was
killed. He was the eldest of eighteen brothers and sisters.
There are five torpedo-boats and destroyers cruising round
the empty transport — in case of submarines, I suppose; they
look very business-like : I expect they are come to convoy her
across the Channel.
Sir Edward Grey's reply to the German message, trans-
mitted through New York, about our "special treatment" of
submarine prisoners was very cold and crushing, wasn't it ?
" They are being treated with humanity and kindness ; but
our ships have saved the lives of over 1,000 German sailors
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 109
and naval officers, often at great risk to themselves, and not
one English sailor has been saved by the German ships."
Of the priests killed in cold blood by the Germans, in
Belgium only, over fifty were killed without the least pretence
at any trial, even the roughest form of court-martial. This is
an instance : After a battle three priests went to the German
senior officer and asked leave to go out and bring in German
wounded. He gave them a pass, and they went. On reach-
ing the place where the wounded were, with three waggons,
they showed their pass to the German officer there, and he
said, "Fill your waggons, then," and they did. As soon as
they had told the drivers where to take the waggons, the
German officer ordered all three priests to be shot, as they
were. There was no charge of any sort brought against them.
I see that when the new Belgian Minister to the Holy See
had his official reception by the Pope, to present his creden-
tials, his speech was a very strong indictment of the German
army of occupation of Belgium, and of course it had been
submitted to the Pope beforehand, so that his listening to it at
all, and his making no protest, was very significant, in his
position as a strict neutral.
I think the Germans have the same disease that afflicts mad
dogs.
Nevertheless, I told you several weeks ago that if we
accorded any treatment to submarine prisoners meant to mark
them as pirates, our officers in Germany would have to pay for
it ; and you see they declare that it shall be so.
I'm sorry to see young Mapplebeck is now a prisoner in
their hands — do you remember him? A very tall but very
young Flying officer who spent half a Sunday with us when
recovering from an aeroplane accident.
I made Captain Benwell laugh by asking him if the Anglo-
Indian lady, like an angry, painted old bird, does not glare
at the public as if she were saying, " Why don't you propose
to me, cuss you ?"
I must really stop.
I think you get more talk with me now I'm in France than
when I am at home. Don't forget to send that MS. from the
Northern Newspaper Syndicate.
As for book catalogues, send me the outside leaves or the
addresses of one of each, and I will tell them to send me them
here direct. As for seeds, if you have ordered those you have
marked, it is about all you will need. Order plenty of
Kosmos.
i io JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 100.
B.E.F.
April 7, 1915 (Wednesday}.
I nearly put off my letter till too late again. I had written
nine or ten others, and was just about to begin yours, when
the senior R.C. Chaplain and his A.D.C., another Chaplain,
arrived in a motor-car, on a sort of tour of inspection. ... I
nearly did for myself by forgetting, as it was rather late, to
offer them tea ; however, I did remember. ... I told them of
my various doings, and they seemed to approve. . . .
The photograph is poor dear young McCurry; his father
sent it with a most grateful letter. But I can hardly bear to
look at it, and you can keep it for me. Doesn't he look a
boy!
There have been three French submarines here to-day and
I saw them in the dock; I had never seen any before. Of
course, I saw them on the surface, and they looked rather like
very long torpedo destroyers.
I told you that I spent yesterday afternoon visiting the
wounded French soldiers in one of the hospitals ; it is run by
English doctors and nurses, and it is where the two Miss La
Primaudayes are nursing. The men were very nice, and I
was glad to find that they were all keen to get back to their
comrades in the fighting-line : the poor lad who hanged him-
self was no specimen of their general feeling. The Miss
La P.'s were rather inclined to lionize me for the benefit of
the men, so I told them to be off, and got on much better
without them. No soldiers care to be patronized, and told
that their visitor is a prelate, etc., and least of all French
soldiers ; they are so simple and unsnobby themselves. After
all, they are republicans, and titles and grandeurs are more
apt to set their backs up than to impress them; but they do
understand kindness and frankness.
The hospital is extremely well managed and the men were
uncommonly comfortable. . . .
Monsignor Keatinge gave me the name and address of a
first-rate American dentist at Boulogne, who charges officers
nothing, and, as I ought to have two bad old stumps out, I
shall go there some day soon. I can't go there and back in
one day, so it is possible if I go at a moment's notice you
may be without a letter for a post or two posts. Trains,
except to Paris, are so slow here.
I must stop, and change for dinner.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER in
LETTER No. 101.
B.E.F.
April 8, 1915 (Thursday).
At last the rain has stopped and we have had a fine day,
at the cost of a tearing wind that has blown the rain away.
After breakfast I went to the post to get my letters, and to
post those I wrote last night. I found yours of Easter
Monday, which I read while waiting for Mr. Hill, who had
gone with me ; he is the senior Church of England Chaplain,
and a very honest, nice man. We sit at the same table, and
are excellent friends. But he cannot help talking to everyone
he sees, and at great length, so it takes a long time to get him
down any street — at least, any street where there are English
people, for he cannot talk French, though he takes regular
lessons. His instructress says she longs to shake him, and I
bid him beware lest she should marry him, to have the right to
do it at her ease.
After luncheon I walked — west, by the shore, and enjoyed
it very much. You mustn't imagine it is here a long, dull,
straight wall of cliffs : they advance and recede and are of
very unequal heights, some like huge round towers, according
as they are made of pure hardish chalk, or of chalk with
deep "faults" of marl in them; for the rains and frosts rot
these marl deposits ; they fall, and leave the chalk standing up
like ramparts and turrets.
The high spring tides had left a nice deposit of sand, and
it was easy and pleasant going.
The sea, very brown in front, but breaking up into cream-
white lines of foam, was all sorts of lovely colours besides —
Nile-green, meadow-green, sapphire-blue, and pure cobalt : no
purples to-day. The sea was very rough, and I did not want
to be on it.
A good way along the shore I came upon a cave, like a
smugglers' cave in a romance, and perhaps used as one once.
It had a sort of sloping entrance-hall and one regular room
with fireplace carved out of the rock, but no " troglodytes," no
inhabitants. It was, at its lowest point, 6 or 8 feet above
the highest shore outside, and ran up to 16 or 20 feet.
The only sea-creatures I saw were mussels (millions),
shrimps (millions), a few star-fishes, and a very few sea-
anemones.
I came back by the shore too, and much more quickly with
the strong gale blowing me along. On the grass outside
were some French children drilling, and they were very funny
ii2 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
and very clever. I stood and watched them, so did a young
French private soldier, and we began to talk. He is a gentle-
man, and was working a sort of ranche of his own, in Argen-
tina, when the war broke out, so he came home to fight. We
went for a turn and then came back, and I gave him tea. That
sounds odd to English ears, but it is not so here, where you
often see officers (French) walking in the streets with soldiers —
because of the army containing men of every class, and
perhaps because of the fact that this is a Republic. His father is
fighting, and his only brother too. I found he could talk a little
English, but not much ; and I also found him a strong monar-
chist. He liked his tea, and he liked the talk with someone
of his own class.
This is St. Albert's Day, and the Belgian troops were re-
viewed on the plage at noon : not so interesting as an English
review, but also much shorter.
Before that I had taken Hill to examine a curiosity shop,
as he hasn't French enough to do it comfortably by himself.
I did not buy anything, but I think he wanted to buy every-
thing. However, I wouldn't hear of it !
I'm glad you liked the natural history pages out of the
Field. I thought them interesting and the illustrations ex-
cellent.
Lord Glenconner tells me that his wife's nephew, George
Wyndham, has been killed : it is sad and strange too, for
poor young Percy Wyndham made him his heir; and thus
Clouds has had four masters in less than four years — old
Mr. Percy W., his son Mr. George Wyndham, young Percy,
and his cousin George. Lord G. says it is a great shock to
Lady Glenconner.
LETTER No. 102.
B.E.F.
April 9, 1915 (Friday, 5.30 p.m.}.
All Alice's parcels arrived in good time, and I have just
written to thank her; at the same time your letter enclosing
the stamps, enough to last a long while, which will be very use-
ful from time to time. Thank you very much.
Of the things I have sent you to eat, which do you like best,
so that I can send some more ?
To-day has been a repetition of yesterday — kept fine by a
boisterous westerly gale, with one very fierce but very brief
hail-storm.
After luncheon I repeated my yesterday's walk along the
shore nearly to P ; but soon after I started a young
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER n3
French soldier came running up and joined on, and so my
walk was not solitary. He is not the one of yesterday— the
gentleman : his name is Gerard Brulard ; the one of to-day is
called Ernest Richer, and he is a chasseur a pied — in a few
days he goes back to the front. I met him first a week ago
helping some peasants to pick flints on the shore. I asked
him what they did with them, and he says they are sent to
china factories, broken up small, then melted. I know that
flints do enter into the prescription of some sorts of porcelain.
They only use the black ones. I showed him some very
translucent stones / had picked up, and he said : " There are
very few like that." On the contrary, it seems to me there
are millions. I am going to ask if there is any lapidary here,
and see if any of those I find are worth the cost of polishing.
These two lads, almost exactly the same age — Richer of
to-day and Brulard of yesterday — are of quite different types :
Richer a peasant and quite uneducated, Brulard a gentleman,
and both clever and well educated ; but both have the same
excellent French naturalness and simplicity. In the things
most people go by, as to French good manners, I myself think
the English have as good or better; but I couldn't go for a
walk with a Wiltshire village lad without finding him either
lumpish or rather bumptious : these French soldiers perfectly
know the difference of station, etc., but don't think about it.
(There is a fastened-up door between this room and the
next, and the people in it have gone out and left their window
open; the result is that through the keyhole there is a noise
coming like the puff of a fog-horn !)
You need not warn me — I certainly shall not make friends
with the ancient Paint Box: she is truly frightful; I'd much
rather talk to a Black Maria. As a matter of fact I don't
make friends with any of our lady guests, though most of
them are very quiet middle-aged French women, with
husbands to match. Very few stay more than a few days.
I laughed at your saying that you want to smack Cobbett
when he gets to his political tirades; but he is very fond of
us, if you mean by us Catholics. His little inconsistencies
are funny ; for instance, he says that running about from place
to place is the ruin of people's happiness and character (what
would he say in these motoring days ?), and he himself is
perpetually gadding about on that marvellous horse of his.
" Tom Brown at Oxford " is quite deadly. The conversa-
tions are enough to send one into a state of coma.
The editress of 5/. Joseph's Lilies tells me that a young but
famous American (or Canadian) poet has been converted by
reading " Gracechurch " ; I'm glad, but I think he must have
8
ii4 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
been very shaky ! I hope to goodness he won't send me his
poetry to praise.
I must stop — as you see, I have nothing to say. Consider-
ing that I never do anything here, it is miraculous that I can
make you a letter six days a week. This goes, of course, by
to-morrow's boat ; next day there won't be any.
LETTER No. 103.
B.E.F., April 12, 1915 (Monday}.
Yesterday was a heavenly day, and I believe to-day will
be, after the morning mist has lifted.
I'm sorry I was so stupid about the seeds. I'm afraid I've
made them very late : they ought to have been sown a month
ago.
I am leaving Dieppe to go to Versailles, to be in charge of
that hospital where Ver was. I have not had the official order
yet, but Mgr. Keatinge wrote privately. I am glad for some
things, sorry for others.
This place is very expensive, and there is no one here to
know : it is a bit lonely. Whereas I know a few really nice
people in Paris, and Versailles is only about half an hour from
Paris.
Everyone tells me the place is charming, the parks, woods,
gardens, etc., glorious, and the distance in time from England
much the same ; for one has to go from Dieppe to Folkestone
four or five hours, whereas the express from Paris gets to
Boulogne in three hours, and the passage thence to Folkestone
is only one and a half hours.
Anyway I've got to go. Go on addressing here till I write
or wire another address. The address, I believe, is " General
Hospital, Hotel Trianon, Versailles, Paris." But you must
continue to put B.E.F. or Expeditionary Force, otherwise it
will be 2|d. postage.
The best way will be for you to go on addressing A.P.O.,
S. 8, until I either telegraph or write; if I telegraph I may
merely use the word "Leaving" or "Departing": it will
mean, "Now address General Hospital, Hotel Trianon, Ver-
sailles, Paris, Expeditionary Force." Comte du Manoir tells
me that Versailles is particularly airy and fresh in summer,
and he is writing to tell friends of his to come and see me
there. I really look forward to walks in the great park there.
I am like a cat, and dislike all changes of place, but I think
the moment I have left Dieppe I shall be delighted with the
change to Versailles.
I must make a dash for the post !
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 115
LETTER No. 104.
B.E.F., April 12, 1915 (Monday}.
I wrote to you this morning, and was just in time for the
post. This afternoon I spent serving behind the counter of
the big hut the Y.M.C.A. (Young Men's Christian Associa-
tion) has put up here for the English soldiers. I offered to
help, as the good folks who are "running" it are short-
handed, and it is an excellent thing for the soldiers. They
can get tea, coffee, cakes, tobacco, cigarettes, etc., there all day,
and can write letters and read newspapers. It really makes
no attempt to interfere with the men's religions, and the best
way for me to prevent its doing so, if it wanted, is (I think) to
help myself, and so let them feel I know what goes on in it.
And it shows the men, too, that one takes an interest in their
comfort. . . .
I hope you won't be too much disappointed at my move
from this place to Versailles. Everyone tells me it is charm-
ing there, and, as I have told you, it will be much more
economical. Somehow, I don't yet feel sure that I shall go,
though Mgr. Keatinge has told me I should. He did not,
when he wrote, know, I think, that Father Constant, the
English-speaking French Jesuit, is leaving here too in a day
or two. . . . The first Sunday there were nine at Mass ; then
eleven, fourteen, seventeen, and so on : forty-three the Sunday
before Easter, eighty on Easter Sunday, and one hundred and
thirteen last Sunday.
At Versailles I shall have no troops, only a large hospital :
I mean no well troops, only sick or wounded. It's no use
talking about it : we can only wait and see — like Mr. Asquith.
I have no doubt I shall like it if I do go.
You will continue to get your almost daily letters from me,
which is all I can do to cheer you up in my absence.
LETTER No. 105.
B.E.F., April 13, 1915 (Tuesday, 7 p.m.}.
Last night I had fastened up my letter to you, and gone
down to dinner, when I got the official order to go to Versailles
on Thursday, so I opened the letter and told you so in a post-
script. The old Archpriest was very funny about it all this
morning. "They send you here," he said, "when there are
only sixty Catholic soldiers and an English-speaking priest
n6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
on the spot ; now the priest is not available, and there are 300
Catholic soldiers, they take you away, and say they will send
no one in your place. . . . He says he is desolated to lose me,
and it is rather a triumph, for I don't think he cottoned to me
at first.
Of course, I am not to be pitied going to Versailles, one of
the most interesting places in France, and within short reach
of a dozen others. The hotel which is our hospital is said to
be one of the finest in Europe.
I know I shall like it; only I'm rather sorry for these 300
Catholic soldiers left without an English priest, and I hope
they will behave themselves. These Base towns are full of
temptations ; it is not like the front. . . .
By the time you get this I shall be at Versailles, as I leave
here at midday on Thursday.
I cannot write to you that night, but will on Friday. I
hope you will get that letter on Sunday or Monday. I can't
make out why the Good Friday letter took such a time reach-
ing you.
I have just been shown some pictures of the park at
Versailles, just outside the Hotel Trianon (our hospital), and
it must be lovely : I shall love walking in it. You will get
dozens of post-cards for your book ! To-day I had a long
letter from Mme. Clary, written all like this :
I make out bits at a time.
It is a horrible day, howling wind and rain, and I have
been writing letters all afternoon — this the fourteenth! So
my brain feels spongy, and I will stop.
Any newspapers and magazines will be very useful now for
the hospital.
LETTER No. 106.
B.E.F., April 14, 1915 (Wednesday}.
This will be my last letter from Dieppe, as I leave for
Versailles to-morrow morning at 6.30. I find that if I waited
till the midday train I should arrive at Versailles too late
in the evening. This letter can only be a very short one, as I
am in the throes of packing. It is never a charming occupa-
tion, and my possessions have swelled since I came here, so
much persuasion and some firmness is necessary to induce
them to go into the receptacles I have for them.
To-day began as rainy as the last three or four days, but
suddenly became fine at midday, and so after luncheon I went
for a good-bye walk — along the shore to Pourvitle, and back
the same way.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 11;
It was rather hard going, as the sand deposited by the
late high tides has all been washed away again ; but it looked
very pretty, and I enjoyed it. It will be a pleasant change to
have the smooth roads and avenues of Versailles, in the great
park, to walk in, and I and my boots are looking forward
to it.
I said my last Mass at St. Jacques at 6.30 this morning, and
the old Archpriest was very cordial in his farewells.
I really think the MS. I sent to the Northern Newspaper
Syndicate must be somewhere with you ; the one you sent me
was the MS. of " French and English " for the Month.
The old Commandant d'Armes here, Comte du Manoir,
whom you call the General (which he would like to be, I'm
sure), has already written to an old friend of his, the Comte
de 1' Argentine, who lives at Versailles, to come and be civil
to me. He told me rather a funny story. Another friend of
his, a Count and also a General, is preternaturally thin, with a
face like a death's-head. He had to attend a great military
funeral, on horseback, with all his Staff. The little Paris
street arabs pointed to him and called out : " Oh, the pigs ! they
have made the poor corpse ride ! " There is quite a glorious
sunset going on outside, and I must go outside too, to post
this, and to leave them my new address, so^ that anything
arriving may be sent on.
In fierce haste.
LETTER No. 107.
B.E.F., PARIS.
April is,
It is 12.30 noon and I have just had my luncheon, for which
I was quite ready, as I breakfasted at Dieppe before 6, and
have had a four and a half hours' railway journey since.
I shall go on to Versailles as soon as I have written you this
note. There are trains every hour, and it only takes half an
hour; also the trains for Versailles go from this station, so
one has not the trouble of cabbing it across Paris.
There was a thick morning fog from the sea at Dieppe,
but the sun came out at once and it became an exquisite
morning. The town of Dieppe (the sea is quite out of sight
from the train) looked very picturesque as I left it, its many
"basins" reflecting many ships, steep hillsides with houses
peering out of the trees, the mist, and the smoke of new-lighted
fires. The images of the ships, upside-down in the water,
flashed and gleamed in the sun.
n8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
The journey from Dieppe to Rouen, and from Rouen (where
I had three-quarters of an hour to wait) to Paris, was quite
lovely this perfect morning.
The train never leaves the Seine, but runs quite close to
its brimming edge all the way. It is a very broad stream,
wider than the Thames at Richmond, and the valley, wide
and flat, is an image of richness; then it curves between
high cliff -banks, of very picturesque shapes ; there are frequent
forests, just breaking from purple to canary -green. The
river-banks are laced with willows already in tender leaf, and
the primroses were out everywhere. I can tell you I thor-
oughly enjoy the change; my little bedroom at Dieppe was
charming in its way, but two months was enough of it.
Be sure and tell me when you get this letter, which I shall
have to entrust to the civil post-office.
Now I must go and get shaved ! I will tell you something :
I wear uniform now, and look rather toffy in it !
P.S.— The Christie Catalogue, the Catholic World, and St.
Joseph's Lilies, all arrived in time for me to bring and read in
the train on the way here.
But how you waste your money on stamps by over-
stamping.
The catalogue and the books had each 4d. too much on
them. One pound goes for 4d. by letter post, and up to 2
pounds for 8d. And they never surcharge even if you had
put too little on.
LETTER No. 108.
B.E.F., April 15, 1915 (Thursday}.
I have just arrived and reported myself, and it is about
4.15; at 4.45 the post goes, so I am just in time to send this
line to tell you I had a charming journey ; but I wrote to you
about that from Paris, and posted the letter in the civil post.
I wonder which you will get first, this or it.
Versailles seems quite delightful, and the hospital is a
lovely huge building in a lovely garden immediately adjoin-
ing the glorious park.
I am relieving Father Morgan here, and he has gone to
Tr6port, near Dieppe.
I will write a proper letter later on.
The Commanding Officer begs to say that the address
should be: No. 4, General Hospital, B.E.F., only, without
Versailles or Paris. You know it is Versailles, and that's
enough.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 119
LETTER No. 109.
B.E.F., April 16, 1915 (Friday}.
After writing my short note to you yesterday afternoon, to
say I had arrived, I sallied forth with the Colonel command-
ing the hospital, who rejoices in the extraordinary name of
Smith. He took me to tea at their mess, which is in a house
they rent — the hospital is too full of patients : there are about
twenty medical officers. Father Morgan lived in a flat, so as
he did not belong to the Medical Officers' Mess, I began to
think I wouldn't.
The Colonel was very civil ; he lent me a motor-car and a
motor-ambulance: the former to cart me about the town in
search of hotels, lodgings, etc., and the other to fetch my
baggage, which I had left in the station cloak-room. He also
lent me a young French interpreter, whom I took not to inter-
pret but because I thought he would know places where one
might apply for quarters. He is very nice, a gentleman and
of excellent manners. However, he took me to two hotels (the
only two open), and I thought both very dear, rather stuffy,
and very noisy. So we motored off to a convent, and the Rev.
Mother recommended this place, and we came and looked
at it.
It is quite a good house in the middle of a nursery-garden.
I have an excellent bedroom, twice the size at least of the
one at Dieppe, extremely clean, and with very good furniture.
I have the sole use of a quite grand dining-room ; the food is
much better than at Dieppe, and the total expense is exactly
half what it was there.
Versailles hotels are noisy, but this house is beautifully
quiet; the garden runs up to the wall of the great park. I
have such lovely flowers in my room : huge sprays of primula,
orchids, and plum blossom. The ' man is a specialist in
orchids. His name is Beranek, and he is a Czech (Bohemian)
naturalized in France: a very intelligent, respectable man.
The wife is French, Alsatian, a comfortable, elderly, nice body,
most respectful and respectable, and a first-rate cook. There
are two girls, one about eleven or twelve, and one about
twenty, the latter with a serene, holy face, like a North Italian
Madonna.
The nuns know these people well, and recommended them
cordially, and I am delighted to have heard of them.
The convent chapel is just across the road, and I said Mass
120 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
there this morning, with a French wounded soldier to serve.
Very nice nuns, one French Canadian.
I have only just finished visiting the hospital, and also
a little peep into the park; it is delightful— such glorious
avenues in every direction, all now breaking into tender leaf.
Oh, my ! what curiosity shops ! If I were a million-
aire I should only be one for about a week, as I should spend
all my cash on old clocks, bronzes, tapestry, snuff-boxes, etc.
The convent used to be a little snug cottage ornee
of Madame de Pompadour. What a change of tenancy !
Tell me when you get this. I picked these celandines in
the park.
LETTER No. 110.
B.E.F., Friday evening.
I am writing to you again already, though I only wrote
to you after luncheon to-day, because I foresee a busy day
to-morrow, and may not be able to write before post-time.
I went round the corner to the hospital (it is only eight or
nine minutes' walk) after finishing my letter to you, and was
there a good while. Among other useful things I achieved
was this — I persuaded " Smith " (he wishes to call me " Drew "
and me to call him "Smith") — well, I induced Smith, much
against the grain, to give me the permanent use of a room
in the hospital as a little chapel.
It is a very nice room, on a staircase of its own, entered
by a door from the garden, and so quite private, quiet, and
exactly what I would have chosen. I have the key, and it is
my chapel as long as I'm here. To-morrow morning I am
going to fit it up ; it will need no cleaning, being as clean as
a new pin, not used at all by anyone else since the hotel has
been a hospital. Out of it opens another room, also unused,
but filled with furniture put away. Smith allows me to use
what I want of it, so I shall have as many chairs as I want,
and very nice ones, and there is a sort of cabinet with hand-
some front and long marble top (just the right height), that
will make an excellent and really very handsome altar.
There are also plenty of candlesticks, vases, etc. Isn't it
a " scoop " ?
You must understand these two rooms are shut into a sort
of private corridor, of which I have the key. I imagine the
Sunday morning Mass congregation will prove too large for
this chapel, and that will have to continue in the tent used by
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 121
Father Morgan; but for the Sunday evening service, and for
Mass and Holy Communion on certain days of the week, and
evenirtg prayers on other week-days, and for hearing confes-
sions, it will be splendid, and will make all the difference.
Well, after Smith and I had inspected this room and I had
collared the key (he grumbling all the while and saying, " I
don't know how you got over me. I don't know why I said
you should have it. I suppose you must now"), we went
downstairs and there was Lady Austin-Lee from the
Embassy, and she was most cordial, and said how glad she
was to know me, and asked me to come to luncheon, which
I am going to do.
She had hardly gone away when a tall young Lancer
officer and his wife came in (all this was in the entrance-hall),
and I thought, " That's young Brooke, half-brother of the
Wyndham boy who was killed the other day" (you know
Mrs. Guy Wyndham was Mrs. Brooke, a widow), " and
that's his wife."
I used to meet them at Amesbury Abbey, and to go to tea
with them at Fittleton Manor House; he was in the Cavalry
School at Netheravon.
Well, the lady came up and said : " Are you not Dr.
Brooke ?"
Of course I said " No," and turned away, thinking I had
made a mistake, just as she evidently had. Presently I saw
the husband staring at me, and he said to her: "Isn't that
Monsignor Drew ?" I laughed, and said : " Yes ; aren't you
Mr. and Mrs. Brooke ?" They were. And she had really
known me all along and muddled up my name. So we had
a talk about the poor Antrobuses, the two dead ones, and
Lady A. Wasn't it an odd meeting and recognition ?
Then I went for a long stroll in the park and gardens of
the chateau; it is all quite enchanting, and I like and
. admire it more each time I go. ... First I walked down
beautiful avenues, turned to my left to the Grand Canal, and
so came to the Basin of Apollo. It is a really lovely group
of bronze, facing up towards the palace. Then I turned still
left, always through lovely allees and avenues, and came to
part of "the King's Garden." Of course, all this — park,
gardens, basins, canals, fountains, avenues, alleys, terraces —
was laid out by Louis XIV., and, whatever else he lacked,
he had a magnificent taste as a creator. The King's Garden
is not one of the formal parts of the vast design, but a lovely
green garden of banks, sloping and flat groves, and thickets,
and shrubberies, with beautiful tall and rare trees growing up
out of the shrubs and preventing monotony or stiffness. Of
122 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
course, there are statues everywhere, marble, bronze, and lead.
So I came to the bosquet of the colonnade. The colonnade
is very wide, of double columns, all of marble, with a cornice
and entablature connecting them into a huge oval; in the
middle is the marble group of the " Carrying off of Proserpine
by Zeus." Keeping uphill (the palace stands on a plateau
high above the park) I came to avenues, like wheel-spokes,
all having open glades midway down, with a basin and a
lovely bronze group, illustrating the four seasons . . . two
on the left of the Grand Avenue, two to the right. So I came
up on to the Grand Terrace, an enormous open space in front
of the palace. A vast marble staircase leads down towards
the Canal and the Basin of Apollo ; halfway down it is broken
by another huge open space, with the Fountain of Latona in
the middle. The green beasts all round are turtles, with open
mouths for water to spout through. During the war all the
young gardeners are gone away to fight, and the fountains
do not play. . . . To right and left of the Grand Staircase,
above the Basin of Latona, is another basin, with very well-
done groups on each side of fighting beasts. . . . Then the
left-hand basin : on one side is a huge hound bringing down
a stag; on the other two fighting polar bears. Each animal
pours water from his mouth !
Then I turned towards the palace : two immense basins,
surrounded by really glorious bronze groups, flank the
approach — groups of children, river-gods, river-nymphs, etc.
The views from the terrace are splendid — over the park,
and beyond it over wooded hills. I passed right through the
palace to the entrance from the town of Versailles. But I
did not attempt to do the palace. . . .
What I did was to recross the palace, and go down by the
other side of the Grand Avenue to the Basin of Apollo, and
so home.
Besides Versailles, there are the two Trianons to visit —
the Grand Trianon and the Petit Trianon — Marly, Meudon,
St. Germains, etc.
So I shall have lots to see and tell you about. Meanwhile
I have ungratefully forgotten to thank you for the pin-book,
which is very useful, and for which I do thank you, though
unpunctually.
I got Alice's parcel of books just as I was leaving Dieppe.
Please don't put "Versailles" in the address, only No. 4
General Hospital : the Censor here told me about it !
I must go to bed.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 123
LETTER No. 111.
B.E.F., Saturday night.
It is really bedtime, and I am sleepy, but I must write you
a little letter.
All this morning I was working at my chapel in the hos-
pital : and it is really charming. One of these days I will try
and get someone to photograph it for you, but officers are no
longer allowed to have cameras.
All afternoon I was in the wards, and found it very interest-
ing. There were a few German patients, wounded like our
own men, and I gave them rosaries, medals, etc. They were
delighted. And they said how comfortable they were, and
how kind everyone was to them. Our men are really splendid
to them, so cordial, brotherly, and friendly.
The people I lodge with give me exquisite flowers for my
chapel, heaps of primulas, and lovely ferns, and rare orchids.
They seem quite excellent people, and I am most lucky to
have found such a place. Everything was so horribly dear
in the Dieppe hotel. . . .
But I must go to bed !
LETTER No. 112.
B.E.F., April 18, 1915 (Sunday evening}.
I received your letter of Thursday this morning, and was
delighted to feel again in touch with you. That letter was
addressed here; no doubt the letter written on Wednesday,
addressed to A.P.O., S. 8, will arrive to-morrow.
I am so sorry that Alice has left you again, and to think
she was anxious, but I think without occasion — on the con-
trary, I think she should bless the lumbago that has dragged
Ver out of those awful trenches. Of course it is a tiresome,
tedious malady, but certainly not dangerous, and the trenches
are dangerous. There was no reason to be anxious because
they sent him home, for no patients are kept long out here ; all
diseases or wounds that require time and long treatment are
sent home as soon as the patient can travel. It sounds brutal,
but if I were Alice I should be in no great hurry for him to be
well enough to go back to the fighting-line. All the same,
I know how you and her mother will miss her cheerful
presence. . . .
To-morrow I am going in to Paris to lunch with Lady
124 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Austin-Lee, whose husband is Secretary of our Embassy
there.
I had Mass at 9 this morning in my new chapel, and the men
appreciated it immensely. A Sergeant Doyle, with a face
beside which mine looks pale, played the harmonium.
Then I came home and had my tea ; then I went for a walk till
luncheon. It was quite delicious; a most perfect spring
morning, with all the buds on the trees opening visibly in the
sunlight, and an exquisite blue sky behind the brown and
primrose lace of the branches.
Entering the park by the gate next our hospital, I walked
straight down a great triple avenue to the gates of the two
Trianons, I turned right, and got into the gardens of the Little
Trianon. The palace is quite small, what in Italy would be
called a casino, but the grounds are very large, and very
countrified and delightful — the trees so old that most of them
must be the very ones under which poor Marie Antoinette
sauntered in her beaux jours. There are no avenues or allees;
the trees are in groves, or dotted here and there on lovely
natural-looking lawns; there are innumerable narrow walks,
winding in and out, up and down little hillocks, often among
thickets of very old yews. Here and there a little pond ; not a
stone basin, with swans : no bronze groups or fountains, no
statues. The whole thing eloquent of the poor Queen's desire
to escape from royalty and palace life, and have a little corner
of her own, away from the intolerable etiquette of Versailles,
where she could feel she was in a country-house garden, instead
of in the magnificent gardens of a palace.
After spending quite an hour in the lawns and thickets of
the Petit Trianon, I turned to find the very easy way to the
Grand Trianon, which is quite close to it. Passing behind the
Queen's dairies and her kitchen-garden, I saw rows of very old
standard magnolia-trees lifting their divine heads over the
high wall. You never saw such lovely magnolias, all covered
with thousands of enormous blossoms — not the greenish-
yellow sort, but pure white with crocus-purple outer petals,
and this white against the blue sky was indescribably
beautiful.
Then I came to a large stone basin, full of deep water ; at
first I thought people had been throwing oranges into it,
but I found, when I went close to the edge, that they were
very stately, aldermanic gold-fish : huge, about 2 pounds
weight each, and nearly old enough to be the very ones
the Queen put there.
Then I came to a slope leading down to an open formal
glade, with another stone basin and a bronze group in the
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 125
middle of it : all round marble busts of Roman Emperors
and famous ancients on marble plinths.
In every direction from the palace (Grand Trianon) avenues
ray out, like wheel-spokes ; but they all end in a real, informal
wood or forest, part of the Versailles park.
The Grand Trianon is large and really most beautiful,
but only one storey : no upstairs at all. The peristyle is very
fine and of a beautiful, simple, but grandiose style — still a
palace ; and it is only a very short mile from the huge palace
of Versailles. No wonder the starving people growled to see
hundreds and hundreds of thousands spent on building this
utterly unnecessary house for a lady who had so vast a house
barely out of sight, perhaps 1,200 yards away. Of course,
it has given delight to millions of people since, and no doubt
the Republic recognizes that and so keeps it all up.
I did not visit the insides of either palace, as I have not
visited those of Versailles : I only wanted to get to know the
ground, and realize the places. Later on I will go inside.
I got home just in time for luncheon and then spent the
afternoon till 4.30 visiting the wards.
At 4.30 I went to tea with Rowan, the Church of England
Chaplain, a nice fellow, youngish, whom I used to know at
Bulford long ago. He is just married — in February — and the
young lady came out, and they were married here. However,
wives are forbidden, and she is being sent home to-morrow.
She is quite a girl, pretty, at present afflicted with a vehement
cold in her head.
At 5.30 I had my evening service; then came home, dined,
and then sat down to give you this account of my day.
And now to bed.
LETTER No. 113.
B.E.F., April 19, 1915 (Monday}.
I have just had my dinner, and now I am sitting down to
write and tell you my doings.
I said Mass at the convent at 8 — they won't have a 6.30 a.m.
Mass ! Then came across here to breakfast. Then went
down to the hospital, where I found your letters of Friday
morning and Friday afternoon.
I can't see why Alice and Christie should be anything but
delighted to have Ver home, especially if he is to have a re-
cruiting billet in the Isle of Wight instead of going back to
those fearsome trenches. Lumbago is a thorough nuisance,
but it is infinitely preferable to a Black Maria in the pit of
ia6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
one's stomach. What I regret is your losing Alice, and I know
what a difference it must make.
Well, after reading my letters I did various jobs, and at a
quarter to II made a dash into my beloved park, where I
find out new places and new beauties every time. I could
only stay a short time, then cut up the grand approach to the
palace, crossed it, and went down to the Place d'Armes on the
other side, whence the tram to Paris starts.
There are three ways of going to Paris ; two ways by train
and one by tram. The tram takes a little longer — about one
and a quarter hours, but it is a little more interesting, passing
through Sevres, St. Cloud, etc., and it stops close by the Avenue
du Trocadero, where Sir Henry and Lady Austin-Lee live.
The first noticeable thing one passed on reaching Paris
was the Eiffel Tower, which I think monstrous, though the
Parisians are as proud as Punch of it. ... Opposite, on the
other side of the Seine, is the Trocadero, also monstrous,
though less so.
The Austin-Lees live in a fine flat, high up (tfme etage\
with a magnificent view from the windows. Sir Henry was
just coming in from the Embassy, where, as I told you, he
is Secretary. He is a handsome, oldish man, rather deaf,
with a regular diplomatist's face and manner. He has been
in Paris over thirty years, and was here with Lord Lyons,
whom I knew long ago, when I used to stay with the old
Duchess of Norfolk, his sister. He met me at the door, and
we came up in the lift together. The other guest was a Mr.
Urquhart, nice and simple, an Oxford Don, a Fellow of
Balliol, but not at all Donnish in his ways. Balliol is young
Herbert Ward's college, and Mr. Urquhart knows him
well. . . .
It amuses me to hear you speak as if Versailles was Paris ;
it is a regular country town, though a fair-sized one (three
times the size of Salisbury, and two hundred times livelier),
with its own Bishop, and even in a different "department"
from Paris.
Well, after luncheon I walked from the Avenue du Troca-
dero to the St. Lazare Station, about twenty-five minutes'
walk, crossing the Champs Elysees and in front of the Arc
de Triomphe, passing close by the hotel where you, I, Aunt
Lizzie, and our pilgrims, stayed on our way to Rome in 1895.
At 4.20 I got a train out here, and Versailles seemed quite
home-like and countrified after huge Paris.
And that's all I have to tell you. . . .
Now I'm going to my by-by. So good-night.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 127
POSTSCRIPT TO LAST NIGHT'S LETTER.
Tuesday morning, 8.30 a,m.
I have just received four envelopes from you ; one with
your letter of this day week, Tuesday afternoon, the I3th;
one with your letter of the following morning ; and two merely
enclosing forwarded letters.
All these left Dieppe on Saturday, so they have taken three
days to come ! That is sheer rot, as the railway journey only
takes seven hours.
The Censor here is a young doctor, not really an officer in
peace time, but taken on for the war : not of purely Imperial
(or even Royal) descent, I fancy, rather full of importance.
All the same, he won't open my letters : you may always be
sure of that; nor yours to me — no letters from England are
opened even to the soldiers.
I said Mass in my own chapel this morning, and loved it;
it is so pretty, and so quiet and devotional. Eight soldiers
came, two Germans.
" We are brothers here in hospital, all of us," I said to one
of them ; " but everywhere you are my son, for I am a priest."
" Oh yes," he said : " you are my father ; but if peace would
be quick and come and end this ugly war we could all be
brothers again."
This is only a postscript.
LETTER No. 114.
B.E.F., Tuesday evening, 7 p.m.
I have not so much to write about this evening, but here I
am back at my writing-table, which I have moved into the
window to write there till it is dark enough to light my lamp.
(Sketch.)
All the foreground is nursery -garden ; to the left are rows
of serres, green-houses, and hot-houses; more to the left is a
suburb, and beyond it an arm of the park.
I had two walks in the park to-day — one at the end of the
morning, just before luncheon, not a long one. I approached
it from the palace, and walked down through various allies
to the Basin of Apollo, and back by the allees on the other
side, revisiting the fountains of the Four Seasons ; from each of
them eight avenues ray out, like wheel-spokes.
All afternoon I was in the hospital, and about 4.30 Lady
Austin-Lee, who had been also visiting it, met me with an
128 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
English friend, married to a French Viscount — Mme. de la
Vauguyon, I think, I did not quite catch the name. If it is
de la Vauguyon, her husband is descended from a very
charming but terribly poor courtier of Louis XIV., who shot
himself one Sunday morning while everyone was at Mass, in
his bed, here at Versailles, because he had not bread to eat.
His poverty and misery had turned his head, and he had done
some very mad things before.
Lady Austin-Lee was very gracious. A General de Chalain
had been, and still was, waiting in the hall to see me, sent by
Comte du Manoir.
I showed the ladies my chapel, and they were enchanted,
and thought me a magician to have raised it in a day out
of the means I had. The furniture in it is very good and
beautiful.
. . . Then I came home to tea, and afterwards walked off
to the two Trianons. Most of the time I spent in the Little
Trianon, wandering in the lovely glades and groves; and I
saw the little farm, by a small lake, so often read of all my
life, where poor Marie Antoinette used to milk her cows.
It was an exquisite evening, and the sunlight of the falling
day among those budding trees was most lovely, tender, and
gentle. Poor Queen ! she hadn't too much sense, but the price
she paid for her silliness was so bitter, and her ghost haunting
those glades and gardens is all gentle and pathetic. I picked
you these celandines and dog-violets and leaves there.
Again I went round into the larger, more formal, avenues
of the Grand Trianon, and surprised a young officer and his
sweetheart, but hurried away, and I don't think they knew I
had seen their billing and cooing — the doves up in the trees
were noisier about it.
I saw several rare birds — wild birds : a wonderful little
creature (a pair of them, rather) with a longish fire-coloured
tail, blue-black body, and scarlet and blue head; and some
woodpeckers I did not know before, kingfisher-shaped, but
twice the size, and of electric colouring, like a kingfisher, only
darker in tint. And so I strolled home. There were very
few people in the parks, mostly of the quite upper class, such
as one never saw at Dieppe : one very charming-looking young
French officer strolling with his mother, a widow, and both
of them looking very happy and confidential.
(Dinner.)
(After dinner.)
I could not speak to them, though I should have liked to ;
but I made a little prayer that all would go well with them,
and that nothing would ever deprive the mother of her son.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 129
There are 20,000 French troops here: another contrast to
Dieppe, where there were only the wounded and the Belgian
troops in the barracks.
I don't think I have any more to tell you, except that the
nuns at the convent where I go and say Mass on some of the
days in each week when I don't say Mass in my chapel, have
sixty wounded, and one of them a young aeroplanist (aviateur,
as they call it). He is quite charming, a gentleman, with a
most wonderfully pure and holy face. I have long talks with
him as he goes about on his crutches. Up in the air he was
attacked by a German aeroplane, and its bombs smashed him
and his machine; he was hit in the head, in the shoulder, in
the thigh, in the hip, and in the chest. The machine fell to
ground only 200 yards from the German trenches, and he was
shot again and again. And now he is getting quite well.
It all sounds so ghastly, and he is so cheerful and so simple
and un-braggy about it.
Now I'm going to dry up.
LETTER No. 115.
B.E.F., April 23, 1915 (Friday night}.
I had another letter from you to-day, the one in which you
tell me of Mrs. Gater's visit, and of Mickie having bitten
Mr. Major's leg. ... No; there is not the least objection to
you saying where I am. . . .
The Salle des Glaces at the Grand Trianon is interesting
because the gldces, the huge panels of looking-glass, date from
Louis XIV.'s time. They consist of smallish squares pieced
together, such big mirrors all in one piece not being attain-
able then. The immense round table is all one bit of wood,
Malabar oak, the section of a huge tree-trunk : it served for
council-table to Louis Philippe's Ministers. The next card
would be more appropriately inscribed Louis Philippe's bed-
room, if he had ever used it ; but it was in fact Louis XIV.'s,
the "Grand Dauphin's" (Louis XIV.'s son), Mme. Mere's, the
mother of Napoleon I, and the bed was her bed.
No. 3 is of the Salon des Malachites — called from the huge
malachite vase in the middle, given by the Emperor of Russia
to Napoleon I. after the Peace of Tilsit.
No. 4 is Napoleon's study, where he worked and wrote.
No. 5 his bedroom : really that of Marie Louise ; the bed is
an exquisite bit of furniture, and there is a lovely, enormous
Sevres vase on the cabinet at the foot of the bed.
No. 6 is a little private salon of Napoleon I.'s, and the
9
1 30 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
table in the middle is all of glorious mosaic, given to him by
Pius VII; it cost a million francs, and was made in the
Vatican atelier.
No. 7 is a round hall with a statue-group representing
France and Italy kissing each other : France's figure is that
of the Empress Eugenie.
No. 8 is one of the splendid suite of rooms prepared for
Queen Victoria by Louis Philippe.
In June, 1789, after the States-General had been at last
assembled, the Third Estate, what we should call the
Commons, who had not the right to sit with the First Estate,
the Clergy, and the Second Estate, the Nobles, and had their
own hall of meeting, had invited those other Estates to meet
them, and declare themselves a National Assembly. Louis XVI .
had the folly to shut the doors of their hall in their faces — on
June 2Oth, 1789. Whereupon they went off to the huge hall
called Jeu de Paume (the Tennis Court), half a mile from the
palace. There they all took an oath never to separate till
they had given a Constitution to France. That was one of
the most memorable days the world has ever seen.
I went to the place this afternoon, and persuaded the care-
taker to let me in. It is quite unchanged, except for the huge
picture filling one end, representing the meeting, for the statue
of Bailly the President, and the other statues (busts, rather)
of the other notables who took part in the work of that day.
It interested me more than anything I have seen here yet,
though, of course, it has no beauty.
. . . To-morrow I intend seeing the inside of the palace of
Versailles itself. . . .
The town itself is really charming : a real royal borough,
fine, cheerful, clean, and of wonderful extent.
. . . Does all this description bore you to death ? It has
made me sleepy ! And to bed I go.
LETTER No. 116.
B.E.F., April 24, 1915 (Saturday}.
This morning I had a charming letter from Major Newland,
and he said they both thought you looking much better than
the last time they saw you. Mind you keep so !
This afternoon I went through the interior of the palace —
Versailles itself. ... A great number of huge rooms are
picture-galleries — immense canvasses, all of French wars, and
not quite first rate for the most part. The tapestries, furni-
ture, ceilings, chimneypieces, are all quite glorious, so are the
views over the gardens and parks from the windows. . . .
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 131
But the great interest to me comes from having read such
a lot of French history and memoirs dealing with Versailles,
so that seeing the famous rooms explains what one has read,
and what one has read explains the rooms.
For the first time since I arrived I have not been to-day for
a walk in the park or gardens.
I don't feel letterish to-night : partly because I have written
ten or twelve other letters.
So good-night.
LETTER No. 117.
B.E.F., April 25, 1915.
... I don't belong to No. 4 British Expeditionary Force,
but to No 4 General Hospital ! There ! ! !
I lunched with the Bishop of Versailles to-day, and he was
quite charming, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. The other priests
present were the Vicar-General, an old Chancellor, and,
I think, the Secretary. All really cordial and friendly. This
diocese is immense, and contains many hundreds of thousands
of operatives, to whom the Bishop is a real apostle. He has
no grand airs or stiffness, but is most genial and wide-
minded, and of a very warm, open heart. To me he was
delightful, most brotherly and kind. I was not shy, but
talked like a house afire, and my wise sayings were much
approved ! Fancy me jawing away in French !
After leaving the Bishop's I came home, and then walked
to the Trianons, visiting the little octagonal music-pavilion on
the small lake, and the grotto where, as I told you, Marie
Antoinette heard that the mob had come out from Paris and
invaded Versailles; also I went again to the "Hameau," the
little sham village where her dairy was and is, on the larger
lake. These sham cottages are not in very good taste —
really built of stone to imitate brick ! Also I strolled all
about in the thickets and glades, full of quiet strollers, to-day
being Sunday. Then round by the Grand Trianon, and so
home, or rather to the hospital for evening church.
You will presently receive a parcel — not of goodies ! I saw
to-day a number of tiny chestnut-trees, first shooting from the
chestnuts, and I am going to steal some and send them home.
Bert must plant and water them, and they must not die. I
want to keep them as a little souvenir of Marie Antoinette's
Trianon.
If I can find any seedlings of less common trees than horse-
chestnuts, well and good, but it will not be so easy.
Indeed, I feel ashamed of seeing so much without you that
1 32 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
you would love to see. But at least it gives me something to
tell you about.
. . . Now I must stop.
LETTER No. 118.
B.E.F., April 28, 1915 (Wednesday}.
I got your letter of Sunday morning this morning, and your
letter of Saturday, with pansies in it, yesterday. I sent
Christie a fat packet to-day, so you need not give up any of
yours.
Yesterday I was godfather to young C at his confirma-
tion. The Bishop was so nice to him, and seemed wonder-
fully pleased at my being godfather : in his little address
before confirming he alluded to it, and to my high dignity, etc.
Then C and I went for a drive, his first for four months,
in the park and to Trianon. He had never been inside, and
a special permission is necessary during the war, so I got him
in and went all over it again. The furniture, Sevres china,
clocks, carved wood, etc., all seemed more fascinating than
ever. Then we went and looked at the museum of carriages —
really interesting, and some of them very magnificent.
This morning I said Mass at the hospital chapel. No more
news of our all moving to Calais — still, it is far from im-
probable.
LETTER No. 119.
B.E.F., April 28, 1915 (Wednesday evening}.
I shall not be able to write you at all an interesting letter
to-day for to-morrow's mail, because I have not done any
lionizing to-day, or even been for a walk in the park.
It has been quite hot — of course, not too hot — whereas up
to Sunday it was uncommonly cold, though bright.
... I am now reading Sir Archibald Alison's " History of
Europe," and am at present in the period immediately preced-
ing the French Revolution : to read it here makes it doubly
interesting. He is verbose and prosy, and treats you to too
much disquisition of his own, of no profound force or value;
still, his facts are interesting. He makes a miracle of Marie
Antoinette, a genius and a model of all excellencies. I can-
not think of her as a heroine before her fall : then she was
indeed one. He evidently thinks Louis XVI.'s concessions,
from the beginning of his reign, to the party of Liberty were
all blunders, but I don't see that the miserable return they
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 133
met with alters their justice, or proves them anything but in-
evitable. If they had not been made, Louis XVI. would have
been beheaded just the same, only he would have deserved it.
It is astonishing to me to find that there is really an
immensely widespread ogling at monarchy here, and that all
over France there are associations to bring it back. ButI amcon-
vinced that it is all a dream : that the time for making new Kings
in Europe is gone by, and that there is far more probability
of existing monarchies collapsing. Who could be the monarch
here ? He would have to be a man of great power and force,
a genius ; and the Duke of Orleans is of no consequence, and
the Napoleonic claimant of much less : both have passed their
lives out of France, and are out of touch with it. The great
mistake of the Republic seems to have been its persecution of
religion; and of course the Monarchists make religion their
" ticket " : but I wonder how much the millions care ?
This letter is rather like one of 's, and you will yawn
your head off over it !
But as I have seen nothing to-day to tell you about, I am
telling you the things I think about.
Now I'm off to bed.
LETTER No. 120.
B.E.F., April 30, 1915 (Friday}.
I sent you just now a pot of "Rillettes" — a sort of pate;
but I don't think you will care for it as much as the French do.
I cannot write a proper letter to-day, because 1,007 wounded
have just turned up, and I am very busy.
That does not look like moving our hospital at once. I
fancy, if we move at all, it cannot be for another month or so.
My friend C left the convent hospital the day before
yesterday, and moved to another hospital at Montreuil, near
here, and yesterday at lunch-time I received an eager request
to go and see him there; he was feeling lonely and desolate,
and, of course, in very rough, barracky quarters.
LETTER No. 121.
B.E.F., April 30, 1915 (Friday night}.
I am writing this for to-morrow's post, as I so often do,
though the date makes the letter seem a day longer on its way
to you than it really is, for it will not leave Versailles till to-
morrow evening about 5. But when I have put off writing
till the day itself I have often been prevented from writing at
all before post-time.
i34 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I got up at 5.30 this morning and went to the hospital, as
the 1,000 wounded were to have arrived at 6. However, fresh
telegrams had arrived, and they were not expected till 8.30 or
9, so I said Mass in my chapel there, came home to breakfast,
and went back about 9.
One thousand and seven fresh patients arrived from the
front, but a very few really very bad cases.
I spent the day in the hospital going round and finding
out the Catholics, and so took no walk.
After I came in about 5 I did not go out again, but sat in
my window reading Alison.
The trees are getting lovelier every day, and there is a
wonderful border of tulips in this garden, a blaze of many
colours, and some very wonderful ones.
But the horticulteury my landlord, has only one man and a
woman to work for him, instead of the sixteen he usually
employs : all the rest gone to the war.
I cannot tell you what nice and really good people he, his
wife, and their two girls are. They only think of pleasing
me, and not at all of making money out of me. The woman
is one of the best I ever met, and I am indeed lucky that the
good nuns recommended me to her kind care. Goodness,
simple and honest goodness, is written in every line of the
poor woman's face. Why " poor woman " ?
I will tell you.
You must know that she speaks French with a strong pro-
vincial accent, and I thought it was Alsatian. Yesterday I
said to her : " Madame, you are not of Versailles ?" " Oh,
Monseigneur," she cried, clasping her hands, and bursting
into tears ; " I am a German ! And the Germans have been
so wicked, and it is terrible for me ! "
She and her husband are only French by naturalization,
but have had their home here for twenty-two years. Of course
I comforted her, and said that there were many good
Germans, and that it would be monstrous to blame her for
what some of her countrymen had done.
But she is very unhappy and perhaps frightened.
Oh dear! This war, what misery it brings upon the
innocent ! . . .
Yesterday and to-day have been very sultry, and it tried to
thunder last night and to-night, but made no great hand of it.
All the Canadian wounded I have met here are English or
American!
Now I must stop ; take good care of yourself, and with best
love to Christie.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 135
LETTER No. 122.
B.E.F.
May 2, 1915 (Sunday morning, 6.30).
I am writing this, as you see, rather early, before beginning
to dress, because after Mass I come home here to breakfast,
and am then starting for Paris to see my wounded friend
C , who has been moved from Montreuil to the Salpetriere
Hospital, in Paris, but on the side of Paris farthest from
Versailles. It will take an hour and a quarter, if not more,
to get there, and I must be back for my evening service at 5.30.
Yesterday morning I got a note from the Colonel asking if
I would like to motor in to Paris to attend a concert given for
wounded soldiers, and I said " yes." We started at quarter to
one, and instead of taking either of the great roads (on left
bank of Seine, or right), we went through the forest of
St. Cloud and then the Bois de Boulogne — a most enchanting
drive. The trees, just in their tenderest leaf, most exquisite.
The concert was at the Trocadero, and we had splendid
places, so had our wounded men, of whom we took three large
motor-ambulances full. I never in my life was present at any
entertainment so interesting. The performers were the stars
of all the theatres in Paris ; the programme was very long,
three and a half hours, but not a tedious item on it. The
5,000 wounded French soldiers, in so many different uniforms,
made a most wonderful " house," and the enthusiasm for some
of the items of the programme, everyone standing up, was
pathetic, touching, moving, exciting. I send you the pro-
gramme and a song we all sang together, also an " image," a
little picture of which everyone got a copy; everyone (5,000 !)
also got a bouquet of lily of the valley, a pipe, cigarettes, etc.
Quite punctually at 2 o'clock the President of the Republic,
attended by his Staff, entered the Presidential box; the
"Marseillaise" was played, and everyone stood. After an
overture, by the Band of the Garde Republicaine (the finest
military band in Paris), the President of the Chamber of
Deputies made a speech, of which I both heard and under-
stood every word. Then came the songs, recitations, dances
— quite exquisite, and most simple, graceful, and charming;
also divertissements, little pieces, half acting, half singing,
but very short.
The whole thing was an act of respectful gratitude, a
testimony of admiration and veneration, often expressed, to
the heroes whose broken bodies had stood between the homes
of those who offered the fete and invasion.
I36 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
The final item was quite magnificent : first came bodies of
soldiers in old-time dress, starting for a war, and being bidden
God-speed by the villagers, the chateau-folk, etc. Then many
more of different periods. Finally a detachment of present-
day Chasseurs (each of these groups played its own music),
and in front was a magnificent silk and gold tricolour. As
they deployed, " France," dressed simply in innumerable folds
of white with a huge blue and a huge red sleeve, passed to the
front, and the "Marseillaise" was sung, as well as played;
each of the principal performers took a -verse, then she took
hands of the rest, the whole house standing, saluting the Tri-
colour, and singing the final words of each strophe.
The enthusiasm, the passion of these people's love for
France, was quite terribly pathetic and moving. Remember
the soldiers listening had all suffered for France ; many I saw
were blind — blind for ever ; many armless ; not one there who
had not faced the invader and done his bit to push him back. In
my life I never took part in any scene so thrilling or so
memorable.
Now I must dress. . . .
I want the programme, etc., all kept, please.
LETTER No. 123.
B.E.F., May 3, 1915 (Monday}.
This morning I received your letter of Friday, the first for
two or three days. I was beginning to fear you might be
seedy. I have a cold myself and am rather hoarse ; the
weather was so sultry last week I was always pealing off my
tunic and sitting in shirt and trousers; then yesterday morn-
ing I sat writing to you in my pyjamas before dressing to go
to Mass, and that finished it ! The cold makes me feel very
stupid, so don't expect much of a letter. We have heard no
more news of our removal to Calais, but so far as we know we
shall move, though perhaps not quite at once. In any case
the address will be just the same. I don't think the journey
would cost me much, as I should travel on a pass. Now I
must go to the hospital.
You said the sultry weather had made you feel blue. Cheer
up, my dear, cheer up, and we shall all be happy together
again soon.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 13;
LETTER No. 124.
B.E.F., May 4, 1915 (Tuesday evening}.
My cold was rotten last night and this morning, and I did
not write; but now it has passed its worst, and is beginning
to make preparations for departure.
Meanwhile it is wonderfully hot weather — like a sunny
sirocco, not the grey sort. It poured all last night, and the
extreme heat of the ground sent it all up again in steam.
That's what makes the heat oppressive.
To-day I see the swallows have arrived. I heard the
cuckoo long ago, even at Dieppe ; but here the great feature is
the nightingales : I never heard them so regular in their
permanence ! In spite, however, of all the poets' flattery, I
don't think their melody lovelier than that of the thrush or
blackbird, certainly not than that of the thrush.
This afternoon after luncheon I had a long stroll in the
glades and groves of the Little Trianon; it is much lovelier
than when I arrived — so many more trees are in leaf or
blossom.
I went early, and there were very few people ; here and there
a quiet-looking lady reading or working under a tree.
The MS. of the " Sacristans " arrived some time ago : the
one I wanted was " Poor Eleanor," which no doubt will turn
up. ...
You say, " What Bishop ?" in reference to my mentioning
the Bishop. The Bishop of Versailles. This is a cathedral
town, and the diocese quite enormous. Only the Seine divides
it from the Paris diocese.
LETTER No. 125.
B.E.F., May 6, 1915 (Thursday}.
My laryngitis is really better, but not gone; this moist heat
(really great heat) doesn't suit me a bit. However, to-day I
can talk intelligibly ; before I could only whisper, or whistle,
or squeak like a corncrake. . . .
The night before last the people here were quite excited
by a big airship floating about over our heads, pursued every-
where it went by searchlights (it looked very pretty). But I
guessed at once it was a French one, come to practise a
surprise air-visit by night, and so it was.
I sent off the box containing clothing, etc., yesterday; it
will take some time, as it had to go by ordinary rail. The
138 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
only thing for you in it is a pair of new scissors ! Dorit let
Mary throw away the stones; the smaller ones are pebbles I
picked up at Dieppe ; the large one is a stone from the draw-
bridge at the Castle of Arques, over which Drogo walked
forth on his way to England, never to return. I value it, and
want to keep it. Our trees out here must be far more
advanced than yours ; they are now at their loveliest.
I have at last got you the new post-card book, and send it
to-day ; it will hold a good many.
I hope to visit St. Germain, Marly, and Malmaison, but they
are not very easy to reach from here unless one has a motor,
and, besides, one can't be always running off.
Now I must stop — a very dull letter, you will very truth-
fully say.
LETTER No. 126.
B.E.F., May 6, 1915 (Thursday evening).
Besides all the letters that came early this morning, another
arrived later in the day from you ; it has no date.
This afternoon, after some work at the hospital, and before
some more, I trotted off to the Petit Trianon to see the interior.
It did not take long ; the palace is very small. Quite near is
the grotto where, as I told you, Marie Antoinette was sitting
when a page came (on the 5th October, 1789) to tell her that
the horrible Paris mob was attacking the palace at Versailles.
The King was out hunting. She at once rose and returned to
the palace at Versailles, and never again saw Trianon. At
Versailles the mob was murdering her guards and her
servants; and that evening she and the King, with their
children and Madame Elizabeth, were compelled to accompany
the mob to Paris — the heads of their slaughtered guards
carried on pikes beside them. The journey took seven hours
and ended at the Tuileries, where they were, in fact, im-
prisoned.
I have finished the two volumes of Alison which end in the
King's death. What a man he was! Certainly the purest
and most unselfish of Kings. And what a miracle of heroism
she was !
Indeed, nothing in your letter interests me more than the
reminiscences called up by my mention of Alison. I always
love to hear you speak of your childhood and its memories,
and I am never tired of them.
Certainly I will find time to write, as Pierce asks, to
Mr. Cameron. How can I, who find time to write daily to
three or four Frenchmen, pretend that I can't make time to
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 139
write to him ? During the war I have given up all attempts
to "write" — i.e., for the press — but this long rest was really
needed. My brain was getting over-written, and I shall write
ten times better for the long rest, and have a vast new fund of
interest and observation to draw on. So everything works
out for the best.
Now good-bye. My cold is far better; the voice nearly
come back, and no cough or very little.
I don't care much for the tottery old representatives of the
Old Regime one meets ! I am a fervent Monarchist, but why
didn't they keep their monarchy? It's no use now crying
over spilt milk, and the Republic isn't going to go.
I wrote you a meagre " Good-night " in place of a letter last
night; and this morning — Wednesday morning — an equally
hurried " Good-morning " to enclose a small cheque.
To-night I have not much more material for a letter, as all
I have done since was to go to Paris at midday, and spend the
afternoon till 5 with my godson. It was not one of his days
of " permission " — i.e., he could not come out — so all the time
was spent in his big hospital. We divided it between his
ward and the garden; sometimes sitting on a bench under
the fresh green trees of the latter, sometimes walking. He
walks better and without crutches, but soon tires; he lost so
much blood, and his wounds were so many.
The ward is not at all like one of ours in No. 4 General
Hospital; it dates, I should say, from the end of the seven-
teenth century, and is very low, with frowning old beams,
very gloomy, and with a grizzly brick floor — a sort of attic.
Our own hospital, installed in a magnificent, quite new hotel,
is all light, freshness, and comfort, beautifully airy and
splendidly fitted up. The Salpetriere is, however, a fine old
place, with immense blocks of building covering a vast space,
and very pretty old gardens.
Besides the thousands of wounded soldiers, the Salpetriere
contains many lunatics, whom one does not see, as they are in
quite a different part of it, and a number of old broken-down
folk, whom one does see sunning themselves in the garden.
F has made countless friends among these poor old
creatures, and they turn adoring eyes on him as he passes.
He has very grave eyes, but is a cheery and amusing person,
and he compliments me by saying that in spite of having to
use a language that I do not speak correctly, though fluently,
I am very -witty in French ! So there ! No doubt you think
I talk French perfectly; but that I never shall. I doubt if
anyone who has not spoken it as a child ever does learn to
1 40 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
speak French really well — i.e., true French. The whole form
of the language is different from ours, and its way of arrang-
ing ideas. Italian is much more like English in that way.
Certainly I have made progress lately; but until I went to
Dieppe I was almost entirely with English people, and had
few opportunities of practice, and even here I pass most of
my time among the English, in the hospital, and so get less
practice than you would think.
I am now quite well. But I intend giving my mouth a rest
before having the other two teeth out. They do not ache at
all, but one is badly broken and should come out. It has
been really cold to-day, which I have not disliked at all.
There is a very beautiful tree in flower now, lots of them in the
gardens of the Salpetriere, and lots by the Seine in Paris : a
big tree, not a shrub, covered with masses of purple flowers —
the soft lavender-purple of Parma violets. You cannot think
what a charming little journey it is in to Paris; the suburbs
of Paris towards Versailles are enchanting. A long valley
between wooded hills, and all the houses dotted among the
trees in delightful gardens. Lilac, white and purple; may,
white and crimson; and numbers of other flowering trees
everywhere. In this garden there are very pretty double
white lilac-trees, and the blossoms look rather like huge spikes
of white stocks.
Now I'm off to bed. God bless your sleep, my dearest
darling, and send you only happy dreams. I say ' many
Masses for you.
LETTER No. 127.
B.E.F., May 8, 1915 (Saturday evening].
Your dear letter of Wednesday morning arrived this morn-
ing, and at the same time one from Christie that had been
wandering all over the place : she also had put No. 4 British
Expeditionary Force.
The idea of a fire in a bedroom made me compassionate
you, for here we have had the most sultry, siroccy weather
I ever knew out of Malta; a sort of weather I hate, as it
always makes me feel weak, and if I catch cold (as I generally
do) I feel much more uncomfortable than with a cold in good
honest cold weather.
My present cold and laryngitis is nearly gone, and to-day I
feel more myself. I only wrote a line yesterday, as I was
feeling horrid after the extraction of a tooth in four goes ! I
shall take a few days' rest before having another hauled out.
To-day we are all talking and thinking of the Lusitania.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 141
I hope (we don't know here yet) it will turn out that no lives
were lost.
George Parker has sent me a large portrait group of his
clan, and I will send it home. About half of them are cousins
of mine, nephews and nieces, or grand-nieces and nephews,
of my father, and they all look monuments of British respect-
ability.
The azaleas in this garden are all coming out, and are very
pretty, especially a common sort that I always loved, with
rather small flame-coloured flowers. The Custs and the Jebbs
of the Lythe used to have these in their gardens.
My landlord has got hold of a lot of French soldiers to dig
up and tidy up his garden for him, and they work very well
and quickly. I reward them with " English cigarettes " and
with chocolates.
During these last nights, dull, heavy, hot, and moist, the
nightingales have been less vociferous, and I have not
minded ; they were really rather noisy early last week.
I send the portrait-cards I mentioned. Louis XV. is hand-
some, isn't he ? But he was a heartless scamp. Do you re-
member how one wet afternoon he stood at a window of the
palace here, and watched the last departure of his dead friend,
Mme. de Pompadour, and said coolly : " Madame has horrid
weather for her promenade " ?
Louis XVI. is not handsome at all, but "handsome is as
handsome does." The portrait of Marie Antoinette is after
Madame Vigee Lebrun's very famous one. I think the poor
little Dauphin ("Louis XVII.") very charming, and a clever-
looking little lad; they made an idiot of him by drink, etc.,
before he died. Mme. de Lamballe was Marie Antoinette's
dearest friend, and it was her lovely head that the mob
hoisted on a pole under the Queen's prison windows — and
awful bits of her poor modest body.
I am glad you enjoyed my account of the Trocadero
concert ; it certainly was wonderful and unforgettable.
I am very glad you sent something to Sister Theresa
Plater ; she has a Jesuit brother whom I am devoted to.
Now I must shut up.
LETTER No. 128.
B.E.F., May 12, 1915 (Wednesday}.
My cold is nearly gone, though not quite; the throat still
hurts a little, but the pastilles I got from the French chemist
never fail to relieve it, and his syrop has practically banished
i42 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
the cough. The same splendidly fine but fresh weather con-
tinues; last week, when it was so terribly hot, there was
constant rain.
Yesterday afternoon, while I was working in the hospital,
I came across Lady Austin-Lee, who had come out from
Paris to visit our wounded. I had just written to her saying
I could not lunch with her to-day, so she made me fix Saturday
instead. . . . She had the Duchesse de Bassano with her, a
really delightful elderly lady, Canadian by birth, widow of
a very famous Frenchman.
. . . After tea I went for quite a long walk in the parks
both of Versailles and Trianon : they were looking indescrib-
ably lovely, and at the Little Trianon the quietness and peace
was marvellous. There was hardly a soul there, and no
sound but the " roo-coob " of the doves. You must understand
that at Trianon there is no attempt at a show of flowers or
shrubs : it is all natural-looking ; but the azaleas were some-
thing indescribable. In one thicket of them I counted eight
different colours — whity-cream, canary, sulphur, cinnamon,
flame-colour, scarlet, rose, lilac, salmon, and such masses of
bloom, as big as a giant's feather-bed. The smell of them, of
the lilac, and of the wistaria, filled the whole air.
Now I must go to the hospital, then to Paris to see C in
hospital.
LETTER No. 129.
B.E.F.
Ascension Day (Thursday evening}.
This morning I only had time to write to you a mere word to
say I could not write ! A great many wounded have been
coming in lately, and the proportion of badly wounded very
high. Almost all from by Ypres ; it is quite frightful the losses
that beastly spot has cost us. And, of course, this has made me
very busy.
I came in to get my luncheon and found Vicomte de
firmly seated in my dining-room, and he, having had his
lunch, was determined to sit and jaw. He stayed ages, and
at last I really had to get up and pack him off. A most
worthy old gentleman, with the sad disease of nothing to do,
and a vehement desire to tell me all the clever things he ever
said or wrote. . . .
I am very busy in the hospital; two afternoons each week
I go to cheer up F , and on Saturday I am lunching with
Lady Austin-Lee.
I'm off to bed.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 143
LETTER No. 130.
B.E.F.
May 14, 1915 (Friday evening}.
Another very uneventful day gives me again very little
to write about. I have been nowhere except to the hospital,
where I have passed most of the day, and seen no one except
the wounded and Lady Austin-Lee, whom I met for a few
minutes.
We expect many more wounded to-night, and are sending
home many who only came in a couple of days ago. These
large relays of wounded are a result of the definite forward
movement always foretold for May, and I believe we really
are making ground at the front, and the French too. The cost
in life is terribly sad, but cannot be surprising.
I am not quite so uncomfortable in my mouth to-day, and
the laryngitis has really gone now.
That Vicomte de - — who harried me yesterday is a
Norman, and Norman mad like grandpapa — he can only
talk and think of the Normans ; and, oddly enough, I always
become worse than indifferent to them when I have to do with
someone like that.
Your letter of Tuesday, a particularly nice one, came to-day ;
I am so glad you like the post-card book, and I'm glad you
agree with me about that much overrated fowl the nightin-
gale : I'd give twenty of them for one thrush.
From what you say about Marie Antoinette I fancy the
"Life" of her you have been reading was Mme. Campan's
" Memoires " — the famous schoolmistress afterwards employed
under Napoleon I. to teach the wives of his Dukes and
Marshals how to behave like Court ladies. It is interesting,
but not a patch on the later works, like Le Notre's. I suppose
the other book you are reading is some Memoir of the Duchesse
d'Angouleme, daughter of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette,
and wife of the son of Charles X., Louis XVI.'s brother.
Napoleon said she was the only man among the Bourbons
of that time; but the sufferings and the horrors of her child-
hood, if they did not embitter her, made her permanently sad
and morose, and she was not popular after the Restoration —
she could not forget; and no wonder.
I know what a dull letter this is, but when one has not
even been for a stroll in the park, what can one find to say ?
It has turned very cold again, which I do not mind at all ;
what I loathe is the sticky, muggy, hot weather.
Good-night. I duly received your little spray of "forget-
me-not " — did you think it necessary ?
i44 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 131.
B.E.F., May 15, 1915 (Saturday night}.
Your letter of Thursday reached me early this morning —
in less than two whole days : so we are getting on ! I was
working hard in the hospital, after Mass at the convent, till
noon; then I caught a train to Paris and lunched with the
Austin-Lees. Then I trained back and went straight to the
hospital, and worked there till dinner-time. Lady Austin-
Lee informed me that the Matron had been sounding my
praises to her because I am so nice to the men. That is all
my day, except writing letters.
To-morrow, after church at the hospital and a little work
there, I am off to Paris again to spend a long time with
I am not idle, but my doings don't give much to write
about, do they ?
Now I'm off to bed. So good-night.
LETTER No. 132.
B.E.F., May 17, 1915 (Monday}.
Saturday was quite cold, yesterday very hot, and to-day a
deluge of cold rain : so England is not the only country with
an inconsistent climate. It is not muggy rain this time, so I
rather like than dislike it.
I got up early yesterday to put in a good bit of work before
9 o'clock Mass at the hospital ; after Mass came home, had my
tea, and dashed off to Paris, where I found F awaiting
me at the station. During a stroll on the boulevards I sud-
denly felt a hand on my shoulder, and a delighted voice said,
" Bickerstaffe-Drew ! " It was Bourgade : do you remember
him and Palluau in 1899? It amazed me his recognizing me,
for it is sixteen years since he saw me; he never saw me in
uniform, and it was only my back he saw this time. He
walked along with us for a quarter of an hour, and was
simply overjoyed to see me again. He looks very middle-
aged, and also very prosperous and amiable.
He was full of enquiries for you too.
And that's all there is to tell you ! I always feel a pig
when I put you off with one of these scrappy letters; but
though I enjoyed yesterday very much, it was not the sort of
day to provide much to talk about.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 145
LETTER No. 133.
B.E.F., May 17, 1915 (Monday night}.
Though I wrote to you this morning, and have done nothing
since but work in the hospital, I am getting my letter for
to-morrow ready, because I expect to be again busy in the
wards all day to-morrow till after post-time. Our English mail
came in to-day later than usual, and after I had written
to you. It brought your letter of Friday. I am so sorry
this wretched paper worries you so, and I will be sure to
number the pages in future. Please forgive me for not having
done so already. Most modern notepaper is folded and
stamped with whatever device it bears, like this paper ; but I
have always told them not to do it with mine, only this time
I forgot.
I am glad you liked the little cutting about the musk-rat.
I hoped you would. But I did not know he was an old friend
of yours. You need not worry yourself thinking the Censor
keeps back some of your letters to me. The Censors have
nothing to do with letters to members of the Expeditionary
Force, only with letters from them. No incoming letters from
England are submitted to the Censors ; the moment they reach
the post office they are given out, and no Censor even sees the
outsides of them. But letters to Chaplains, if incorrectly
addressed, all go sooner or later to the Principal Chaplain's
office, to be readdressed.
But your letters are all correctly addressed now, and they
come in very reasonably quick time.
I had a talk with our Colonel to-day, which I very rarely
have. We discussed the prospects of the war. He is san-
guine, and thinks Germany is done for. Certainly both we
and the French are pushing her as she has not been pushed
for many months. I have always said the same thing — there
might at any moment come a sudden collapse of Germany, and
of course Italy's adhesion (which is now certain) might induce
that collapse.
On the other hand, if we want to fight to a finish — i.e., till
Germany is " wiped out " — then the war might last for years !
For every German would fight to the death rather than submit
to that. I do not, however, believe that we shall really fight
to a finish. We shall be content to go on till Germany asks
for peace. She will have to get out of Belgium and France,
and have to give up Alsace and Lorraine. Austria will lose
most.
i46 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I heard a most astonishing thing yesterday — that many of
the French Monarchists want to offer the throne of this country
to King Albert of Belgium ! It only shows how little they
think of the Bonapartist and Orleanist pretenders. To me
it seems the wildest dream.
In Alison I have just been reading the marvellous and
horribly tragic story of the Peasant War in La Vendee against
the Revolution — of absorbing though very melancholy interest.
If England had kept her word and sent to help the Vendeans,
the Revolution would have been smashed and the monarchy
restored, whereas we let a million heroic peasants be butchered.
LETTER No. 134.
B.E.F., May 18, 1915 (Tuesday night}.
I have been hard at work the whole day in the hospital, and
am so tired and so sleepy that I am only going to wish you
good-night.
In the afternoon I met Lady Austin-Lee and the Duchess of
Bassano in the hospital. I didn't leave the hospital till 7,
and then went for a short stroll in the town for air and
exercise. Then I came in, dined, and wrote a sheaf of letters
to mothers of badly wounded men. It is a work of great
necessity and charity, but takes much time. I cannot write the
poor things short and dry letters, but must try to cheer and
comfort them. Many are the sons of widows, or grandsons
of old widowed women who have brought them up, and one
knows how — at best — a letter telling of severe wounds must
be grievous.
I am much better : the inflammation almost entirely gone,
and the laryngitis quite gone.
The rhododendrons here are getting more splendid every
day.
I'm half asleep ! So good-night.
LETTER No. 135.
B.E.F., May 21, 1915 (Friday night, 9 p.m.}.
This morning, after Mass at the hospital at 7, I came back
here, breakfasted, and worked hard at letters all morning.
All afternoon I worked in the hospital, and then came home
to tea. After which I felt I must have a walk, and went off
to the park, where I had not been for ages. I found the trees
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 14;
much more leafy and the chestnuts, of which there are very
many, all banks of white and pink or red blossom.
Instead of taking the Trianon side of the park, I went in
by the Basin of Neptune, and down by the Basin of Ceres, to
the Tapis Vert (the long strip of lawn leading down, between
avenues, from the great faqade of the palace towards the large
Basin of Apollo, beyond which is the Grand Canal). Numbers
of soldiers (French), in canoes, were disporting themselves
upon the water, and seemed very cheerful, taking great delight
in splashing each other's boats unmercifully with their oars. . . .
But the mosquitoes were owdacious. (It is a heavy, hot day.)
I walked as far as the star I have marked on the card, and
there sat down on a bench and talked to a French artillery-
man, who has been in England and seems very proud of it.
The Menagerie, opposite the Grand Trianon, was really a
Menagerie in Louis XIV.'s time, but is now some sort of
barracks.
St. Cyr was where Mme. de Maintenon established her insti-
tution for daughters of poor nobles, where she spent all the
time she could spare from her Royal husband. Towards the
end of her thirty-two years of being his wife, without being
his Queen, she seems to have grown very weary of her palace
life, and glad to get away from it. After the Revolution
St. Cyr became a military school, like Woolwich (and it is
so still), and there Napoleon I. received his later training as
a soldier (I think ?).
Yesterday afternoon I had to attend the funeral of an
English officer, an aviator killed by a fall of the machine.
Not a Catholic, so I did not officiate. It was a longish march
to the cemetery, through the whole length of the town, much
over two miles. The Mayor of Versailles and a number of
French officers, and perhaps one hundred French soldiers,
attended, and it was a fine though simple sight. The French
along the streets showed all possible sympathy and respect.
The cemetery, on the fringe of the town, on a hillside, running
up into a long wood, is very peaceful and beautiful.
There were over a hundred new English graves, all of
soldiers, and we noticed that everyone was carefully tended
by the French, with flowers, growing and in wreaths, and also
pretty little shrubs put to grow on them. I thought this very
kindly and tender towards strangers, none of whose friends
could ever be expected to thank those who showed this kind-
ness to the poor foreigners. The French have much more
heart and sweetness than English people give them credit for.
Besides my French soldier-friends, I have troops of little
French friends among the children, who waylay me to demand
I48 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
medals and tiny crucifixes to send to their fathers at the
front. They are dear little creatures, and it always touches
me to hear their prattling talk about the fathers they are so
likely never to see again till they meet in heaven. And it
touches me close to see the trust and confidence in their inno-
cent grave eyes. They always speak of a little crucifix as a
"little Christ." "Oh, please," they beg, "give me a little
Christ to send to my father at the war. He is in the trenches,"
or "he comes from being wounded." The dear French soldiers,
as they pass by, watch us with gentle smiles. If I should live
to be very old I should never forget these wonderful months
in France, and all the great love it has taught me for our
valiant and sweet-hearted neighbours. It is only these things
that salve at all for me the pain of this long absence from you.
I am glad you are reading "The Newcomes" ; I love Colonel
Newcome till he turns against Ethel, then I long to box his
foolish old ears. Thackeray admired Master Clive much
better than I do, which is natural, as he thought he was draw-
ing his own portrait as a youth, and I do not blindly admire
Thackeray. His genius was half cruel, and he loved to smell
out human meannesses and falsenesses. As you say, the book
is terribly longdrawn, and it shows signs of a great genius
tired and jaded. Still, the genius is there, and there are
exquisitely beautiful and tender things in it.
To-night at my dinner, just for a rest, I read a few pages of
" David Copperfield " : and it was a rest. Always talking or
reading a foreign language is a sort of strain on the attention,
and the only English I have been reading is Alison, whose
theme is intensely interesting, but who is not himself very
light.
Now I'm off to bed.
LETTER No. 136.
B.E.F., May 22, 1915 (Saturday night}.
It is 10 o'clock — bedtime — and I am not going to attempt
a long letter ; perhaps I shall finish this early to-morrow morn-
ing, before going to the hospital for Mass.
Your letter of Wednesday arrived this morning about mid-
day, just as I was starting for Paris to see C , and I read
it in the train. . . .
I do not quite twig what is happening on your side of the
water about the Cabinet. I read a French evening paper
coming back from Paris in the train, and it spoke of all sorts
of changes in the Ministry, as if Mr. Asquith and Lord
Kitchener were both going. I am much flattered by your
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 149
estimate of my opinion concerning the war, but I know
nothing. Italy is now certain, and her adhesion may make
an enormous difference. Unless Russia takes a bad knock
on the Eastern front, Austria and Germany cannot afford the
vast depletion of forces necessary to turn a strong face against
Italy. If Germany sends many men south from the Western
front, France or we, or both of us, are likely to break through.
If a large force were sent south from the Eastern front, Russia
would break through. You will see that the ultrabitterness
of Germany against us will now be turned against Italy, and
much more reasonably, for we were not Germany's Ally and
Italy was.
Germany is now treating America so carelessly that I
believe she wants the United States to declare war; then,
with Italy also against her, she may perhaps say, "We can't
fight against the whole world," and begin to hold out peace
overtures. If, however, the Allies ask too much, she will go
on fighting. I don't believe for a moment that the Emperor
William is unpopular in Germany, or even less popular than
he was before the war.
I heard to-day an extraordinary (and quite authentic)
instance of the way in which Germany has prepared every-
thing for this war even in foreign countries.
A French General, long ago in the early part of the war,
pursued by a German force too strong to engage, came to a
river (in France, mind, this was) and crossed it by the bridge,
which he then immediately blew up and continued his march.
Close to the other side of the destroyed bridge was a factory ;
and, arrived at the river-bank, the Germans simply went to the
factory and brought out of it a metal bridge, all ready-made
in compartments, and threw it across; it was exactly the
width, etc., of the destroyed stone bridge, and had been duly
prepared by the Germans for such a need, and kept ready
under lock and key.
Now I'm for bed. So God bless you, dearest, and keep you
safe and well. I shall give you no more bulletins of my
health, as I am all right again.
LETTER No. 137.
B.E.F., May 26, 1915 (Wednesday}.
Your letter written on Sunday has just come, and I am
going to write a short answer.
I do hate hot weather, and it always does knock all the
life out of me.
150 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
1 feel very pleasant sitting still reading in my room (it is
beautifully cool), but when I have to go out and bustle round
it is very different. Unfortunately, they assure me that the
warm weather will go on now till autumn.
Yesterday I worked in the hospital all morning and after-
noon, then came in and had tea; then went for an evening
stroll in the park, where I met again a young artilleryman
whom I had met before, and we sat under the trees by the
Grand Canal and chatted. He is very well educated (a clerk,
T should say, in some business house) and quite a gentleman —
fearfully anti-Republican — and, poor lad, just off to the front.
Another artilleryman — also a gentleman — joined us, whom I
knew before, a young sculptor, and as they were both
Parisians, and talk lovely French, it was good practice for me.
Then I came home and dined, and read, and (dog-tired)
slunk into bed.
Oh dear ! I wish it was always winter ! I am worth triple
in cold or cool weather. All my energies melt away in hot
weather, and everyone else seems so delighted and says, "Is
it not a delicious weather ?" and I long to smack them !
I'm glad their Reverences from Salisbury came to look you
up and that Father Cashman was to bring you Holy Com-
munion.
My mouth is quite all right now, but I can't face the dentist
again just yet, though two teeth seriously demand removal.
How I laughed when I read your saying, " The new scissors
are so good and sharp, I shall lock them up." I am sure that
one of these days you will start locking up your food directly
they bring it you, and you will then die of starvation.
Now good-bye.
LETTER No. 138.
B.E.F., May 27, 1915 (Thursday).
Your long and interesting letter, with the romance of your
Aunt Sally, arrived this morning ; I think some day I might
try my hand on the story. Of course, I've often heard you
and Christie talk of Aunt Sally, but you never told me
this romance of her poor life before.
The nights have been so hot that I have had very little
sleep, but to-day began cooler, and even now is less hot than
we have been having it. The worst of it is, I can't induce the
French people to say that it is only a temporary wave of heat,
and that we shall have cool weather presently. On the con-
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 151
trary, when I ask when it will be cooler, they say, "At the
end of August — a little." But I think that is blague: they
imagine we get no hot weather in England, and so they want
to brag of their own; they all think rain and cool weather
is a thing to be ashamed of, and pretend to know nothing
about it. And the Versaillais are just as touchy about their
climate as Mrs. Wodehouse used to be about that of Plymouth ;
any complaints about the weather they consider a personal
reflection and resent fiercely. Yesterday I told the Director
of the Bank of France, where I get my cheques cashed, that
I found Versailles relaxing, and I thought he would have
assaulted me ! " Versailles relaxing ! It is well known that
Versailles is the healthiest town in France, a climate without
parallel. 'Relaxing !' Why, Monseigneur, are you not aware
that at this moment you are standing on a higher level than
the pinnacles of Notre Dame in Paris? 'Relaxing!' Why,
it is for coolness that the Parisiens come here. . . . Pray,
Monseigneur, do not say that Versailles is relaxing : for you
are not the one to state an impossibility. ..." I really was
afraid he would cash no more cheques for me, and hurriedly
ate my words, averring that no doubt when I understood it
better I should know that Versailles was as bracing as the
North Pole.
Yesterday I went to Paris at midday, and stayed at the
Salpetriere with F till 5, and really I thought Paris,
though very hot, was drier and airier; but that it would be
high treason to say here. The whole mischief is that the air
of Versailles is very moist from the immense number of trees,
and moist heat is more trying to me than dry. I have always
preached the unhealthiness of trees.
If I don't shut up, this letter can't catch the post.
LETTER No. 139.
B.E.F., May, 1915.
I put off writing till this morning, and then a convoy of
wounded arrived — the first for ever so long — and I had to
go and attend to my duties instead of writing letters. It
is not a very big batch, but over 300, and they are all from
that eternal Ypres : as a matter of fact, very few Catholics
among them ; but still, in order to find out whether they are
Catholics or not, one has to see them all.
As I told you, I am out of sorts, and it makes me un-
commonly slack and lazy. All the rain we have does not
cool the air; it only surcharges it with moisture and makes it
152 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
heavy and oppressive. I'm not a bit hot sitting in my room,
but when I try to do anything I feel that "the grasshopper
is a burden." Fortunately, there has been uncommon little to
do, and I have been able to take it just as easily as I chose.
My soldier-servant confesses that he pocketed letters to
you twice and forgot them; I washed his head for him, as
they say here, and he won't do it again. He is really good,
as good a man as I ever met, but he has a rotten memory (like
my own), and being in love makes his worse. He is quite
truthful, and would never pretend he hadn't forgotten when
he had : that's one good thing. He eats like a lion (four
lions), and is as thin as a ruler — the flat sort.
Your letter of Tuesday came this morning. Poor old
Pierce ! I'm sure he needn't be apologizing to himself or any-
one else for not coming to Europe to fight. All the wrong
people have scruples about it ; there are two or three millions
in Great Britain who could and should come, but they stick
at home, and let married men and only sons and widows'
sons come. Lots of the wounded we get here are quite old
fellows.
The handkerchief-case has arrived, and if I had been
all right I should have gone to Paris with it this afternoon ;
but I'm too washed out. It is most beautifully made, and I'm
sure Lady Austin-Lee will be delighted with it. Thank you
ever so much for making it.
I have got hold of Trollope's "Is he Popinjay?" and it is
quite a treat after reading nothing but history and French for
a long time, though it is not one of his first-rank books —
about on a par with "He Knew he was Right," though less
depressing.
You need not bother to send those magazines at present.
I suffer rather from French priests who write books and will
want me to read them ; this sort of thing : " Bombs and the
Catholic Church," "Asphyxiating Gases and the Revival of
Religion in France." They always assure me that they give
me full leave to translate their masterpieces into English.
"God forbid !" I say inwardly; but it isn't so easy to know
what to say outwardly.
There is Madame Beranek to bid me go down to dinner.
This has been a ramshackle letter, but I feel ramshackle, like
a very badly made rag doll recently rescued from drowning
in a bucket of tepid slops.
So I will say good-night, and God bless you.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 153
LETTER No. 140.
B.E.F.
Quarter to bedtime (Sunday night}.
I am beginning a letter feeling very sleepy, and most likely
shall leave it to finish in the morning.
Monday, $ist May. — I only got so far, and caved in, and
went to bed. Not that I was feeling tired, only sleepy. Since
the cool weather came back the feeling of tiredness is gradu-
ally going off. To-day it is even cooler than yesterday,
making four cool days in a row.
Yesterday I did not go to Paris to see F , who is, I
believe, coming here instead to-day. But after my letter to
you I went for a walk in the Little Trianon (i.e., just about
the time all France is at luncheon), and there was only one
other person there — a young French soldier sketching. The
azaleas are still in bloom, though going off ; and I stole some
good slips, which my landlord says he can make grow for me.
It was all very lovely and peaceful. As I was leaving to come
home to my own luncheon, thousands were pouring in. After
luncheon I went to a "Kermesse" right at the other end of
the town, organized by a Comtesse Missiessy for the poor
Belgians. She had asked me to come, and was evidently
extremely pleased and grateful that I did. She is quite
charming, of Mrs. Drummond's type, about the same age,
with the same brilliant complexion, abundant white and grey
hair, intensely blue eyes, and gracious, friendly manners.
Only she is not nearly so tall as Mrs. Drummond. She has
a charming son also, whom I took a great fancy to. I bought
a lot of things to send to my French soldiers at the front.
Then I hurried back to the hospital for an evening service,
where I had a crowded congregation of two.
In my letter to-morrow I shall send a whole batch of
portrait-cards ; these really are very interesting, and especially
to anyone who reads much French history, as I do. It is only
quite recently one could get reproductions of these famous
portraits, which are nearly all of them in the palace here.
Fifty times I have meant to ask you about clothes. Summer
is on us, and you must be needing some replenishments : do
please tell me frankly what.
I propose a light silk dress — you have only the very pretty,
but now old, lavender one. Something of that type : I should
say two, a tussore-coloured one and a lavender, grey-blue, or
lilac. But tell me about etceteras, millinery, veils, etc., what
you want.
i54 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Another batch of wounded has, my servant tells me, just
arrived at the hospital, and I must go round there.
With best love to Christie.
LETTER No. 141.
B.E.F., May 31, 1915 (Monday night}.
Your cheery letter of Friday arrived this morning, enclos-
ing one from Alice, to whom I duly sent by this post the portrait
of Colonel Drew. The same post brought me Tit Bits (which
you so much objected to forward to me ! ) from which I see
they have awarded me a prize of fifty pounds ! What for, do
you think ? For the following : One had to choose any word
out of the current number of Tit Bits, and then give three
other words bearing on it, the first and last of which three
words must begin with a letter found in the word chosen. I
chose " dollars," and made " Don't preclude dolours." Doesn't
it seem ridiculous to earn £50 for such appalling rubbish ?
All the same, £50 is uncommonly useful, arid, you see, I can
well afford you some new duds.
I always felt sure I should gain one of these prizes ; and Ver
will be very jealous : I think he never won more than 2s. 6d. !
I will show your flower to M. Beranek, and ask him if he
knows what it is.
I had a very gushing letter to-day from Mrs. W , but
written just like a housemaid's letter : no pronouns ; this sort
of thing : " Thought I'd write . So glad get your photo. Very
good too. Hadn't time say good-bye to Mrs. Brent 'fore
leaving," etc.
Do you remember hearing me talk of my young brother-
officer, Captain H ? He has gone home with measles,
and I think he is delighted !
When I was in Paris on Friday with F we were driving
in the Bois de Boulogne, and there was a German Taube miles
up in the air, hotly pursued by two French aeroplanes that
drove it away very promptly. The French don't get in the
least excited by such trifles; only all the smart people were
getting cricks in their necks from staring up at the chase.
I suppose the little tapis (mats) are arrived by now. I am
always jeering at my French friends for the poverty of their
language (their great boast is its richness) : " You call a carpet
'tapis/ and a tablecloth 'tapis,' and a mat 'tapis.'"
Of course, I don't believe London is going to be blown up,
or the Tube railway. But - - lives for sensations, and
nothing else will stimulate his " brain."
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 155
I am not at all likely to be offered leave, and do not think
it would be wise to ask for it ; besides, it could only be for six
days or so, and they would have to put someone else here. So
large a hospital could not be left without a Chaplain : and
whoever got in would be sure to want to stop in. Versailles
suits me down to the ground, and I could never get into such
good and economical quarters elsewhere. "La vie coute
chere " in France everywhere at present.
I took you to Paris in miniature yesterday, and everyone
was enchanted with the portrait ; only they were rude enough
to you to say that I am the image of you.
Last night, coming home in the train, I read a small but
very important paragraph in the Liberte; it said that rumours
were being spread that the Pope is moving the European
Powers to convene a conference, with himself as president,
arbiter, or umpire, for the purpose of trying to re-establish
peace.
The importance is this — the report is said to be spread by
Germany and Austria; if so, it means that they are looking
about to find a way out of the war, and to "save their face"
at the same time. I believe this to be fully possible. Italy
has come in against them; America will break off diplomatic
relations very soon now ; Rumania is on the point of coming in.
Well, Austria and Germany may very probably not want to
wait for that : Austria at least knows that for every State that
comes in against her she will lose a big slice of her empire;
and both Germany and Austria would much rather that the
plea for peace came from the Pope than from them. So I
do not think this rumour an obvious canard.
Certainly, our entering on the war with the tiny army we
then had was a marvel of pluck. No wonder the Emperor
William thought us foolhardy. He knew our numbers very well,
and he probably knew also that the French Army was unready.
He has learned a lot since : that England can make an army,
and that France can mend her faults, and get her army into
trim.
About Sir J. F. and Sir H. Smith-Dorrien I will not talk,
because I never do talk about things of which I know nothing.
Those sort of rumours do great harm, and the vulgar love to
gobble them.
Of course, though I see no good at all in going home for a
few days, I want to be at home; I am not tired of France, but
I miss my home every day and all day long.
Honestly, I think the complete change and rest of a sort
(rest from literary production) will have added years to my
life, and given me, when I can work at writing again, a new
i56 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
lease of literary power. I know I was getting stale, and my
memory and fancy have been restored with an immense
treasure-bouse of new ideas, new characters, and new scenery.
Now I will bring this long letter to a close.
It is still pouring down, but the storm rumbles in the far
distance.
I am truly delighted to think you are going to have Alice
again, even if only for a bit.
Best love to Christie.
LETTER No. 142.
B.E.F.
June 2, 1915 (Wednesday night}.
I have just finished my solitary dinner, and now I am going
to chat with you — all about nothing in particular, because
there is nothing in particular to tell you.
Apart from the fact that my going to see F is a kindness
to him — he is very young for his twenty-three years, and finds
himself very lonely in the huge Paris hospital — it makes a
great change and relief for myself. The work at the hospital
here, though very interesting and important and useful, is very
monotonous, and often very sad, to one whose heart has always
been too soft : and I have no friend here at all. I am truly
attached to the poor wounded soldiers, but even they are for
ever on the move ; the men who came last week are gone this,
and it is a ceaseless beginning again with strangers. Well, all
this being so, I find it an immense rest and relief to my mind
and spirits to go and pass some hours with my godson; and
of course it makes it much nicer to feel that my going sets a
little island of happiness in his big sea of loneliness. I said
to him yesterday, " Why did you choose me, an old man and
a foreigner, for your friend ?" " I did not choose you," he
answered quietly, "God sent you to me, very kindly, in my
great solitude. But you are not old : nor will you ever be.
Nor are you a foreigner; your land is mine now, and mine
yours." . . .
I regret to say it is getting hot again, but after six cool days
one is fresher for it ; and, besides, the six cool days cheered me
up by showing that one need not really expect months of
unbroken heat, but that there will be little refreshing gaps.
Also I am very well, and the cool days have taken away the
tired feeling.
I hope you will have liked the little series of brown portraits
I sent you a day or two ago. They are interesting and not
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 157
common. The portraits of the Comte de Provence (afterwards
Louis XVIII.) and of the Comte d'Artois (Charles X.) are
charming, and so different from the well-known portraits of
them as elderly, heavy-faced Kings. They were both of them
younger brothers of poor Louis XVI. — uncles of the little
Dauphin called Louis XVII. But the most charming is the
portrait of the Due d'Enghien as a boy, whom later on Napoleon
I. caused to be shot — the great crime, as it was the great
blunder, of his reign, which his mother and Josephine begged
him in tears not to commit.
Your letters seem to show that instead of growing older you
are growing younger both in the handwriting and in the stuff !
. . . Now I'm going to bed. So God bless you and send you
only happy dreams.
LETTER No. 143.
B.E.F.
June 5, 1915 (Friday evening}.
I did not write this morning because, for some reason, I
was told there would be no mail to England. But I am
writing now to have a letter ready for to-morrow's post.
Your letters of Monday and Tuesday came yesterday and
to-day.
If Mr. Bonaparte Stubbs was a grandson of Jerome Bona-
parte, he must have been so through Jerome's first wife, an
American called Paterson, whom Napoleon I. made him
divorce, after which he married a daughter of the King of
Wiirtemberg, and became himself King of Westphalia. He
was extremely handsome and very popular, though the most
dissipated of all the Bonapartes — in fact, Lucien and Joseph
were not dissipated at all. He was by far the youngest of the
Imperial family, and only died in 1860, and I cannot quite
understand his grandson being old enough to marry in those
far-away days of which you speak. Have you King Jerome's
portrait ?
I send another sheaf of Napoleon portraits, some quite new
to me and very interesting. The three marked with an O are,
I think, glorious, the beauty of the face so refined and noble.
Portraits of Eugene Beauharnais are not common. He was
much nicer than any of Napoleon's own family, and much more
loyally devoted to him. He married the King of Bavaria's
daughter, and they were very happy, though she had hated
being forced to accept him.
After a very hot day it is a lovely evening, with salmon-
coloured mountains, that no Alpinist will ever climb, hanging
1 58 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
in a turquoise green-blue sky. After coming in from the
hospital for tea I resolved to forgo a walk in the park and
tackle neglected correspondence, which I have been doing,
seated in one of my open windows, whither I have dragged
my table. Some French soldiers are working in the garden.
They never seem to make their geranium-coloured trousers
dirty !
Yesterday I went to see C in Paris, and we again went
on the lake in the Bois, and landed on a pretty island, where
we had tea. There was an " artist " painting near a brake of
rhododendrons. F insisted on our going to peep . . .
you never saw such an appalling mass of garish, absurd
colours, and no likeness to anything in heaven above or the
earth beneath. I fancy he would consider himself an " impres-
sionist," and he certainly conveyed a strong impression of
knowing worse than nothing about painting.
They say my dinner is ready, and after it I shall go to
bed early — it is 8.30 now; for last night I wrote letters till 2
in the morning, and have been very sleepy all day.
Good-night, my dearest darling, and know that many
times every hour I think of you, and beg Our Lord to nil my
place at your side while I am away, and of His Mother to
have you ever in her sweet and tender prayers.
At Mass I pray above all for you, and at every grace before
and after meals.
LETTER No. 144.
B.E.F.
June 7, 1915 (Monday, loa.m.).
The letter you ask about duly arrived, and also the minia-
ture, which travelled in perfect safety and without undue
fatigue. You look quite at home on my wall here.
I send another batch of portrait-cards, including a couple
of bad hats, two Dukes of Orleans : one the Regent, the other
Philippe Egalite.
I had a funeral this morning at 7 o'clock, so had to be up
early; I was glad they fixed it for that early hour, for the
heat is blazing. Saturday, yesterday, and to-day have all
been hot, but each much hotter than the day before. All the
same I have not suffered from it, which shows that I am all
right in health ; I suffered so much before because I was run
down and weak.
The procession at the convent yesterday afternoon was very
pretty and touching, the park lovely. There were crowds of
wounded French soldiers, and some of ours. Everyone, on
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 159
coming away, received one of these little prayers and medals,
so I send you mine.
This is a mere scrap of a letter, but I want to get round to
the hospital and put in a good day's work.
LETTER No. 145.
B.E.F.
June 8, 1915 (Tuesday, 7 a.m.}.
I wonder if chez vous the heat is amazing as it is here; if
so, I trust that you have at least a breeze to freshen it. It is
regular volcanic heat, and I am sure there has been a huge
volcanic dislocation somewhere. All Saturday, Sunday, and
Monday the air was filled with a sort of haze that might bd
volcanic dust. All the same, I do not feel this batch of heat
(which is much worse) as I felt the last.
Yesterday was a quiet day, and I was at work all the time
in the hospital, where it was really cooler than outside, so
virtue was its own reward. A lot of the men were going off
to England late at night, and I had " Good-byes " to say : the
men are always going and coming here.
I often praise French things to you, but one thing they
dorit understand, and that is ink ! I have never got hold of
a decent ink here. It is always dirty a few days after you
begin using it, clogging the pen, and, besides, its colour is
very poor, seldom really black, but a poor brown. Nor is
their stationery as good as ours — in fact, all the best comes
from England.
This is a miserable apology for a letter; but yesterday I
saw no one (except the patients), and my brain is reduced to
melted butter by the heat. I sleep with two windows and two
doors wide open, but still it is too hot with one thin cotton
blanket and a sheet.
I'm glad the anecdote about the editor and editress made
you cackle. Here is another (different) anecdote, which made
F laugh.
A dear little boy of ten or so was bothering me a few days
ago to give him a medal.
" No," I said ; " don't be greedy. I have given you one."
" Then, a little cross."
" No. I gave you one three weeks ago."
" Oh, but this time it is for my father ; he is at home. He
has come home badly wounded ... a little cross for him."
" No. But I am glad he is badly wounded . . ."
" Glad, Monseigneur !"
160 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
" Yes, very. He is very lucky to be badly wounded ; last
time you mentioned him he had been killed at the battle of the
Marne nine months ago. . . ."
Tableau : but boy quite undefeated.
LETTER No. 146.
B.E.F., June 8, 1915 (Tuesday evening}.
No mail to-day, so I got no letter from you. Almost every
day I do get one : you are quite splendid about writing.
To-day has had three climates ! It began intolerably hot ;
about eleven turned cloudy, windy, and comparatively cool;
about 2 p.m. got hotter than ever; and about 7 turned com-
pletely cool again ! And the French have the " neck," as
soldiers call it, to talk of the inconsistency of our climate.
To-morrow F and I lunch with Lady Austin-Lee, and
go on to tea with the Duchess of Bassano, with whom also
we lunch on Saturday. ...
I forgot to thank you for sending the slip about old Lady
C . I can't honestly say that I think the world will lose
anything by her leaving it, nor do I think that she was at all
good-natured, if you mean 'amiable ; on the contrary, she was
full of spite.
Our old friend Miss Charlton (who only knew her by hear-
say) once said a very true thing about her : " If she had only
been of shaky morality she would have been forgiven, but
she was bad form as well." And so she was — appalling. She
would say things so indecent that a footman would have been
ashamed to utter them to another footman. I certainly never
did, or could, repeat them to you ; and, indeed, I have always
been rather ashamed of my visit to .
Our hospital is three-quarters empty for the moment : we
sent so many to England to-day ; but no doubt it will fill
up again all too soon.
I wonder if you are having this stewing weather? I hope
not, for it is enough to knock the strongest person up. Per-
sonally, I feel like a stewed rabbit.
Ever since I began this letter (I have dined since) the
weather has changed again, and it is stifling. One hour I have
to wear my thick Norfolk jacket with a waistcoat; the next a
thin Alpaca coat and — Monsignor under it. The Alpaca coat
was in rags, but the French are splendid menders and it is as
good as new. I send my socks (with holes as big as five-
shilling bits in them), and they come back quite new.
Though I grumble so about the heat (which is really as bad
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 161
as Malta), I don't feel it badly this time — that is, it does not
knock me over or make me feel weary; only healthily cross.
F , who doesn't know what "cross" means, is extremely
puzzled when I am in a bad humour; he looks at me with
gentle, troubled eyes, like a dog whom one has told to " get
out." I am really so ashamed that it is teaching me to be less
cross. It is a wonderful gift, that gentle sweetness of dis-
position.
I am all of your opinion as to Pendennis — an intolerable
prig. (The rain is coming down in buckets, Dieu merci?)
Laura was much too good for him — indeed, the best of
Thackeray's heroines, most of whom are nincompoops ! Still,
Thackeray is always worth reading, and I'm glad you are
doing it. ...
There is one very nice officer (doctor) here called Chavasse,
whom I knew up at the front, and I am so troubled about him ;
he cut his finger deeply the other day while operating on a
gangrene case, and he went straight and had the flesh of the
finger cut away, but it is not in a good way. Say a prayer for
him.
Now I'm going to my bed, and so good-night, and may
" sweet dreams attend you," as young Agnes Meredith used to
say to me. . . .
Well, once more, good-night.
LETTER No. 147.
B:E.F.
June 10, 1915 (Thursday afternoon, 4.30).
Your letter of Monday only arrived to-day, on the third
day; one or two recent ones have arrived on the second day,
but perhaps they caught the midday post, and this last letter
only caught the evening post.
It is only 4.30, but I have no intention of going out again ;
there is a thunder-storm going on, very black sky, with tall
grey clouds standing slowly across it, tons of rain falling ; the
lightning mostly rather distant.
So I shall stop here in my room, and write letters at my
window, while the garden outside gulps down the rain.
To go back to yesterday : at 12 I caught the electric railway
to Paris, and, lo, there was another big thunder-storm going
on. (I should think the Eiffel Tower is lightning conductor
enough for all Paris.)
The rain had stopped when I reached the station called
Pont de 1'Alma, where F was waiting for me. It is on
1 62 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
the left bank of the Seine, and Lady Austin-Lee's house is in
the Avenue du Trocadero, just on the other side; so we
crossed the bridge, and as soon as we got the other side it
came down again in torrents, and we had to get into a taxi —
to go about 100 yards ! It was a very pleasant luncheon-
party, though Sir Henry, whom I like immensely, was over
in London. We were six : our hostess ; a very nice American
friend of hers, Comtesse d'Osmoy, about thirty or thirty-two ;
a young Englishman called Gunnis, a very nice Captain
O'Conor, who talks French absolutely like a Frenchman;
and F and F . . . .
Let us hope this thunder-storm, the longest and best we
have had, will really cool us down again. Do you remember
how I used to be upset by thunder-storms ? They made me
quite ill, and utterly miserable. I'm glad to say that has
quite gone, and I am no longer upset by them.
That MS., " The Sacristans," that you sent to me I admin-
istered to the Catholic World of New York. . . .
I assure you I am quite delighted that you like these
portraits, and a few years ago one could not have got them.
If you have not already got your portrait album, let me find
you one here or in Paris ; they are cheap and nice here. . . .
Yes, Josephine was sacrificed to Napoleon's ambition ; but it
is fair to remember that she had never cared much about him,
and she was the only human being he ever loved. During
his earlier wars he was writing to her almost incessantly, and
always thinking of her, while she was thinking of nothing
but dress, gaieties, and gallantries. . . . He forgave her, but
ever afterwards he had a sort of cynical tolerance for her.
Also, it is fair to remember that their marriage was no
marriage at all in the religious sense — a mere civil contract
during the " Convention," when religious marriage was not the
fashion. And I do not think it was at all the loss of him, that
Josephine minded, but the loss of her seat on his throne. She
did not do badly : he secured to her her title of Empress and
;£ 1 00,000 a year pin-money, with a palace.
The French (all except the Imperial family, who had always
detested her) disliked the divorce because they hated Austria,
and the new Empress, Marie Louise, was niece of Marie
Antoinette; also because they all thought Josephine was the
Emperor's '-porte-bonheur, or mascot, as we call it — a word
never used by the French. And certainly Marie Louise was
as void of "charm " as Josephine was full of it.
This afternoon I went for a stroll in the Little Trianon,
where it was cool and shady ; I have had much less time lately
for these walks, but going less often makes them all the
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 163
fresher, as each time one sees changes in trees, flowers, and
shrubs. There were hardly any people there, and it was very
quiet and peaceful, the lilacs, azaleas, rhododendrons, all out
in blossom. The swans on the lake have all got a couple of
little swanlets, white as yet, to grow into ugly grey cygnets
later on.
The birds, which used to be all singing when I came, keep
quiet now, busied about household matters ; like other matrons,
they lay aside their youthful accomplishments when they have
a nursery to think of.
I saw some very small fly-catchers tackling very large butter-
flies.
With best love to Christie and Alice.
LETTER No. 148.
B.E.F.
June 17, 1915 (Thursday evening).
I am only beginning this letter now, because F is in
the room, at present very quiet (arranging medals I have
given him to give away again), but how long he will remain
quiet I do not know ! If I told him to stay quiet he would be
as obedient as a little dog, but I do not want to try his patience
too far.
I must explain that we have very jew patients, and so I am
enjoying a sort of short holiday.
F came to luncheon, and afterwards we drove — a most
charming drive — to Marly, St. Germains, Maintenon, etc. I
cannot say how much I enjoyed it or how much good it did
me. It "changed my mind," and it is always a delight to
me to find myself in the real country. Versailles is charming,
and the parks glorious, but it is far from being country.
We drove first through a part of the Versailles park, then
got at once into real but very richly cultivated country, with
a few charming old-fashioned villages. Then by the very
pretty, rustic, and richly wooded estate of Maintenon, bought
by the "Widow Scarron," which (being an old feudal
property) gave her the title of Marquise — the only one she
ever held. For, being the King's wife, she would accept no
title but that of Queen from him, and that one he swore (on
the night of his marriage), to the Archbishop of Paris, never
to accord to her.
Maintenon is very calm and sweet, and I wonder if the
poor lady, during her thirty-two years of unqueened wifehood
164 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
to the most selfish old man on earth, ever wished she were
simply Marquise de Maintenon and nothing more.
Then we got into the Marly forest, and soon reached Marly
village. The chateau and wonderful gardens built and laid
out by Louis XIV. are all gone. But it is still a fascinating
place, with quaint but lively old streets winding down very
steep hills, with marvellous views of the wide champagne
country, like a wide sea.
Then we came to St. Germains, a sort of ancient Windsor
all clustered round the splendid chateau, much older, of course,
than the chateau here, dating, in fact, from Francois I. ; one
side right on the town, the other on the park, with immense
views. ... In the church (of the town, just opposite the
castle, not the castle chapel) I visited the original tomb of
James II., who died in the chateau. Afterwards his body was
removed to the chapel of the Irish College in Paris.
Then we drove home by another road, by the Seine, very
pretty, but less country and empty than the way we went by.
So home here to tea.
I should never have been happy without seeing St. Germains,
and it is hard to get at from here by train. So I saw it very
pleasantly, in a comfortable motor, and on a lovely day of sun
and breeze.
You know that Louis XIII. and Louis XIV. had always
made St. Germains their country house, till the latter built
Versailles ; he never went back there, and gave it to the
English Royal family with a very noble pension, sufficient to
enable them to maintain their Court there. Louis XIV. never
neglected them, but treated them always with affectionate
attention and respect, never during all those years omitting
to go and visit them twice each week. I am no fervent
admirer of the Roi Soleil, but he was really a gentleman in his
treatment of his brother-King in adversity.
Well, my dear, there is no more to tell you. It has been
a pleasant, happy day, but very simple and quiet.
I wished that I had a camera; there were so many pictur-
esque groups of French soldiers along the road, such as no one
ever dreams of photographing.
Ah, dear ! You ask me when I shall come home. Perhaps
you think, sometimes, that I am so comfortable here that I do
not much mind how long I may have to stop. But the truth
is, I dare scarcely think of the day of release and the real
going home, for the home-sickness it gives me. . . . Yes, it
is funny your having to receive your news of Winterbourne
village from France. . . .
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 165
LETTER No. 149.
B.E.F., June 18, 1915 (7 p.m.}.
I came in a couple of hours ago and found a letter from
Mme. Gorsse, the poor mother of the young French soldier I
told you of. I only met him once, but spent long hours with
him, and persuaded him to go to confession. Neither she nor
I had any news of him since the 8th of May, and I felt sure
he was killed ; she hoped he might only be wounded or a
prisoner. Now she sends me his last letter, written as he was
dying, and entrusted to a comrade. It is terribly pathetic ;
but the lad had his senses to the end, and wrote in full con-
sciousness o£ his approaching death : quite a long letter, full
of tenderness and love and thought for her. Is it not touch-
ing and wonderful that I, a stranger and foreigner who never
saw her, should be brought thus to share in her grief, and be
made by her a partner in it ? Her own letter is quite heart-
broken, and to answer it has been a terrible trial; I had to
answer at once or I could not have done it at all. Poor
woman, she has one consolation that comes of her own charity,
which never fails to bring us help . . . poor widow as she
was, she adopted a little orphan girl, and now she says the
tenderness and love of this girl is beyond all price. Now,
dear, I will talk of things not sad ; but I had to tell you ; I
know your prayers will go up to Our Lord for this desolate
widow.
When I came in it was from visiting old General de
Chalain, who lives far away at the other end of Versailles.
I had owed him a visit a long while. He was in, and kept
me waiting while he tidied up, so I studied the drawing-room.
There are plenty of good old pictures, some good miniatures,
a few bits of fine and beautiful old furniture, but the whole
room a howling wilderness ! Very few French people under-
stand how to make a room look human ; they have hardly any
taste that way, and often they do not inhabit their best rooms.
He is a good old fellow, very pious and courteous, and I
like him. The ladies never show . . . his sons are at the
front, and seem to have as many legs as centipedes to judge
by the number he reports them as having recently lost, each
time I see him. Also, he has tons of nephews who get killed
repeatedly— again to judge by the way he represents half a
dozen as having been killed since my last visit. But he seems
quite as much upset, and more, by the bursting of a water-
pipe in the hall " yesterday " : it had burst " the day before
yesterday " when last I was there.
i66 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
The aviator Warneforde, who destroyed the German
Zeppelin the other day, and got the V.C. direct from the
King, was killed here last night while giving a display of
aviation. They say he was very careless.
I got your letter of Tuesday this morning, and it is always
a delight to me to get them.
Ihope the cooler weather we are having has visited you too.
I am quite warmly clad this evening, and do not find it a bit
too hot.
My room is full of roses, and so is the garden ; the soldiers'
red "pantaloons" show up among the bushes, as they work,
like gigantic masses of bloom ! They are very good workers,
and seem to enjoy it; I wonder what they think of all the
while. Sometimes I ask, and they say, "A la mort de Louis
Seize," which is the French phrase for "I'm not thinking of
anything much."
As to my coming on leave, I doubt if I could get it, and
should (if I did) have to regularly give up this post first and
wait till my "relief" arrived. At the end of leave I should
probably be sent back to the front, which I should like and
you wouldn't !
I am glad I gave you some new lights on the Empress
Josephine ; no one who has read his letters can doubt that her
husband adored her — till he found out. He never loved any-
one else, though he was always a most devoted, respectful
son ; and old Madame Mere, excellent as she was, was as hard
as a tenpenny nail, a mine of sense, .and a good woman, but
not of the sort who care to be loved. Napoleon to the end
stood between Josephine and his family, who all detested
her — I mean, especially, the women. She had gracious and
dignified manners which they could never learn, and they
were always indignant at having to carry her train, on State
occasions, etc. At her coronation, Pauline tried, in carrying
it, to trip her up, and nearly succeeded !
I have some Natural History notes to send, from another
Country Life, but this letter is too fat for them. 7 am not
fat at all, as thin as an eel, which enables me to skip about
quicker. Lady Austin-Lee calls me the Boy Scout.
The French have a passion now for adopting parts of our
uniform, and I live in terror of F discarding his lovely
pale, soft, grey-blue uniform for bilious, mustardy khaki,
which will make him quite ghastly, with his colourless face.
I bought some brilliantine to soften my dry and rather stiff
hair, but it made it canary colour, so I have had to present
it to my servant : it took furious washings to get my hair
white again. The other brilliantine they offered me was a
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 167
Chartreuse-green, which I thought would be worse, though
patriotic.
The man who cuts my hair adores the English, and will
try to talk it ; all he can say is, " 'Ow you do ? Good-night."
The editor who used to lodge here calls repeatedly to ask
Mme. Beranek to give him three pieces of sugar : it must be a
good deal of trouble, as he lives two miles away; but he has
a sweet tooth, and his wife allows him no pocket-money. . . .
One of F 's stories is as follows : Long after his mother's
death he demanded of his widower father a little brother to
play with. " I don't keep them : it is Maman Rose " (the
village sage-femme}. " Where does she get them ?" " Out
of pumpkins."
So Master F — — trots off down the village, but Maman
Rose was out — conveying a pumpkin to some matron, no
doubt. However, her cottage was open, and, sure enough,
in her garden ivere lots of pumpkins, and F brought a
knife from the cottage and cut them all open. When he got
home, deeply disappointed, he asked C :
" Must they be ripe ?"
" Must what be ripe ?"
" The pumpkins. I cut them all open, but there was no little
brother in any of them."
It is ever so late, and I must go to bed. So good-night and
God bless you.
LETTER No. 150.
B.E.F., June 19, 1915 (Saturday night}.
Your letter of Thursday morning was in my hands at break-
fast this morning, Saturday, only forty-eight hours after you
were writing it. Excellent, eh ? My letters are mostly written
at night, and do not leave Versailles till the following night,
so they must always seem longer on the way.
I knew you would be grieved to hear of my little French
soldier's death, now, alas ! placed beyond all doubt. He also
is Francois, like myself. ... I myself have no misgivings
as to the lot of either of those martyr-lads for duty and for
country. They are with the martyrs' King and tender Master.
F — - came in this afternoon, and stayed to dinner (so
I ate about three times what I do alone ! ). He was very
interesting ; there is a harmonium in this room, and he played
upon it old country songs of his far-away province — Franche
Comte — and crooned the old words of them : they are wonder-
fully tender, sweet, and pathetic, with a perfect simple pathos.
I beg him to make a collection of them, music, words, and all.
1 68 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
The love-songs of these peasants are as pure and wmte as tne
songs of little children; and the loveliest of all was a love-
song of two old-folks, grandparents, crooned to each other by
the winter fire of the home whence children and grandchildren
have gone forth to the battlefield, to the altar, or to the church-
yard. The highest heights of pathos are touched in words
the simplest and most homely : no sentiment, only the ever-
lasting realities of human life. . . .
Do not think I have any melancholy fears or forebodings.
I have none. I am sure that Our Lord will give us back to
each other, and that we shall have long, happy days together
soon. ... I am so glad that my little account of the Duchess
of Bassano's many interesting possessions interested you too.
You will never grow old, for you will never lose your interest
in the thousand things that make life so varied : whether they
be the fringes on the lovely robe of spring and summer, winter
and autumn, or the little links that make up the inner chain
of history.
Is it not sickening to see the hypocrisy of the German
Emperor, pretending to be hurt in his crooked soul at the
deaths of the innocent women and children at Karlsruhe ?
God knows, I pity them : but he! — he, who has showered
honours and decorations on men for doing nothing else but
send to their death innocent women, and babies, and harm-
less village-folk, and helpless travellers ! I knew he was a
cad and a butcher, but I did not think he was a smug and
barefaced hypocrite. . . .
Little Italy is doing finely, and I am delighted; her spirit
is as good as anyone's, and brings new and eager blood into
our side.
I am off to bed ; after the immense budget I sent you to-day,
you can do with a shorter letter to-night.
Best love to Christie and Alice.
LETTER No. 151.
B.E.F., ]une 20, 1915 (Sunday evening, 8 p.m.}.
Here I am writing at my open window (there are two); it
has been a delightful day, fresh, cool, and vigorous, though
sunny and clear.
After luncheon F and I went for another little excur-
sion, and this time we took his godmother with us. It was not
a very distant one, and did not take long, to Malmaison, the
Empress Josephine's villa; it really is not a palace in any
sense, merely a good-sized country house. . . . The rooms
are not by any means large, but look comfortable, and the
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 169
furniture is excellent. In the hall is the miserable little camp-
bed that Napoleon I. used at St. Helena, rather a sad relic, and
a large picture of his death there, over it. On the other side
of the hall is one of his thrones — a sharp contrast. I need not
remind you that it was at Malmaison that Josephine received,
from the mouth of her son Eugene, the news that the divorce
was really decided upon. One of the cards I send shows a
facsimile of her letter " accepting " the divorce — there was a
terrible scene first, before she wrote it.
I was lucky enough to find at Malmaison cards illustrating
two of the Duchess of Bassano's pictures — i.e., the portrait of
the King of Rome by Sir Thomas Lawrence, and the portrait
of his father (as First Consul) begun by David.
The little boy is utterly charming. Some other Bonaparte
portraits pretty well complete the family. The one of
Napoleon III. is better than the only one I could find for you
here at Versailles. Also, I found there a card of Delaroche's
superb portrait of Napoleon I.
There are many portraits at Malmaison of Josephine .and
of the Emperor, and busts too. The odd thing is that some of
the busts of the Empress are like Queen Mary. . . .
There are some beautiful bits of tapestry, not large, and
plenty of Aubusson tapestry covering furniture ; it is priceless,
and very delicate and lovely, but not tapestry at all in the
strict sense, because it is needlework, and true tapestry is
woven on the loom, e.g., that of Arras, Gobelins, etc.
Josephine's harp is still there, a very beautiful one ; her work-
table, her card-table, her broidery-frame (very splendid and
exquisite workmanship), Napoleon's study, writing-table, etc.
It was at Malmaison that the Bonapartes used to be all
together en famille even after the Empire had been proclaimed.
(Josephine bought the little estate and built the house in 1798 ;
it had been a small Cluniac abbey.)
Of course, it was much too small for the Bonaparte crowd
to sleep there; but even when the Imperial Court was at the
Tuileries (after he had changed the Consulate into the Empire),
he encouraged Josephine to dine there almost every day in the
week — every day when there was not a State dinner or a State
reception at the Tuileries ; and he came himself, and expected
all the brothers, sisters, brothers-in-law, and sisters-in-law, to
dine there too. There were plenty of bickerings, and some of
the sisters only went because they durst not stay away. It
was there that they all fell to squabbling about the kingdoms
they wanted, and Napoleon said : " To hear you, one would
suppose it was a question of dividing the inheritance of the
late King our father."
i;o JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
It is odd to stand in those rooms and picture it all : to
remember how often they echoed the shrill squabbles of Elise
and Pauline and Caroline, the stern voice of the Emperor re-
ducing them all to reason and obedience. After Waterloo he
came back for one last look at the place : Josephine was dead —
had died there on the 2Qth May in the year before Waterloo —
Marie Louise had deserted his fallen fortunes, his son was
taken from him, and St. Helena was waiting for him. Every-
thing was gone : only the memories remained. We stood
to-day in the shadowed alley where he stood, looking his last
good-byes.
It has none of the tragic interest, as it has none of the royal
grandeur, of Versailles and the Trianons; but it is more
homely, and one can see still how it was built, not by an
Empress, but by Citizen Bonaparte's wife, to be cheerful and
comfortable in, " out of her own money."
After the divorce the Empress lived there very quietly, and
pleased everyone by her simple acceptance of her fallen state.
She adored flowers and rare plants, and spent her hours in
gardening. She was there when the Allies entered Paris the
first time, to stuff old Louis XVIII.'s fat figure back on the
throne of the Bourbons, and it was there that the Russian
Emperor Alexander insisted on paying his respects to her, to
the annoyance of some of his meaner brother-Sovereigns.
When the Allies came again, after Waterloo, she was dead.
It is very odd, the contrast between the Little Trianon and
Malmaison : the former so lovely and so haunted by the
terrible pathos of Marie Antoinette's story; the latter very
charming and full of singular interest, but somehow quite
missing pathos. Of course, Josephine was only divorced, and
never had her selfish head cut off ; she never had any martyr-
days, and she had never had half an ounce of religion. Still,
I would not have missed seeing Malmaison for anything — if
only to make me admire and love the Trianons more. I
wonder if my Versailles days are drawing to an end ? The
rumours of our all moving to Calais are revived, and perhaps
that is the explanation of the emptying of our hospital. I
should like Calais, as being so near England. However, we
know nothing.
Well, it is bedtime again (dinner has come in between ths
beginning and the ending of this letter).
There was no letter from you to-day, only one from —
in which he says you gave him an "Albumen." ... I hope it
doesn't mean you have taken to shying rotten eggs at him,
as if he were an old-fashioned election. He has "halso 'ad
some anxusty on accounce of" his mother, who "'as not been
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER i;i
well." You, however, are, he says, "quiet well and Boney,"
and the garden " all wright thoghu suffreign from droughts."
I really must stop or I shall be too sleepy to undress, and my
spelling will go the way of B . So good-night.
LETTER No. 152.
B.E.F., June 21, 1915.
For some reason best known to itself, our post only arrived
late this evening, instead of at 7 a.m. Tuesday.
That is all I wrote last night ! Then I was called to dinner.
Afterwards I tried to go on, but simply could not, I was so
sleepy. So I gave it up as a bad job.
All day yesterday I was sleepy, and tired too. The weather,
so fresh and delightful on Sunday, had turned electric, burning,
close, heavy and stifling, and so it is going to be to-day. To^
day the insupportable feeling of fatigue has come back, but as
it comes with the weather, so it will go with it, and we are
plainly brewing up for a thunder-storm.
F spent all yesterday with me : very sweet, very quiet,
and quite cheerful, though grave ; but alas, alas ! I fear his young
life will be asked of him. The wounds even externally are not
all healed yet; but heart, lungs, and other organs are injured
internally, and I think the doctors do not believe they can be
cured. He is in no present danger, but I fear his life will
be very, very short ; we barely talk of it, but we must both of us
be thinking of it. To-day he has gone back to hospital : not
to Paris, but to the French Garrison hospital here, and only
for ten days or so, when he hopes to get a " convalescence " of a
month, in which case Mme. Muttin would take him away to
the seaside.
I got two letters from you this morning, Friday's and
Saturday's, both short, but both quite cheery and satisfac-
tory. ... I wonder, if we are going to shift to near Calais !
No one knows, though we all rather suspect it. I should like
the old Dieppe feeling that it was only a step across the water
to you ; and of course Calais is the nearest point in France to
England, really in sight.
You needn't be afraid of my going up in an aeroplane; it
is strictly forbidden to French pilots to take up a passenger,
and we have no English machines in these regions.
I have not been to Paris since F left it, and except to
go and pay digestive visits to Duchess of Bassano and Lady
A.-L.; I don't see what's to take me there. So I am not
likely to be in at the Zeppelin visit from Germany.
I must sally forth to the hospital.
I72 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 153.
B.E.F., June, 1915.
Your letter arrived this morning, begun when Alice had just
arrived. I am so glad she is back with you, and I am sure her
being there for a bit will cheer you both up, and do you good,
like a little change of air.
Strawberries have been going on here a long time, but I did
not tell you — 'i) because you like them and I did not want to
make you envious; (2) because I don't, and I have hardly
touched any.
Yesterday F — - met me at the Pont de 1'Alma Station,
and we went on directly to the Duchess of Bassano's. In the
train I gave him your gift, with which he was delighted, and
your letter, which I had to translate . . . the passages about
myself were a trial to my modesty, but I did not mince them,
as I hate mince.
By the way, I had nothing on earth to do with his conver-
sion, and he was a Catholic before he knew of my existence.
The Duchess and her unmarried daughter, Mile, de Bassano,
the one who is Lady-in-waiting to Princess Napoleon, made up
our party of four. I like them both. . . .
The house is very nice and full of interesting things, espe-
cially of splendid miniatures — a wonderfully interesting and
precious group of them, mounted together, given to the first
Duke of Bassano; all the potentates of that time and all the
Bonapartes, male and female; tivo of Jerome, very fine, and
also very handsome.
Besides there is an extremely interesting portrait, merely
begun (not a miniature, a large portrait in oils), of Napoleon
I., by David, when Napoleon was First Consul, young and
beautiful, for which he only sat ten minutes ! — all the figure
left unpainted. Besides, a most beautiful original portrait in
oils of the little King of Rome, as a child of five or six; this
by Sir Thomas Lawrence. Then splendid full-lengths in oils
of the first Duke and Duchess of Bassano ; she very beautiful,
but with a queer suggestion of Josephine, who never was
beautiful. Then splendid full-lengths of the Duke and
Duchess, who were Maitre du Palais and Grande Maitresse
du Palais to Napoleon III. and the Empress Eugenie . . . and
tons of other interesting things : exquisite china, a glorious
dinner-service of Sevres, made for the first Duke to Napoleon's
order, and his gift to him. It was a very pleasant as well
as a very interesting visit.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 173
To-day has been much cooler, because there is a fussy wind
that blows all my papers about the room. . . .
Again this afternoon I went for a stroll in the Little Trianon ;
but crowds of Sunday folk, and I did not stay long-.
Poor dear McCurry's mother has shown her gratitude for
my affection towards her poor lad by making and sending me
two large cakes ! I could not help smiling as I undid the
parcel, but it was a very wistful smile. Poor, poor lady . . .
oddly enough, the gift brought him specially to my memory,
for I remember so well how he used to receive her cakes up at
the front, and would always bring the first piece to me. . . .
I must write to her, which I will do as soon as I have dined,
which I am just going to do.
Ah, dear ! I have another poor mother to console. One
day, the first day I went to Paris, two months ago nearly, I
made friends with a young Chasseur, who told me he was
leaving next day for the front. He told me he had been wild,
and I asked him if he would not go to confession before
starting. He said "No"; but he wrote from the front and
said : " You, dear friend of a spring afternoon, will be glad
to know I have done what you asked. I have been to con-
fession and Holy Communion, and persuaded others to do
so. . . ." He had told me all about his home life; he lived
alone at home with his widowed mother, who has no other
boy or girl, and, in spite of his wildness, was tender and
loving to her.
He begged me to send him crucifixes and medals, which 1
did — but, alas ! they never reached him. They arrived after
he was killed. Oh, my dear, you cannot think how it hurt
me, though we only met that once. And his poor mother
writes to me so pathetically of the great love the lad had for
his English friend seen that once. I had sent him little things,
a few shirts, socks, chocolates, cigarettes, tinned potted meats,
etc., as I do to many others.
It is a perfect anguish to me to write to these mothers, but
it would be a selfishness beyond my depth not to.
Pray for her.
LETTER No. 154.
B.E.F., June 23 (Wednesday}.
Your letter written on Sunday arrived to-day, also one
from enquiring about a man who was in our hospital for
twenty-four hours five weeks go. Fortunately, I could trace
him, and found out he had uncommon little the matter with
174 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
him. However, he seems to have frightened his wife by tragic
ideas of gas-poisoning. His real disorder was a swelling on a
region that I would, if Alice were a Frenchwoman, plainly
explain, and neither she nor I would be a penny the worse ;
but as she is English, or rather Irish, I know she would drop
dead if I were to mention a part of the human frame that the
Almighty had the indiscretion to create, and I have prudently
mentioned that the swelling was " local."
We have just had the most helter-skelter rain-storm I ever
saw : tons of rain in a few minutes ; and last evening it
began to rain at 6 and went on all night — still, it is as stuffy
and muggy as ever.
I bought a tonic to-day, and it is so good I should like to
be lapping it up all the while.
You and I will never agree about the longest day ! I hate
summer, and am always glad to think that even the first step
towards winter has been taken. I suppose it is a question
of health, and I am worth ten times my summer value in
winter. I am quite curious to see the pocket-handkerchief
case you have made for Lady Austin-Lee ; I will go in to Paris
on purpose to administer it to her. . . .
This is a frightful letter, but the truth is I can scarcely write
I am so heavy and sleepy.
LETTER No. 155.
B.E.F., June 26, 1915 (Saturday night}.
I am almost quite well again ! The day has been thor-
oughly fresh and cool (a hot sun, of course), and perhaps that
has helped a good deal. Anyway, I am practically as well
as ever, and the weakness almost gone : that is perhaps partly
due to my excellent tonic. I have been out a good deal to-day,
which also did me good.
F turned up about n, and we went off to the park,
and walked up to the chateau, where I showed F the
chapel, the Queen's apartments (with all their glorious
tapestries), the Galerie de Glaces, and the immense Galeries
de Batailles. He really enjoyed it immensely, though he is
not in the least a sightseer (like me) by nature. It is always
rather a joke with the French that the English are such furious
sightseers.
We have heard no more of our move, and having received
new convoys of wounded makes it less likely. . . .
Excuse a brief and very dull letter. My head feels woolly »
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 175
LETTER No. 156.
B.E.F., July i, 1915 (Thursday evening, 7 p.m.').
I send you a whole bundle of cards. When I was at the
front I remember describing to you the great Castle of Pierre-
fonds, which we passed on a blazing day of late August or
early September, and I have, ever since, been trying to get
cards of it. It belongs to the Empress Eugenie, and was
bought for her by Napoleon III., who restored it, for it was
quite ruinous. It is perhaps the most magnificent of all the
ancient feudal castles of France. The Empress, when she
travels, always calls herself Comtesse de Pierrefonds, just as
old Queen Victoria's incognito title was Countess of Balmoral.
I hope you will admire the cards; they really give a good
idea of the vast and imposing character of the castle, as of
its beauty ; they only fail to give (on account of their smallness)
the idea of the magnificent situation, towering up above the
town and above a billowy forest country.
I went in to Paris and lunched with Lady Austin-Lee and
Sir Henry; there was no one else, and Lady A.-L. was very
nice. She is thoroughly pleased with your gift, and praised
its beauty and its wonderful workmanship.
Tell Christie that Sir H.'s brother, who died suddenly last
year, was for many years Rector of Guernsey, and I am sure
she knew him. Sir Henry owns a little island, called Jethou,
that I remember very well, just opposite St. Peter Port at
Guernsey, and he remembers well the maisonnette where
Christie lived ; his own sisters lived in a house close to it.
We keep getting new batches of wounded in, so the talk of
our all moving off to Calais has died out again.
Among the wounded I was chatting with to-day was a young
Jew ! One very rarely comes across Jews in the Army ; and as
there is no Hebrew Chaplain here, I thought this lad might
like to be talked to, and so he did. He is very well educated,
of the upper middle class, his mother, a widow, living in Hamp-
stead. I asked him if he was a good Jew, and he said, " No,
I'm afraid not; but my mother is." He has only been out here
nine weeks, and has a bullet through his thigh. I asked him
what he disliked most in the trenches, and he said, " The flies."
Can't you imagine them ?
In the next bed was a Canadian, one of my own chickens
(rather past the spring-chicken stage, being forty-four years
old). After giving him Prayer-Books, rosaries, etc., he asked
my name, and I told him. " Oh, I know it well," he said, " and
often read your books. You're John Ayscough."
i;6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
While I was out to-day, someone called, and Mme. Beranek
said it was a Mrs. Hong Ding- Dong. I fancied some Chinese
lady must have called, but when I found the cards they were
those of a Mr. and Mrs. Hunting-ton : some relations, I suppose,
of Constant Huntington, the American publisher. A very old
lady, Mme. Beranek says. I asked if the lady was English,
and she said : " Quite the contrary. Entirely American."
I showed the Duchess of Bassano your miniature, and she
heaped compliments on your head.
I think I must go to bed. This is an uncommonly drivelling
letter, and I should advise you to read it if you feel unable
to sleep ; it ought to act like magic. Everyone else is in bed,
and the blameless snores of M. Beranek through the house
protest against the use of lamp-oil at this late hour.
So good -night, and God bless you all.
LETTER No. 157.
B.E.F., July 3, 1915 (Saturday evening}.
I was talking to one of my men in hospital, and the man
in the next bed, when I got up to go on to someone else, said :
" Good-afternoon, Father."
"I didn't know you were a Catholic."
"Well, I'm not, but I ought to be. My father and mother
were ; but they died, and I was brought up by my granny in
Wales, and there was no Catholic church, and I went to a
Protestant church and school."
" The first recollections I have," said I, " are of Wales. I
went there at about two years old and left it when I was five or
six. Llangollen was the name of the little place where we
lived."
" And that was where I lived."
Wasn't it odd ? And we had great talks : about the Dee,
and the Barber's Hill, Dhinas Bran (sic?\ the Eghosygs
(sic??\ Valle Crucis Abbey, the Chain Bridge, etc. But what
seemed to me most odd was he knew quite well the house
where the Stewarts lived, and says that two Miss Stewarts
live there still : our old friends Grace and Jessie, I suppose.
He called the house by its name (long forgotten by me), and
I recognized it at once, but it has again slipped away out of
my head ; I will ask him again to-morrow and write it down.
I had another chat with my young Jew, and asked him
what they gave him for breakfast — the usual thing is a very
large hunk of bread-and-butter with excellent bacon.
"Oh," he said, laughing, "I have got uncommonly fond
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 17;
of bacon; and if Moses saw our clean-fed English bacon he
wouldn't mind."
I'm afraid he's not a very correct Jew, for he says synagogue
bores him frightfully, as it is all in Hebrew, of which he doesn't
understand a syllable.
I'm so glad you got out in the bath-chair and enjoyed it.
I tried to picture the plain, and almost failed; I've seen so
much France lately, and it is so different. But I don't care
for France a bit, much as I love the French. I love England, and
our plain, quite apart from any affection I have for people
there. Versailles is a charming place, but I've no more
affection for it than the first day I saw it.
Of course, "Orley Farm," which you are reading, belongs
only to Trollope's second group, but as a novel I think it
ranks fairly high in that lower grade.
It is bedtime, and when I go early to bed I sleep ; if I sit up
late, I lie awake for hours.
Give my best love to Christie and Alice, and tell them how
I should like to be where they are.
LETTER No. 158.
B.E.F., July 5, 1915 (Monday}.
Yesterday I had to attend a " Kermesse " for the hospitals ;
it was at Chaville, a few miles out of Versailles, in a pretty
place. The heat was amazing ; one felt like a hot-water melon
in a cucumber-frame, and the crowd didn't make it any cooler.
The prices were all exorbitant, just as in an English bazaar,
whereas at Countess Missiessy's "Kermesse" they were most
moderate. My soldier servant observed grimly, "You can't
open your mouth here under three francs !" He is rather a
character; if I scold him for anything, he always has some
disease or pain which / have recently had, the argument
being, of course, " Come ! I pitied you when you had it. . . ."
On Saturday he walked off with the key of the chapel in the
hospital, and gave me a lot of trouble sending all over the
place for him. I began to "wash his head," and he said:
"Oh, I have such frightful dysentery, just like you had last
week !"
Yesterday he left all the electric light burning in the chapel,
in broad daylight ; when I expostulated, he said : " Oh, I
have such dreadful toothache — just like you had two months
ago !"
To return to the "Kermesse." Mme. Joffre, wife of the
i;8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Commander-in-Chief of the Allied Armies, was there, treated
with great pomp ; she was sitting close to me.
There was a concert, al fresco, and some very good things
at it. Two famous actors sang and recited, and another, less
famous, professional actor sang some very touching little war
things. It was all a sort of patter-song, but represented a
letter written by a child to his father, whom he supposes to
be still alive, in the trenches, begging him to come home
quick — everything so changed at home. " Maman wears ugly
black clothes, and only cries," and "the other children in the
street who play with me give me a new nickname, though
they won't say what it means — 'Orphan.'" A lady, Mme.
Thirard, sang seven or eight Old French songs, quite ex-
quisitely, her voice and training simply magnificent, though
she was not professional. My servant is clumping about, try-
ing to make me give him my letters, and nearly driving me
mad. His boots weigh hundredweights, and the noise they
make on this parquet is appalling. I must stop, or I shall
assassinate Rifleman Willcox with a nail-scissors.
LETTER No. 159.
B.E.F., Monday evening, 7 p.m.
I am going to fire off my letter to you, but without much
knowing what to put in it.
It is almost cold sitting at my window ; there has been a hot
enough sun all day, and when one was walking about one
did not fail to feel hot, but the wind is so strong and fresh
that after sitting still for a while it is almost more than cool.
So I am freshened up, though, as I have already remarked
several times, the recent goes of heat have never tired me like
the first, because my health is quite all right again.
This afternoon I had a long talk with a young wounded
Scotch officer — not a Catholic, but a Presbyterian, a son of
Lord Balfour of Burleigh. He was shot straight through
the head, just under the eyes, from one side of the cheek-bone
to the other; he seems doing well, but cannot use his eyes
much. He seemed glad to have me to talk to, and I stayed
over an hour with him. He was at Balliol, and is a man of
books and literature. It was rather funny; I had just before
been talking down in the wards to another young Scotsman,
a charming lad of eighteen, also Presbyterian, and I told
Mr. Balfour about him. " Do you know where he is from, and
his regiment?" he asked. "Yes, from Falkirk in Stirling-
shire, and he is in the Argylls." "Good gracious, Mon-
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 179
seigner!" Mr. Balfour exclaimed, "What an ear you must
have ! You answered me exactly in the Stirlingshire accent."
I told him that I found it much easier to talk in Scots
dialect than in Irish brogue, though I am half Irish, and have
never set foot in Scotland.
He is really nice, and clever too, and he won my heart by
praising my Royal Irish Rifles whom he had come across at
the front. He said they were quite charming, and, as a rule,
Scotsmen don't appreciate the Irish.
(Here's a young French soldier come to see me, so I must
finish after dinner.)
9.30 p.m. — He stayed till 8.45, then I dined and read, and
now back to my letter. I happened to read during my little
lonely meal the part of "David Copperfield" where his aunt
bids him be patient with "Little Blossom," and not try to
worry her into being something she could never be; oddly
enough, this pricked my own conscience about F . I am
always trying to make people have my own tastes, when, after
all, they only are tastes, and others have just as much right
to theirs. I am energetic, hating to be a moment without
definite occupation, eager to be reading, or writing, or learn-
ing something; and I think I have been tormenting him to
be the same, when it is not his nature, and when he, poor
child, is broken down in health and hope. Perhaps I have
half reproached him with causing me to be idle, when really
there is no idleness in helping and comforting one who is
lonely and needs help and comfort.
I feel sure that this lesson God has sent me, bidding me be
more patient, and learn from him, for the boy has a gentle
sweetness of heart that is far beyond me. He is never sharp
or sarcastic, never says a cutting thing to wound.
Well, to go on.
I have not thanked you for the dear little silk bag of
lavender, which I keep close to me, smelling of home and our
little quiet garden, and made by you for me. But you may
be sure I shall keep it, lovingly, till we meet.
Talking of my sharp tongue : it's a pity it does not grow
out of my heart instead of my mouth ! My heart is neither
cold, nor hard, nor bitter; but my tongue is, and it often
fiique, as they say here — "pique comme les moustiques." It
happens sometimes that I speak sharply because I am so sad.
I have suffered so many hurts during this agony of war. If
I were a coward, which I know I'm not, I should long ago
have said, " Never make a new friend : the war will hurt you
in him, kill him for you." But that meanness I do refuse, and
God sends me almost daily a new friend ; and, then, some day,
i8o JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
comes the news that one of these friends has been killed, and
it makes me so sore that all my heart is sore, and, to hide
tears, I speak with a quick sharpness. Oh, dear ! And all
the time I can be gentle, only it is more trouble ; as for poor
F , I know I could easily so wound him that he would
just give it all up, and despair of pleasing me. He does not
know how to " let fly " back or reproach. He is very shy and
sensitive.
When he was a tiny child his father was angry with him,
and said : " You had better go to your uncle. I don't want
you here." And he took it silently, seriously, and walked off,
not to his uncle's, because he was ashamed, but away in the
night into the mountains. It seemed to him impossible to
stay where he was not wanted. And at twenty-three he
would do much the same now.
Also, when he was tiny a cousin of his stole some money
from Baron C , and the Baron accused his son of it. " I
do not steal," was all he would say ; and his father beat him,
and he was broken-hearted to be thought capable of stealing.
But he would not explain, though he guessed. At last, after
days of disgrace and bread and water for him, his aunt, the
cousin's mother, herself found out who had stolen, and went to
his father and told him.
" I," said I, " should never have forgiven him ; not for the
beating, but for thinking me, his son, a thief."
" But," said F , " my father cried ; and it seemed fearful
to me that he should cry about me. Of course, I forgave him
in a minute. Only I was ashamed, because he begged my
forgiveness, and sons are not to pardon, but to be pardoned."
Well, it is bedtime, and I want to try and get to sleep early.
I always get up rather early, and when I sit up late I do not
soon get to sleep; when I go early to bed, I sleep almost at
once.
Give my best love to Alice and Christie; I have none to
give you, because you have had it all these fifty-seven years.
LETTER No. 160.
B.E.F., July 6, 1915 (evening}.
It was only this morning that I wrote to you, but I am
beginning again instead of waiting for to-morrow morning,
for the reason I have so often given you — that when I do put
it off till the morning I am constantly called away or in-
terrupted.
This morning I had barely finished writing to you when
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 181
F walked in, whom I had not expected to see to-day at
all. The doctor in charge of his hospital had invited us both
to luncheon, and he had come to march me off. The doctor's
name is de Grande Maison, whose son Richard de Grande
Maison I have known for some weeks.
So we lunched with Dr. de Grande Maison at a restaurant,
and got on very well, but I left most of the talking to them.
Sometimes I get fierce attacks of laziness, and don't feel
inclined to expose my queer French, or expose myself to
queerer English; then I fall into brilliant flashes of silence.
However, when we parted the doctor said I must come and
lunch with him " in the chest of his family."
Then F went home to his hospital, and I went to mine
to do a little work among the wounded and sick. The Llan-
gollen man has gone away, and I could not ask him to tell
me again the name of the Stewarts' house. Was it Aber-dy-
coed ? It was something like that, I'm sure.
A soldier who works in the garden here (one of the sixty
who sleep in the barn) has only one eye, and I asked him if
it was the Germans who had deprived him of the other. He
said, "No; he had lost it long ago, when he was a baby — a
wasp had stung it out !" I think that sounds almost worse
than a bullet.
Next Sunday there are going to be " Grandes Eaux " in the
park and gardens — that is to say, all the thousands of
fountains are going to play — for the first, and perhaps the
only, time during the war. It is a great sight, and if it isn't
too hot I shall certainly go and see it. Do you remember my
telling you about a young Scotsman whose accent I repro-
duced so well to young Balfour of Burleigh that he was rather
impressed by the excellence of my ear ? Well, he wasn't a
Catholic ; on the contrary, an excellent Presbyterian ! But
he wrote me such a dear little letter from Scotland to thank
me for my kindness, and to-day comes another — I sent him
one of those post-card portraits in uniform. " It was kind of you
to send it," he says, " and my ! it could be no liker you. I let
two of the chaps that were in Versailles see it, and we all love
it, because you were so kind and true. ..." I think that
" true " such a nice expression.
LETTER No. 161.
B.E.F., July 9, 1915 (Friday}, 2 p.m
I had again put off my letter to you till this morning, and
just as I was going to begin, before going round to the
hospital, a young French officer came to find me, sent by
1 82 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
that Colonel Comte du Manoir who was Commandant
d'Armes at Dieppe. My visitor is called Lieutenant
Tabourier, a very nice young fellow, extremely well bred,
but oh, so ill ! He has been invalided down from the
trenches, suffering from gastro-enteritis, and it is a chronic
sort that will keep him ill for ever so long. He looks like a
skeleton chicken, and is evidently so weak he can hardly
move about. It seems he can eat nothing, digest nothing, not
even milk.
However, he can talk, and did so for ever so long; he is
devoted to England and the English, and has been a good
deal in England. He is a little thing, as short as I am (only
much less of him), and he rather touched me ; he looked so
wistful as he spoke of his ruined health. He lives here with
his mother, who has taken a house here to be near another
soldier-son, in garrison here.
Yesterday afternoon I returned the call of the Ong-ding-
dongs, but saw no one; the maid said Madame was in, but
invisible. Their staircase smelt vehemently of cats.
Why do you spell Ayscough without the " y " — Ascough ?
I notice you always do, and it makes me laugh that you
shouldn't know your own son's name.
LETTER No. 162.
B.E.F.
July 12, 1915 (Monday morning).
A new lot of wounded and sick came in yesterday, but not
a very big lot — 280. There were very few Catholics among
them, the largest proportion being Presbyterians.
In the afternoon I went to the park to see the "Grandes
Eaux," but I thought the vast crowd more interesting than the
fountains. Of course there was no crowd, for no conceivable
number of people could crowd those vast gardens and terraces.
I should say there were at least 30,000 soldiers only, apart
from the civilians, and of these many were wounded. A
French crowd is not a bit like an English one; there is no
jostling or hustling, no horse-play or noise, and not a hint of
anyone the worse for drink.
The gardens looked charming, with immense numbers of
flowers blown out since my last visit to them.
After all, I did not stay very long ; it seems to me you can't
go on staring at fountains playing, and as for walking about
the park and gardens, I prefer doing that when they are
nearly empty. So I trotted home, had my tea, and went back
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 183
to do a little work in the hospital. Then back home, where
I began reading again George Meredith's "Ordeal of Richard
Feverel," which I had not read for twelve years.
Of course it is brilliant ; but it is restlessly so, uneasy, and
one feels as if the author, while telling his story, was letting
off fireworks round your head all the time. I will send it on
for you to read.
I think "Can You Forgive Her?" very good. What ex-
cellent characters old Lady Macleod, the old Squire, Kate
Vavasor, and Planty Pall are ! So, too, is Lady Glencora,
though (like you) I want to box her ears. And the minor
characters are excellent also — the Marchioness, Lady Auld
Reekie, the Miss Pallisers, Alice's father, Geoffrey Palliser —
all as good as possible; and Aunt Greenow perfect. The
great failure is Mr. Grey; he is terribly good, and I don't
wonder Alice didn't want to marry him, and be bottled up
with him and his housekeeper in Cambridgeshire. She ought
to have married Geoffrey Palliser. George Vavasor is appal-
ling, but all the same he is splendidly drawn — too well for
one's comfort ; he gives me the creeps even to read of.
Your letter of Friday came this morning; I am so glad you
are getting the high comb :- it shows you are interested in
your mantilla ! . . .
F — - being away makes me realize fully how awfully
tired I am of Versailles, and of being in France at all. I like
the French immensely, and love the French soldier, but oh !
I am home-sick ! You see, I am odd and only care to have
friends, and acquaintances bore me to extinction. And very
often French bores me. I long to talk in a language in which
I can talk; and I want my own things around me, our own
fields to look out on, my own roof over my head. Though I
must confess I like the French people much better than the
Wiltshire villager.
Now I must go to the hospital, and so good-bye.
LETTER No. 163.
B.E.F.
July 12, 1915 (Monday night}.
To-day it has been fresh, almost cool — i.e., the air has
really been cool, only the sun has been hot, and when one has
been moving about quickly one got hot enough — because, in
addition to the warm sun, the air here is always moist. I
should not care to live at Versailles at all, because I am sure
I should never feel energetic here, at least in summer. I really
1 84 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
don't know what I am going to make a letter out of; I have
done nothing, outside the routine of the hospital, and seen
nobody except the hospital staff and patients. I asked the
Matron, who is a very nice woman, what she thought of the
" Grandes Eaux " yesterday, and she was, like myself, a little
disappointed. I told her of a remark I overhead a French
soldier make, and she said it was extremely descriptive,
though not very refined ! I must tell you that I was standing
near the Fountain of Latona, the design of which resembles
an enormous wedding-cake. At the top, in the centre, is
Latona ; around the top tier are bronze frogs gilt, and around
the next tier bronze-gilt tortoises, around the next bronze-gilt
alligators. We were all waiting for the water to come gush-
ing and spouting out of all their open mouths. But instead
of beginning with a fierce gush it began with a slobbering
dribble. " Poor frogs," said the soldier ; " they are weak :
they can hardly be sick !" This morning I went for a little
turn in the gardens, and thought how much nicer they were
with not a soul in them. The flowers looked charming, and
the beds and borders are arranged with such taste and
simplicity.
On Thursday night young Vicomte de Missiessy is coming
to dinner, and I am dining with his people another night.
He is now a soldier, having become eighteen a month ago,
and is in a Dragoon regiment here. He is a very nice lad,
extremely well bred, as well as being nice-looking. Comtesse
de Missiessy is charming, of Mrs. Lawrence Drummond's
type, as I remember telling you. She is Belgian, but her
husband French. I shall ask Chavasse (of our hospital),
— , and young Lieutenant Tabourier to meet him.
Chavasse doesn't talk much French, and de Missiessy and
Tabourier both talk English. Chavasse is the officer who
blood-poisoned his finger some weeks ago. He is better, but
not well yet; it is funny his talking no French, for I suppose
he is French — at all events, Chavasse is a purely French name.
I see the Emperor William has announced that there will
be no winter campaign — i.e., that the war will be over before
the winter. I hope he will prove right, but it doesn't depend
on him, as he wants Germany to think.
. . . The nun who sends the St. Joseph's Lilies asked me
to note what the American poet, Joyce Filmer, who was con-
verted by " Gracechurch," says of me in it. What does he
say?
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 185
LETTER No. 164.
B.E.F.
July 17, 1915 (Saturday night}.
I have just come in from another longish walk, and again feel
much better for it ; even when one comes in tired from walking
—unless it should be a walk altogether too long— it is a good
sort of tiredness, and does one no harm. One rests and it is
gone. What I hate is the feeling of tiredness when one has
done nothing ; and as to that I am ever so much better.
F and I went in to Paris this morning, and lunched
with Lady Austin-Lee. . . . She asked me to give her lun-
cheon here on Tuesday, and I have asked Comtesse de
Missiessy to come and meet her.
After luncheon she had to go out with Princess de Moskowa,
grandniece of Napoleon I., and I went and did a little shop-
ping.
I am very glad that Ver's tiny holiday did him good, and
you must ask him again. The Manor House is a peaceful spot,
and, I think, an antidote to the war microbe whereby we are
all devastated. What a bore for Christie and Alice that the
old church is being closed (like a club) for alteration and
repairs ! It is so near and so homely.
Yes, I was amused at M. G. finding you "deffer," as he
seems to have tried very little to grapple with your de-phness.
There are none so dumb as those who have nothing on earth
to say. I think next time he comes you and he had better
correspond across the table, as you and Mr. Gater used to do.
There was once an old Lord William Compton who was
absolutely deff and would use no sort of trumpet, but he kept
a slate on his table, and his friends had to write on it; he was
very impatient, and watched what they were writing, to guess
from the beginning of the sentence what the whole of it would
be, and he would not let them put in all the little words,
articles, prepositions, etc. One day Lady Northampton
wanted to tell him that the Queen (Victoria) was perhaps
going to take a* cruise to Madeira. She only got as far as
" Queen perhaps going Mad.," when he snatched the slate out
of her hand and shouted :
"Don't tell me! She's as sane as you are, though George
III. was her grandfather !"
You'd be just like that if you had a slate, so I hope you
won't start one.
My soldier servant has been boxing every night this week
in a tournament, and last night was the final ; he came off best
1 86 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
of all, and won the " purse " ; also, he obtained two black eyes :
not very black. Oddly enough, before he was my servant, he
was poor Richard Eden's — Lady Auckland's elder son, whom
you remember as a small boy at Plymouth. He was killed
some months ago at the front. He was about twenty or
twenty-one. So the younger brother, whom his mother
brought to see us, will be the next Auckland.
Mme. Beranek announced three-quarters of an hour ago
that my dinner was ready, so I'd better go and eat it. Good-
night.
LETTER No. 165.
B.E.F.
July 1 8, 1915 (Sunday evening}.
It has been an excellent day, fine, but fresh, and now it is
heavenly ; still cool, but with a clear ' cloudless sky, pale
forget-me-not blue at the zenith, fading down from lavender
to faded rose-leaf tint at the horizon; the swallows flying
miles high — almost among the aeroplanes !
I know you hate the black sort of day you describe in the
letter that came from you to-day, wet, cold, dark ; but honestly
I don't. I can't pretend that it is the weather I should
choose for a long march in khaki, without umbrella or mackin-
tosh ; but for an indoors day I like it — it makes me feel pleasant,
homy, and sheltered ! They laughed at me here the other
day because the weather was just like that, and everyone
was saying, "How miserable!" but I could not pretend to
agree, and confessed I liked it. "It's like England," I
declared.
From 12.45 to 3-T5 — tw° hours and a half — I walked to-day,
and it did me tons of good. I walked nearly all over the park,
through woody places I had not visited, and all round the
Grand Canal to the Big and Little Trianons, through them
both, and so out by the gate near our hospital, where I went in
and did some visiting — my young Jew among others.
Then home to tea ; and that's all my doings. How can I
make you a letter of such monotonies ? I am ever so much
better, and feel stronger every day ; it has never been very
hot quite lately, and that has given me a chance of recovering
my strength.
. . . Lord Glenconner's son at the Dardanelles sends good
news, and is so far safe and sound; they are very happy
about the marriage — engagement, I mean: the marriage is
to be in August; the bridegroom, who is in the 2nd Life
Guards, is a son of a Yorkshire squire.
. . . Mme. Beranek says I'm to go and eat.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 187
Monday morning, 9.30. — Your letter of Friday has just
come, and I am delighted to hear that the gowns have come
and are a success. I hope to see you in them one of these days.
I am sure that cafe au lait coloured gown ought to suit you.
Wilcox tells me that a large convoy of over 700 wounded is
expected at the hospital, and I must go round there.
LETTER No. 166.
B.E.F.
July 19, 1915 (Monday nighf}.
It is half-past ten, and I ought to go to bed instead of
beginning a letter to you ! I have just got in from dining with
Comtesse de Missiessy (as you find the name difficult, I will
spell it in capitals— MISSIESSY), where I had a delightful
evening. She is quite charming, and so are her children : the
eldest, the young Count, is at the front; but my friend Michel
was there, and the daughter, a very pretty distinguee girl —
very English-looking, and extremely proud of looking so !
They all talk English well, Mme. de Missiessy perfectly.
There was also a dear little soldier, Henri Manon, who talked
it nicely, though with less care.
Besides, there were four ladies — not babies — who talked
only French, but all very nice. ... It was Mme. ' de
Missiessy's fete, and I fortunately knew it, and took her a box
of beautiful flowers, which everybody raved over.
Just after I had arrived, all the others (including the fiance
of Mademoiselle) trooped in, all bearing flowers, and some
bon-bons and presents, and administered them to Madame
with infinite embracing. It was all very intimate and cordial
and pretty, and I was glad to see it all.
The house (it is an apart ement, or, as we say, a flat) is
charming, and all arranged with excellent taste, like an Eng-
lish house of the best class. . . . And the people were to
match ; there was a general air of real distinction with perfect
simplicity and cheerful cordiality. The dinner was quite
excellent too, and the conversation easy, interesting, and
pleasant; no gossip.
The Comtesse is just forty, and has been a widow eighteen
years, since six months before Michel's birth. She is so pretty,
with heaps of white hair, very dark eyebrows, big dark blue
eyes, and a brilliant youthful complexion. The future son-
in-law is very intelligent, and talks admirably, but not in
English. It was a great contrast to my luncheon-party here,
which bored me flat. My guests arrived at 1 1.30, and stayed
i88 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
till nearly 4! And the doctor! He is, I am sure, clever
in his way, but his way is not my way. Luncheon was over
by quarter-past I. I hoped that after a cigarette the doctor
would go to look after his patients ; but no ! he sat on at the
table till twenty to 4, and I nearly died of sleepiness ! Two
and a half hours ! Oh dear ! How I wished his patients
would all get worse and send round for him ! To look at
him, he is very like Captain Cust, but without a bit of Captain
Gust's social charm and talent. The son would, I think, have
been better company had his papa not been there. As it was, he
only ate and smiled : his smile is enormous, as big as a tea-
plate.
Now I've told you my day's dissipations, I will go to bed !
LETTER No. 167.
B.E.F., July 21 (Wednesday}.
I ought to have written to you last night, but stayed out
walking till 8.20, and it was 8.45 before I had changed and
washed for dinner; 9.30 before I had finished dinner, as I
smoked and read papers after it, and when I came up I went
to bed. Some weeks ago I was sleeping extremely badly, but
now I am sleeping excellently again, as it is my custom to do.
Wednesday night. — I had only got so far this morning,
when I had to go off to the hospital, and have only now got
back, too late for to-day's post. I hope you will forgive me;
I do not very often miss a day, but somehow to-day I seemed
running afier things without overtaking them.
To go back, first, to yesterday ; my luncheon-party was a
great success, a marked contrast to that of the day before.
Lady Austin-Lee and Comtesse de Missiessy got on like a
house afire, and there was plenty of interesting and nice talk.
Afterwards M. Milicent, the future son-in-law, came in to pay
his respects to me, and soon after Mile, de Missiessy called for
her mother, and they all went off. I enjoyed it as much as I
had tffoenjoyed the tedious though excellent doctor and
his son.
This morning at the hospital I was talking to my young
Jew : I must tell you that he is very nice-looking, and not at
all Israel itish -looking. He said: "Yesterday afternoon a
smart lady (Lady Somebody) from Paris was visiting the
patients, and she talked to me a long time. At last, in speak-
ing of this hospital, she said it was a Franciscan monastery —
at least, the property was — but the Government turned the
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 189
poor Fathers out and confiscated the property, and a syndicate
of nasty Jews bought it and built this hotel. ' Why are you
laughing ?' ' Because I am a nasty Jew myself.' ' You !
Aren't you English ?' ' Oh yes ; but I am a Jew.' She was
much taken aback and went off. Then the man in the next
bed said : ' Why did you pull her leg ? She's offended.'
' Pull her leg ? How ?' ' Pretending to be a Jew.' ' It's no
pretence ; I am a Jew.' ' Oh, Lord ! ! ! I thought you were
Church of England at least.' "
He always begs me to stay on and talk, and says he looks
forward to my coming. He is not a very strict Jew, but he has
an honest, good young face, and I am sure leads a good,
clean life. He" is in Lord Denbigh's regiment, the Honour-
able Artillery Company. I remember once their coming to
Bulford, and Lord Denbigh came and chatted after Mass;
when he was gone the orderly said : " Ah, in that regiment
even the 'orses are baronets ! "
I had another long letter to-day from Lady O'Conor. She
was very much pleased by your inviting her. They are going
at the beginning of next month to a house she has taken near
Dorking, where the Wilfrid Wards live ; and she will not move
at all till she returns to London in the autumn.
I also had your long letter of Sunday. I owe Winifred
a letter since the year I, and ought to answer her, and will
do so. But I am terribly lazy about letters. There is so little
to say.
To-day's papers give rather depressing accounts of the
Russians, and I am afraid they will lose Warsaw, though I
still hope not. Lloyd George seems to have settled the strike.
... I had better bring this letter of scraps to a close, and
go to bed.
These few picture post-cards come from a young French
friend who is at Clermont-Ferrard in the Puy de Dome. He
says their hospitals are full of poor French soldiers with their
eyes burned out by the horrible liquid flame the Germans
squirt at them. I wonder what next the brutes will invent.
There is a good article this week by the M.P. Joynson-Hicks
insisting on the need for a Minister of Aviation. Really, but
for the Daily Mails incessant agitation on the subject our
forces would have had no aircraft when this war came on us.
Yes, I quite know Solanums ; they are very easy to class ; and
I never thought for a moment that Beranek was right as to the
flower and leaf you sent by me.
igo JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 168.
B.E.F., July 23 (Friday morning}.
This is going to be a measly short letter : yesterday I
was doing dull odds and ends of things all day, and from
tea-time to bedtime (except during dinner) was writing duty
letters, so mine to you never came off. I walked for a good bit
in the afternoon, but only in Versailles, not in the parks — and
in the course of my perambulation bought the enclosed few
post-cards, three of our hospital ("Trianon Palace") and the
rest miscellaneous views in town and park. I do not
remember having bought them before, but may have done so.
It began raining about midnight, and went on till 5 or 6
this morning, but now it is very fine and very fresh.
Your story of the General and his execution in the Tower is
indeed " ghastly " ; but I feel sure that if it be true his name
could not be hard to find out, for Generals do not disappear
without its being known, and before they disappear their
names are not unknown. Bert does accumulate most tragic
stories : don't you remember about five minutes after war was
declared his informing us that eleven German Dreadnoughts
had been sent to the bottom of the North Sea ? — and unfor-
tunately it isn't true yet. . . .
LETTER No. 169.
B.E.F., July 24, 1915 (Saturday evening}.
Your last two letters from me were measly little things; this
evening I will try and write you at all events a longer one : I
can't undertake to make it a more interesting one, as my day
has produced nothing to make a letter of.
When I was writing this morning I had a headache, but
it is quite gone.
1 am writing at my window, but the only colour in the
garden is that of the red trousers of the soldiers working in
it; for the moment, the flowers are all over, and it is largely
Beranek's fault, for there were tons of geraniums of all colours,
but he would not pick any, and they have all gone to seed.
... In the street we met the little Lieutenant Tabourier, of
whom I told you a couple of weeks ago — the young friend of
my friend Comte du Manoir, Commandant d'Armes at Dieppe.
He looked all clothes, with hardly enough body inside to
hang them on. The two young men compared notes about
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 191
their illness (which is partly the same), and it seemed to me
rather sad and tragic to hear them : so young both, and so
wistfully engaged both in the hard struggle to regain life and
health. . . .
This morning the swallows were flying along the ground;
to-night they are almost out of sight up in the sky.
It is a pity Mr. Gater can't be here ; there are tons of butter-
flies, and plenty of good ones ; some big ones that I have never
seen since Llangollen days, and some that I never saw before.
To-day's Paris Daily Mail seemed full of goodish news —
Russian, Serbian, French, and English : I mean war news.
I got your letter this morning enclosing Lady O'Conor's,
and one from her to myself by the same post ; but I spoke of
the address to my letters in mine to you this a.m. You needn't
imagine that, because I gave her A.P.O., S. 6, B.E. Force, for
address, that I have been shipped off to the front or some-
where : that post office is in No. 4 General Hospital — a regular
post office, for telegrams, registered letters, and so on.
I received " The Book of Snobs," and had my nose in it
while I drank my tea this afternoon. My tea also comes
regularly (I don't mean in the tea-pot) from England, and is
excellent. French people's tea is despicable.
A Mme. D came to worry me yesterday, sent by
the nuns opposite. She, it seems, has always had English
governesses, and wants to economize during the war, but does
not want her boys and girls to forget their English, so she had
conceived the brilliant idea that a nursing sister from our
hospital might come and chat English with her family daily
for two hours — for a cup of tea ! I should like to see them do it !
They are worked terribly hard, and it is sad work enough,
and trying to health ; when they get off duty they like to be
out in the fresh air, in the park, or rowing on the Grand Canal,
not jammed up in a drawing-room smelling of cats. Perhaps
Mme. D thought / might offer my services as unpaid
nursery governess : but I didn't.
I gather from you that Roger's engagement is hung up like
Mahomet's coffin ; I don't fancy he will break his heart, but I
still think such a marriage would have added to the comfort
of his decline of life. I rather admire old maids (it isn't gener-
ally their fault), but I don't at all admire most old bachelors :
a selfish, unamiable race as a rule.
It is getting too dark to write, and / will dry up.
The whole Beranek family baths itself on Saturday nights in
the bathroom adjoining my apartement, and does it with
unspeakable groanings.
192 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 170.
B.E.F., July 28, 1915 (Wednesday evening).
I really think I must invent episodes to fill my letters with,
so complete is the absence of real episodes of late. To-day's
events are as follows : Mass, breakfast, hospital, luncheon,
visit to F in hospital, return and tea. Isn't it exciting ?
I have been revelling in having some English books to read.
"The Book of Snobs" I finished in two days, but there are
other stories and sketches in the volume. And I have just
read rather (only rather) a nice sketch of Jane Austen, but
anything about Jane Austen interests me. This book I will
send you on, and you can read it for yourself. It is one of
those Lady O' Conor sent, as was " Mademoiselle Ixe," which
I sent you yesterday. I read " Mademoiselle Ixe " when it
came out about thirty years ago, and cannot read it again,
though I can read all Jane Austen (and do) twice every year,
and all George Eliot at least once each year. " Mademoiselle
Ixe" (so they say) was refused by seventeen publishers, and
brough^ the publisher who accepted it at last so much that
he gave the authoress ;£ 10,000 for her next book, that no one
cared 6d. for.
Thursday a.m. — Your letter of Monday has just arrived,
and I am delighted that you liked the Country Life and the
odds and ends of photographs I had sent. The picture of
young Percy Wyndham was the absolute image of him; he
had not much of his father's family's cleverness, but he had
a very sweet and kind nature, and never looked as if he knew
himself to possess almost perfect beauty. So far as I can
gather, neither of George Northey's sons are killed, but Anson,
the Catholic, is wounded; as a matter of fact, the younger,
Armand, is a cripple and could not be out here.
It is bright and fine, but quite cool, and everyone notices
how much better I look — in consequence.
I must go round to hospital.
LETTER No. 171.
B.E.F., July 30, 1915 (Friday evening}.
It has been a lovely day, and is now a lovely evening, not
hot, but with the soft afterglow of a warm sunset : swallows
miles high, and a sky like lavender-satin. Down in the
garden the French soldiers working, chatting, laughing, their
red caps and legs like patches of blossom here and there
among the green.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 193
Mile. Beranek came home this morning from Switzerland,
and the father and mother are shining with delight at her
return; this bit of edelweiss she brought for me, and I send
it on to you : you know it is a porte-bonheur, otherwise I don't
particularly admire it — it is too flannel-petticoaty.
I did some work in hospital this a.m., but we have not a great
number of wounded for the moment. One man is doing very
well who had a bullet cut out of the muscles of his heart three
days ago ! After all, you see, some operations do good ! I
do admire the doctors and nurses ; they have such hard and
difficult work, and do it all with such unfailing gentleness and
devotion.
My friend Chavasse is now quite well again, the young
doctor who cut his own finger very deeply while operating on a
gangrened leg. For some time it was touch and go whether
he would develop perhaps a fatal blood-poisoning.
I got a letter just now from a friend of Lady O'Conor's, a
Comtesse de , who lives in Paris, asking me to tea; she
is the widow of a diplomat, like Lady O'C., and she speaks
with ardent affection of her. She has two sons, both at the
front.
The young Jew I told you of is going to England in a day
or two, and I shall quite miss him. He is so bright and
cheery, with a quick sense of fun. Yesterday a Comtesse
Somebody, wife of a friend of his, came to see him, and the
Colonel nabbed her as she was going in, and asked ever so
many odd questions. "Was she a married woman?" etc.,
concluding with "Have you any reason to think it will give
him any pleasure to see you ?"
A fly flew into my right eye yesterday, and never flew out
again; it felt about the size of an aeroplane and hurt, and
my eye still pains me. No doubt it was meant for a compli-
ment, but I'd much rather flies would not take my eye for a
portion of the firmament.
This afternoon I spent with F ; he is beginning to teach
himself English, and it is rather funny, especially as the book
(grammar and phrase-book) is most ridiculous. Here is one
of the phrases (mind, the book is quite new and modern):
" These ladies are uneasy because they have no back-
scratchers." I assured him that, though our great-great-
grandmothers may have used back-scratchers, English
ladies are not now uneasy without them. In a shop the
purchaser demands " An ounce of tea and four cheeses," and I
hastened to relieve his mind as to the sort of meal he might
expect in England. What is most mysterious is that while
there is no sounded "h" in French at all, in English he (like
194 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
all French people) sticks a fierce "h" at the beginning of
words that really start with a vowel. He is rather shocked
at Roger's wanting to marry a young lady of twenty-seven,
and thinks it will lead to " chagrins " — the chagrin being that
the young lady will probably flirt with someone nearer her
own age. I assured him that in Roger's neighbourhood the
only youths would be sheep. Then he said : " But if your
brother has a son, by the time he is twenty your brother will
be seventy-nine. How can he educate that young man
properly?" I hinted that Roger would be likely to bother
himself very little with " that young man's education." French
people are so very practical, and in marriage their great idea
is the education of the children. I couldn't help laughing at
the picture evoked of Roger strenuously educating his son,
and devoured with regret that he was not young enough to be
a companion to his boy.
I pointed out that Mrs. Roger would add much to her
husband's comfort by nursing him as he grew old.
" Good gracious ! (Mon Dieu ! ) do you marry your nurses
in England !" exclaimed F in horror.
"Not always. Sometimes (when we are greedy) we marry
our cooks."
But that he refused to believe, and said I was rigoleur.
Mme. Beranek says I am to go down to my dinner !
So good-night. God bless you and give you none but
happy dreams ever.
LETTER No. 172.
B.E.F., July 31, 1915 (Saturday night).
I have often grumbled lately because I had nothing to make
a letter out of; to-night I have too much, though it doesn't
concern myself, so you needn't be alarmed ! It concerns
the Beraneks : they have all been arrested and carted off to
prison, accused of being spies !
I will tell you the whole story. When I came in this
morning from saying Mass, I saw a couple of strange men
outside the door, but didn't think much of it, because with
a number of soldiers quartered in the gr enter (it isn't a real
barn, but a sort of large shed) many unknown people come
and go.
But when I got into the hall, there was Jeanne Beranek,
the daughter, who came to me in floods of tears, saying that
their naturalization had been cancelled and that the house
and little property was all sequestrated. In the dining-room
were half a dozen men, and M. Beranek, the former making an
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 195
inventory, and the latter helping them. I asked him in
English what it all was, and he said : " Our naturalization
has been cancelled, and all I have is put under a sequestra-
tion. I then talked to the head man conducting the affair,
who was, of course, extremely civil and respectful to me. I
said that I had been here three and a half months, and that
personally I could only give the Beraneks an excellent
character. But, I asked, was it advisable I should quit, and he
said, Oh no, if I was comfortable here. Not a word was said
as to any accusation against the Beraneks, simply that their
naturalization was suspended, and that the Republic took over
their property ; they could not sell anything, not even a bunch
of flowers, except through himself as administrator.
They cleared out and left me to my breakfast. I went to
Paris to buy some things I wanted for F ; and, on my
way back, called at his hospital and told him all this. He
and I had just lately discussed things here, and wondered if
everything was all square. Some things have seemed to me
fishy, and he had agreed with me.
This evening his godmother was there, and she made little
of it all, which neither he or I were inclined to do. I asked
him if I had better clear out, and he quite agreed that I had
better seriously consider it. She pooh-poohed this, and saw
no reason at all for our ideas. I said : " But suppose they
were arrested ?"
She seemed to think that quite absurd, and very soon I
came home, and found the faithful Wilcox awaiting me; he
told me the house was locked up and empty, all the three
Beraneks, father, mother, and daughter, having been taken
away by the police. I had my own key and let myself in;
my own rooms were open and nothing touched, all the other
rooms locked up, even the kitchen, larder, etc. I went out to
get some dinner at an hotel, as I could not even make myself
a cup of tea here ; then I came back, and here I am.
It is all very sad, and rather tragic : the empty house, the
thought that these folk who have treated me well are in prison.
I do not pretend to be certain that they are innocent, but I
hope so. To-morrow I must look about for some other
quarters, as I can't be bothered to go out for every meal.
To-night I stop here, and Wilcox is coming round to sleep
here, as I prefer not to stay here quite alone. But even if
they are proved innocent (and it is so hard to prove innocence
even when innocence is there), it is not likely to be done very
promptly; and I cannot stay on here with everything locked
up — linen, plates, dishes, knives and forks, kitchen fire, and
everything.
ip6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I wish the nuns, when they recommended the family to me,
had told me they were Germans ; I should not have come here,
for I don't care for Germans, and wanted to be with French
people, if only for the practice in talking. It was the Beraneks
themselves who told me after I had been here awhile that
they were only naturalized French — he Bohemian and she
German.
I do not now believe that they are spies; but, as I said to
F only yesterday, and again to him and Mme. Muttin this
evening, I should not dare to say that it is impossible they
should be. There are certain little things I have mentioned to
him, and he, like myself, has thought them odd.
(i) Mme. Beranek goes to Paris once every week, and
lately oftener at 2 a.m. — i.e. in the middle of the night — return-
ing late in the following afternoon. Of course, this is to sell
flowers and plants, and may be necessary ; but in these times,
when they know they are suspected, I think it at least imprudent
of them to stick to such a custom. (2) and (3) less odd, but
still odd — they never go even into the green-houses without
locking up the house; that is why I have my own key of it;
and, as Wilcox noted, the men who come to see Beranek are
never received anywhere but in the middle of the garden,
where no one could overhear and no one could approach
without being seen. (4) and (5) Beranek has been gardener
to the Emperor of Russia, and for years to the Austrian
Ambassador in Paris. That is so in accord with German
methods — to plant their spies, and transplant them. Why
did the girl stay a fortnight in Switzerland just now, meeting
Germans ? Of course, the little niece had to be sent away —
the police insisted — and a child of thirteen could not be sent
alone; but I think Mile. Beranek would have been wise to
take her to Switzerland and come straight back. Perhaps,
for a gardener, M. Beranek is too accomplished a linguist,
talking English, French, German, Russian, Polish, Bohemian
(Czechi), Bulgarian, and Serbian.
Certainly they were wild to get me to lodge here ; and I have
told F since that it had seemed to me possible that this
was because I am an English officer, and they thought other
English officers would be constantly coming here : At first
they seemed quite indifferent about money, but (since no
English officers ever come here) they have shown an ever-
increasing keenness about it.
By this time I expect you are quite sure they ore spies ! I
am not a bit ; but, I repeat, F and I have both discussed
all this (and the points above detailed), and we have agreed
that there may be suspicious features. The fact is, all Germans
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 197
are tarred with the same brush, and the world has learned
that none are above suspicion, at all events.
It is a bore to turn out ; it is so quiet and peaceful here,
and economical, but I expect to-morrow or next day will see
me out of this.
I am now dog-sleepy and must go to bed — not without a
prayer for these poor folk ; it is hard to think of them rushed
away from their peaceful and pleasant home to a prison : and
they may so well be innocent all the time.
LETTER No. 173.
B.E.F., August i, 1915 (Sunday evening).
It is quarter to 7 p.m., and I am sitting down to tell you
how things are, and how I am. I am very well, though the
fuss of yesterday gave me a rather sleepless night and
a morning of neuralgia. That is all finished, and I am quite
well.
Young Vicomte de Missiessy came to call half an hour ago,
and has just gone away. I told him all our history here,
and he was ever so much interested — quite excited ! — and full
of sympathy for the nuisance to myself.
Wilcox came last night, and defended me from the ghosts
of this empty house ; but after Mass I let him go for the day,
as his fiancee is only here till to-morrow morning and he may
not see her again till after the war, as the family she is with
are leaving France till the end of it. He is so devoted and
unselfish, I felt bound to be unselfish too.
I lunched at the Hotel de France on the Place d'Armes, quite
close (next door ! ) to the chateau, and asked about a room
there with pension, and they agreed to give me a room looking
on the place (it is a huge empty space, and quiet), with full
pension, including wine, tea, etc., for eleven francs a day (nine
shillings a day); and that is cheap for Versailles. Then I
went to see F (it takes nearly an hour to get there) and
came home promising to go and see him again later in the
afternoon to tell him if anything new had turned up.
I found here the Receiver, as he would be called in England,
a very civil man, who begged me to stay on in the house, at
least till they have decided what to do with it; if they let
it, he said, it should be on condition of my being allowed to
retain my apartement if I wished. He gave me the key of the
kitchen and of a small dining-room, so that now I can provide
myself with the little meals, breakfast, tea, etc. He also gave
me access to the house-linen, sheets, towels, napkins, etc.; to
I98 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
the plates, dishes, knives and forks, etc.; all which makes a
great difference to my comfort.
In the kitchen, on a loaf, I found a little note from Beranek
to his wife (she had not got back from her nocturnal trip to
Paris when he and their daughter were arrested). It seemed
to me very sad : " DEAREST WIFE, — Try not to be broken
down. Bring linen. We await you with a thousand kisses.
Put on your best clothes." The last tou,ch because, poor
things, they are little likely to see any of their property again.
The question of my going to see them has settled itself, as
they were removed last night to Petit Pre in this depart-
ment (Seine et Oise) to be taken thence to a concentration
camp, where they will probably remain till the end of the
war. I am told that probably the Government will " adminis-
ter " this little property till the end of the war, and then sell
it all.
So far as I can discover, no definite charges are yet brought
against them, but it doesn't follow that none will be brought.
I think it struck me with a peculiar homely sadness to see the
meal, half cooked for yesterday's luncheon, about the kitchen
that no one would ever eat. I said Mass for them to-day,
innocent or guilty, and I am bound to say that all who knew
them think them quite innocent. I am glad it is to be a con-
centration camp only, and not a regular prison. No soldiers
work in the garden now, but Beranek's foreman (French) seems
trying to keep everything going all by himself.
I did go back to F , as I had promised, but only stayed
a few minutes. He thinks, as I do, that as the officials are so
civil I had better stay on here, at all events a few days, as
I may thus hear of something much more suitable than if I
dashed off at once. It would bore me to pieces to board in
a French family, and Michel de Missiessy says I am quite
right; I should have to be talking, talking all day long to
the whole family and have no liberty. Meanwhile I have my
house and garden to myself, and am lord of all I survey.
8.15 p.m. — I interrrupted my letter half an hour ago to get
ready and eat my "dinner" — a funny, but not at all bad little
meal. I was not inclined to go out to get dinner at an hotel, as
the nearest is quite as far from here as you are from the village
inn at Winterbourne. This is a residential, aristocratic part of
Versailles, far from shops, etc. Well, my dinner consisted of
an excellent pot of tea, bread-and-butter, pate de foie gras,
marmalade, and a splendid pear. So, you see I did not
starve. I ate it up here in my own room, and left the washing-
up to Wilcox when he arrives.
F said to-day : " I'm so glad you had Wilcox for your
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 199
servant at this tiresome juncture; he is so steady and prudent,
so quiet, and so fiercely devoted." All which is quite true.
I went over the house to-day with the Receiver (" Adminis-
trator" in French), and everything1 is just as it was at the
moment of the arrest : the beds unmade, etc. (as it all began
quite early in the morning). I am sure the Beraneks, mother
and daughter, will be specially hurt at that; they are tidy,
orderly, domestic creatures, who do everything themselves
because they think servants careless and slipshod, and they
will hate to think of strangers seeing their good rooms all
untidy and in disorder. I must say the officials seem to leave
everything strictly untouched.
Of course, the mere untidiness here is nothing to the awful
havoc I saw in French houses, as good and better than this,
up at the front where the Germans had been : and thence the
certainly innocent had been driven out homeless by these
people's compatriots. Voila la guerre! Even if these folk
in this house were as innocent as you are, it is not astonishing
if on such as them falls a trouble similar to and of less cruelty
than that which has fallen on thousands and thousands of
French and Belgian homes and families up in the huge district
(seven whole departments of France, and nearly the whole of
Belgium) where the Germans hold sway. One hard fate
doesn't soften another, but at least these people have not been
hastily disturbed : for twelve months they have been left at
peace in their home, and none of them has been wounded or
killed ; nor can one say that the French police have acted with
a harshness that had no reason. For years this family has had
this place without seeking naturalization; when they did go in
for it, it was (as the police urge) only when war was certainly
known by Germany and Austria to be coming.
You are not to imagine that any sort of real annoyance
has come to me personally out of all this. In England I might
easily have been cited as a witness, which would have annoyed
me extremely; but no idea of that sort has occurred to the
French officials, who merely showed every anxiety to save
me even the inevitable minor inconveniences. I don't think
even F quite twigged what a position an English officer
grade (of higher rank) has in France at present. I assured
him that no inconvenience would accrue to me personally, and
he said : " But perhaps, as everything is sequestrated you will
have difficulty in removing your own things : a French lodger
would."
"Well, I'm not a French lodger," I told him; and the
Receiver simply laughed when I asked him.
" I hope for your own comfort you will stay where you are,"
200 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
he said ; " but if you choose to leave at any hour, pray do and
pack up all your things and take them. I am responsible, and
I shall certainly not enter your room, or treat it as anything
but your room, till you give me the key of it."
All this has given you two long letters ! Some day it may
come in useful in a story. Eh ? But not " while the war," as
the soldiers say. . . . Good-night.
POSTSCRIPT.
August 2, 1915 (Monday night}.
The Beraneks have not been merely interned in a concentra-
tion camp, but have been imprisoned in a fortress, and that
means that there are grave charges against them. It seems
they have been under surveillance a long time.
For the next few days, at all events, I shall remain in this
house, but I have heard now of several quarters recommended
to me, and to-morrow will go and inspect them. . . .
You mustn't picture me quite alone in my garden house, for
there are nearly fifty soldiers in the grenier adjoining, a
Marechal de Logis (cavalry sergeant) and his wife in a loft,
their orderly in another, and the ever-faithful Wilcox, who is
here all night and nearly all day.
He complained of pain in his jaw, and I sent him
to Chavasse, who X-rayed him, and discovered that the jaw
is broken.
He is quite excellent as an emergency servant, does house-
maid, cook (kitchen-maid, perhaps, under a Right Rev. chef\
caterer, etc., and all very well. The picnic is rather fun, and
he thinks it "champion."
LETTER No. 174.
B.E.F., August 3, 1915 (Tuesday evening).
Your letter of Saturday arrived to-day, and the beginning
of it made me laugh at you ! You say it was a relief (" a
great relief" — I beg your pardon) to get my letter that morn-
ing. Why ? Because you had no letter on Thursday, and on
Friday only a number of post-cards addressed by me and
accompanied by a little writing — i.e., there was only one day
without any word of my continued existence, etc. That's the
worst of being a first-rate correspondent : if a day comes
when one is too busy to get in a letter, or too lazy to write one,
or too tired, then you feel it your duty to be anxious !
You have often said, "Don't write when you feel tired or
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 201
too busy." I take you at your word one day, and you are
anxious. Please don't ! Suppose I got an order to move to
Havre, or Calais, or Dieppe, or Rouen : such orders (I expect
none of the kind) come suddenly, and one has to go off at
once. Then there would have to be an interval of several
days without your hearing from me, and I should have the
uncomfortable certainty that you were tormenting yourself.
Here endeth the sermon.
(On turning the sheet, I find it is one on which I had begun
writing some French pronunciations for Wilcox, but I can't
begin again.)
I am flourishing, and enjoying our picnicky life in our
garden house. I have nothing new to report about the owners
of it, and hardly expect to hear any more. Of course I often
think of them, and of the sadness of it all for them, and
wonder if they will ever see this home of theirs again; but,
then, one cannot help feeling that if they are guilty they
hardly deserve any compassion. If they are guilty they have
played a certain game, and a very bad one, and have lost it.
Very likely one never will know whether they were guilty or
innocent; but even if they should be judged innocent I can't
imagine their ever caring to come back here, whence they were
removed as prisoners and spies. It's a dismal subject, and we
can change it. I need only say that for the present I shall
stay on where I am. The place suits me, and I am comfort-
able, and Wilcox is in a state of beatitude looking after me.
He cooks quite well, and is extremely clean in all his ways.
I worked hard all morning at the hospital, a new batch of
wounded having come in, though a small one; then home to
a very good luncheon cooked and served by Wilcox; then,
as I had not to go and see F , a long rest, reading,
and . . . and . . . and sleeping; then out again; home to a
rather late tea ; and that's all.
My young Jew went off to-day, and was really sorry to go ;
he said often how impossible it would be to find a better
hospital in England, or to have more skilled attention and
nursing, or kinder. It so seldom occurs to either officers or
men among the wounded to see that and to express apprecia-
tion of it all. I shall quite miss him when going round the
wards ; he was always eagerly looking out for me, and cheery
and bright in his talk.
It is certainly not autumnal here, though cool (with frequent
torrential showers to-day) and though being weeks ahead
of England as to season, some autumn flowers and fruits
are in full swing : autumn plums, pears, autumn anemones,
dahlias, etc.
202 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Yesterday (it is now Wednesday a.m.) I went and looked
at several lodgings — only a single room each, rather a come-
down after this garden house all to myself, with its big
garden, etc. One lodging I rather fancied, kept by a very
decent elderly woman, who informed me that she was almost
English — because her son is cook to Queen Alexandra.
I do not think any of your letters go astray, but all reach
me safely; I wonder why you seem suddenly taken with an
idea that I do not get them.
I must explain that furnished lodgings here do not supply
any meals or attendance, so that if I move from this house I
shall only move into another house, and a less attractive one,
with no advantage that I lack here.
LETTER No. 175.
B.E.F., August 4, 1915 (Wednesday, 7 p.m.).
I sit down to this table to write without the faintest idea
whence anything to write about is to come; but once St.
Dominic sat down, and with him all his friars, at another
table on which there was nothing to eat, and he knew, and
they knew, that there was nothing to eat in the house, and
not a coin among them all to buy anything with. But
St. Dominic said : " Little brothers, this is our hour for sitting
down to table; so let us keep our rule, and so gain the merit
of obedience, even though nothing for our mouths should
come of it." So he blest the empty table as though it had
been piled with cates, and while he blest it angels set bread
upon it.
This is my hour for sitting down to my little table to write
to you, and though I seem to have nothing in my head, I will
trust that something may slip into my pen by some good-
natured angel's suggestion. Of that scene in the dim re-
fectory, with the group of hungry and obedient friars, there
is a lovely fresco, by Fra Bartolomeo, I think. Only the
white habits of the friars, against the dusk, are the same in
it ; the faces are all different, the features, the expression ; but
on them all the same calm and confident obedience.
After luncheon to-day I went out to F 's hospital to
see him, and on the way met Lady Austin-Lee coming to
visit our hospital. We talked for half an hour, and I need
not tell you how excited she was by the Beranek tragedy.
" It will all come into a novel some day," she declared ; " and
I'm sure that, as it was to happen, you feel a certain poignant
satisfaction in having been so near-hand a witness of it. . . ."
She begs F and me to lunch with her on Monday next.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 203
I found him up and allowed to walk in the garden; and
while we were there the Mother-General of the Order came by,
pushing a heavy wheelbarrow full of plants, which I insisted
on wheeling for her. There was a great deal of laughing :
she protesting that it was scandalous for me to wheel barrows,
and I protesting that it was much worse that she should. Of
course, I appealed to the nuns, who didn't know what to
decide, and could only laugh. She said : " I was tired of
correspondence and work indoors, and thought it would rest
me to garden a little. I told her how much you would
sympathize with her, and she and her nuns soon went on with
their planting. F said : " They are such cheery creatures,
and they chaff each other all day."
He told me he had sent you a little poupee which he
ordered from his home, dressed in the peasant costume of the
Doubs. He was in excellent spirits, and evidently pleased to
get Lady Austin-Lee's invitation for Monday, by which time
he will be allowed to go out. They have nobbled me to
Pontificate High Mass on the Feast of the Assumption in the
church always called "La Paroisse," because it is the parish
church of the chateau. Louis XIV. built it, and Louis XV.
made his first Communion in it. I tried to get out of this
function, and hypocritically suggested that the Bishop might
not like it. " Oh, but he is delighted at the idea."
I then said that some of the necessary paraphernalia were
in England, but they said : " Oh, we have them all." The
mitre will probably be that of some old Bishop of two
centuries ago, with a head as big as a pumpkin, out of which
only my ankles will be visible to the public.
I must stop ; it is so " darksome " (as the old-fashioned
Catholics still say) that I cannot see to write, and only
7.50 p.m.
Many thanks for the pretty picture of Ellesmere.
With best love to Christie and Alice.
LETTER No. 176.
B.E.F., August 6, 1915 (Friday a.m.).
I went to Paris yesterday to buy some special bandages
for F , and was away from midday till evening, and made
a pilgrimage to the immense votive Basilica of the Sacred
Heart on the heights of Montmartre ; it is really very fine, and
the position, towering over Paris (one has to go up in a
funicular railway) is superb : the view from the portico of the
church is quite magnificent. I enclose two cards, one of a
little old building which was all there was on the summit of
204 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Montmartre till 1866, and one of the basilica. The other
photographs are all of Notre Dame de Paris, and possibly
you have them all.
It kept fine all day, and only just as I got home did it
begin to rain — in a deluge, and went on all night.
Before starting for Paris I went to look at two lodgings, in
case I cannot stay on here : they each consisted of a single
room, a good room, well furnished as a bedroom, and each
cost (without any food or attendance) 90 francs a month —
i.e., 3 francs a day. One's food at an hotel or restaurant
would cost 10 francs, at least, a day, and there would be the
bother of going out for every meal, no matter what the
weather. I shall certainly stay on here if I can; without
Wilcox it would be impossible, but he is quite excellent, and
I am in great comfort in his care.
Now I m off to hospital.
LETTER No. 177.
B.E.F., August 6, 1915 (Friday evening).
Your letter of Tuesday arrived to-day, enclosing Mr.
Maurice Egan's card. He is one of the most admired Catholic
writers, and he is also American Ambassador to the Court of
Denmark. Besides all which, he is a thoroughly nice man,
and we have had a corresponding acquaintance for a good
many years. Sir Rennell Rodd, our own Ambassador in
Rome, was his colleague, as British Minister, at Copenhagen,
and has often told me how charming a man Mr. Maurice
Egan is.
Do you remember some years ago Mr. Egan inviting me
to the marriage of his daughter (in Boston !) ?
It has been very showery all day, and rather stuffy. I went
to see F , and coming back it rained in torrents.
Since I began writing, a lovely sunset has turned all the
sky to fiery snow-mountains. The rain is gone, and it looks
like the promise of a fine day to-morrow.
F read aloud English sentences to me, and it was very
funny. They represented a conversation between an English
traveller and a French railway porter ; and I think this time
some of the funniness was intentional, the composer of the
phrase-book meaning to laugh gently at John Bull. This
sort of thing (E. T. = English Traveller; R. P. = Railway
Porter) :
E. T. Porter ! Porter ! Hi, you ! Come here !
R. P. Monsieur ?
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 205
E. T. Put this luggage in a first-class carriage. Quick,
now.
R. P. All this ! How many persons are you ?
E. T. How many persons? I am one person — can't you
see?
R. P. But one person cannot have all those luggages in the
carriage wiz 'eem.
E. T. "All that luggage!" Why, there are only four
valises, eight small parcels, two guns, three fishing-rods, two
rolls of rugs and two of overcoats and waterproofs, a dressing-
case, a despatch-box, a lunch-basket, and this bundle of books
and newspapers. Put them in at once.
R. P. But, Monsieur, there will be no rooms for the luggage
of the other passengers.
E. T. That doesn't matter, for I prefer a carriage all to
myself.
R. P. There are ten places in the carriage; has Monsieur
taken ten places, then ?
E. T. Head-block ! Put them in ; while you ask questions
the train will go.
R. P. Has Monsieur taken 'is tee-ket ?
E. T. Plenty of time. Put them in.
(The porter puts them in.)
Railway Engine: St-st-st. Jub-jb. . . .
R. P. Ze train go : Monsieur will not be to can go, having
no ticket. . . .
E. T. Quick ! Quick ! Let me jump in !
R. P. It is forbade to get in while the train moves, it is
forbidden to get in wizout tee-ket . . .
E. T. (furiously). There . . . the train has gone, and my
luggage . . . Damn ? Oh yes, damn ! Quite so. Very
much, damn !
F said to me : " It is very bad. In England you are
always divorcing yourselves."
I had a letter from Beranek to-day, which I shall answer
very cautiously. He says : " It is hard to be dishonoured
after a harmless life; but our sorrow and shame are in His
hands Who decides what each of us has to bear."
Wilcox is often entertaining in a dry way, but he doesn't
set up for a wit, and says uncommonly little at all. He is shy
and reserved, and when he is funny it is because something
comes out which shows what a watchful observer he is. He
is devoted to F , and says : " The Baron gives me lumps
in my throat whenever I see him. To see him, so young, and
just hopping lame about like a bird with its leg and wing
broke. He's a toff, if you like, and always so nice and so
206 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
gentle, with a kind word for a chap like me. In our regiment
there are real officer toffs, and second-hand toffs — you can
always tell. But Baron C 's the best I ever saw."
LETTER No. 178.
B.E.F., August 7, 1915 (Saturday evening).
I perceive that I have during the last day or two been
dating my letters (as to the day of the month) a day in
arrear.
To begin with the weather, and so prove myself still
English, it has been stuffy all day, and is more stuffy now
than ever; I expect we shall have thunder, but the thunder-
storms never come to much here, nor do they cool the air
much.
I saw the Administrator (Receiver) this morning, and have
agreed to stay on here for the present; they make me pay a
very low rent, whereas all the furnished lodgings I have looked
at were dearer than I could afford, and none of them provided
meals indoors. So Wilcox and I will reign on here, and it is
the arrangement I greatly prefer. After this airy and open
place, with the big cheerful garden, all the lodgings in streets
seemed so stuffy and dark, gloomy and airless. Besides, I
am near the hospital and near the convent where I say Mass
when I do not say it in hospital; and, finally, I am like a cat
that hates to move. And here I do not have to go out for any
meal, as I should in any of the lodgings, for none of them
give board. In wet weather especially that going out for
every meal would be a terrible nuisance.
I had your two letters, dated Tuesday, this morning, and
I am so grieved to find that my news of the upset here had
upset you too. It is quite all right now, and I have had no
discomfort even, largely because Wilcox is so sensible, syste-
matic, devoted, and energetic.
I hope that long before now my letters will have shown
you that nothing that has happened here caused me any
personal discomfort. For the Beraneks it has been very sad,
if they be quite innocent, as they may so well be. It is not
true that they are in a fortress, though the news came from
the General in Command here; they are only in an "aisle of
detention," and the fact of their being removed there does
not in itself imply any definite accusation, only "suspicion."
It is useless arguing out all that, as one can really know
nothing.
I am sending you to-day under another cover a series of
excellent views of Plas Newydd, the house of the ladies of
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 207
Llangollen, that a Welsh bookseller sent me. It is extra-
ordinary to myself to see how perfectly I remember the place,
though it is fully fifty-two years since I saw it, and perhaps
only saw the inside once. The man who sent them is an
admirer of John Ayscough, and knows he was once living at
Llangollen.
I am rather pestered lately with French ladies who want
to make me a sort of governess and boarding-house agent,
and I fancy they are all sent by a nun at the convent.
... "It is to-morrow morning" (as Mr. Pecksniff said,
putting his head out of the coach window) — i.e., 6 a.m. Sunday
— and I have written the last half of this in my pyjamas,
before beginning to dress, which I must now do.
As you will have perceived for yourself, I have nothing to
say, and have not been able successfully to disguise the fact.
LETTER No. 179.
B.E.F., August 9, 1915 (Monday night}.
I went to Paris to-day to lunch with Lady Austin-Lee.
Our party consisted of herself and Comtesse D'Osmoy (pro-
nounced "Daumois"), whom I had met there before. Sir
Henry was away in his island of Jethou, opposite the harbour
of Guernsey. Madame d'Osmoy is charming, an American,
though a very English one.
We were all very pleasant together, and had an excellent
luncheon. Afterwards we talked, and then Lady Austin-Lee
sang. She sings really beautifully, and has been accustomed
to sing with great masters of music.
While waiting for the tram to come back to Versailles, a
young woman tried to get into another tram while it was
moving, and she fell. There was a cry of horror from the
people; and I felt quite sick; it seemed so certain she would
be killed before our eyes. The tram caught her dress and
dragged her, and between the tram and the rather high kerb
there were only a few inches of room; but they managed to
stop the huge tram almost instantly, and the woman was not
hurt at all, only frightened. I had dashed forward to help,
but all I had to do was to pick up her combs and her little
parcels. It was a ghastly moment, but no harm came of it
Tuesday a.m. — It lightened all night, and there were growls
of distant thunder, but it has done very little towards cooling
the air or clearing the atmosphere.
I hope you won't have it very hot, as it knocks you up too,
though you are apt to forget that the moment the heat has
changed into rain and a cloudy sky.
208 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 180.
I forgot to put a date — it is Wednesday evening,
August nth, and it is also 6.45 p.m. I daresay you are
sitting out in the garden, for I hope it is a fine evening with
you as it is here : fine and not hot, fresh and not muggy.
As I came in just now there was a very big butterfly hover-
ing over the geraniums — buff (not yellow or sulphur colour),
almost a pale brown, with black edges to the wings, and black
bars and splotches. He seemed very tame, and almost let
me catch him with my fingers as he sat on a flower.
I went to see F after lunch (all morning I was in
hospital, doing a little work), but he was out, so I came back
into the town and went to see Mme. de Missiessy, whom I
found at home; I sat for a long time talking to her and her
daughter, in English, and they were both very homy and
pleasant.
The Comtesse said, "You must come and dine again," and
I answered, " Very well ; but I like talking like this : one does
not need a plate to talk over !" and she seemed to like that,
and be pleased that I shouldn't be the sort of man who will
only come when you feed him.
They have only lived in Versailles about a year, before
which they lived in Paris, and left it because she says that,
till the war came, everyone was living so high and spending
so much she could not keep up with it. Before the Paris time
they lived in Savoy (not Italian Savoy, but French Savoy, up
among the mountains near Aix) in a chateau lent to them by
her husband's brother ; there they lived a very simple country
life ("like peasants," she said), all very happy together,
making their pleasures consist of country things. And now
they do not care for Versailles, and do not go in for its
society, only knowing a few old and tried friends settled here.
She says I am very wise in not letting myself be dragged into
Versailles "society," which is all idleness and gossip. I don't
pretend to be a miracle of penetration, but I do think that I
have certain protective instincts (as some animals have) that
warn me what to avoid. No one told me anything about
Versailles society, but I "twigged" it, from the very look of
the place.
Even the Bishop, who is really a great man, is not well
liked by the Versailles " society " : simply because he is large-
minded and liberal in his ideas, and also because he is a
peoples Bishop. The diocese is enormously and hugely
populated with a vast working-class population, and he has
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 209
neither time nor inclination for the fuss of "society." He is
sure to be promoted to an Archbishopric, and probably to the
Cardinalate; the Church approves him, but the "world" —
the little tinpot world of Versailles — does not.
At the de Missiessys' this afternoon I imitated Monsieur
G limping up to nab me for luncheon, and I made such an
ugly face that their huge dog leapt up with a howl and
nearly swallowed me, grimace and all. He is so enormous
that when I saw him first I thought he was a sofa with a
woolly rug thrown over him.
As I was going to the de Missiessys', I saw a small crowd
outside a much smaller police-station, and one rather large
man being hauled into it by the gendarmes. Some amiable
women got him in by strong pushes against the broad base
of his back. I asked what he had done. "Oh," said an
intensely interested boy, "he tapped on a soldier." I suppose
he tapped too hard.
I remember the old Bishop of Amycla telling me of an Irish
soldier who was being tried for manslaughter. He said :
"Well, I was coming back to camp in the moonlight, and I
saw a head on the ground, sticking out of a tent, and one
always kicks things lying about like that, so / did, and it
killed the chap the head belonged to." The jury acquitted
him, saying that he merely yielded to a natural impulse. But
I doubt if a French jury will think it a natural impulse to tap
on a soldier.
It is only 7.40, and I have had to light my lamp : even in
the window it had grown too dark to write. Wilcox has been
writing to his mother downstairs, and has just brought up
his letter for me to read. At first he used to bring me his
love-letters to read too, and excellent they were, full of wonder-
ful manly and pure love and devotion. But to read them
even at his desire seemed to me like eavesdropping, and I
told him no one should see them before the girl to whom they
were written. I think I must be growing like a spider who
spins long lines out of his own inside, for out of mine, with
nothing like news to help me, I am daily spinning you lines
which reach from Versailles to Winterbourne.
I'm so glad you approve of our staying on in our garden
house. I was half afraid you would think I should be gloomy
nere now. I have two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a nrce little
dining-room, opening into the private garden (not the nursery-
garden), with plate, china, glass, house-linen, etc., and I pay —
What? Well, I bargained; I pointed out that an English
Colonel and his soldier servant made excellent caretakers, and
the Administrator quite agreed. "Would one franc fifty a
14
210 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
day be too much ?" he asked, and I said, " Not at all too
much." (is. 3d. a day !) F was quite awestruck by my
capacity for affairs when I told him. He never dreams of
enquiring the price before buying anything, and I told him
I couldn't afford to be so lordly. Comtesse d'Osmoy was
asking for you yesterday. "I shall always remember her
miniature," she said. And every time I look up there it is,
hanging a foot from my nose — the end of my nose, about
three feet from my face.
Comtesse de Missiessy said to-day : " I always say some
little prayers now, every day, for your dear mother, and beg
Our Lord to keep her well and full of courage till she can
have you with her again. My prayers are very little prayers,
but I have been only a mother since my dear, dear husband
left me, and I know what it must be."
" So does He, dear Madame."
" Ah, yes ! That is what must keep you both brave."
I told her how poor we were when you were left with your
three children to bring up, and how happy you made our
childhood, so that it never occurred to us to think with envy
of rich children. "In fact," I said, "I don't know if rich
children ever do enjoy things as poor gentry's children do."
"I'm sure they don't," said she; "they are biases and
peevish, and they have so many expensive things to do that
they do not care for any of them."
You see, we are always talking of you. Now I will stop.
LETTER No. 181.
B.E.F., August 13 (Friday evening, 6.30).
Winifred Gater sent me two excellent little photographs of
you in your bath-chair, and I have written at once to thank
her; it was a very kind thought of hers, and I was really
grateful. The oblong-shaped portrait has the expression you
assume when I have just told you some amazing fable, and
the other, the upright-shaped one, has the other expression
that you put on when you have done something bad (like
walking off to the garden alone) and don't intend to repent.
This afternoon I tried to go for a walk, and had just got
into the gardens of the chateau when it came down a-pelt, and
I had to trot home. Several kindly Frenchwomen dashed out
of shops as I came through the Rue de la Paroisse to offer
umbrellas, but in uniform one may not carry umbrellas, as I
had to explain.
All the flat parterres near the Orangerie, under the palace
windows, are filled with calceolarias, and they look like a
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 211
vast yellow carpet, of geometric pattern, with dark green
borders (box).
I myself, on my way home, looked like a dripping statue
escaped from one of the fountains ; but I changed at once, and
was not wet inside (I don't mean inside my body, but inside
my tunic).
It is quite fine again now, with a pretty parti-coloured sky.
A little French soldier whom I knew at the front, and to
whom I have sent parcels since, came to see me the other
day — straight from the front, on his way home — and he was
so fearfully smelly, poor fellow, that when he had gone Wilcox
(who is the cleanest man I ever knew) said : " Anyone would
think one of the trenches had been to call in this room." I
must say I had suffered considerably myself. It was a hot
afternoon, and the soldier had walked fast in his huge heavy
capote. All the same, it was nice of him to come.
LETTER No. 182.
B.E.F., August 1 6 (Monday, 9.45 a.m.}.
I wrote you a very meagre and short letter on Saturday
night, and even that poor apology for a letter never went by
yesterday's post ; I was so rushed all day that I overlooked it.
I got up at 5 and said my " office," dressed, etc., at 7.30 said
Mass at the hospital; at 10 pontificated the High Mass at
Notre Dame; ran home to do some business; lunched with
the clergy at 12; pontificated Vespers (followed by Proces-
sion, Benediction, etc.), at 2; had some tea, and then held
evening service at the hospital.
I got on very well at my two functions, and the church was
packed each time — between two and three thousand persons.
It was terribly hot in church, and the vestments very heavy,
but I did not feel it in the least, a sign of my being in excel-
lent health. I had dreaded one of my awful neuralgia
attacks, but had not a touch of it. The luncheon-party did
not bore me at all either, there were only three other priests,
and they were nice.
I saw F after Mass, and Lady Austin-Lee has again
invited us both to lunch with her on Wednesday; on Thurs-
day she is going on a short visit to Normandy to stay with
Comtesse d'Osmoy.
I am delighted that Alice has not actually fled yet, though,
alas ! her departure seems close at hand. I know how much
you will miss her, and I shall not be half so easy in my
mind about you now. Oh dear ! I wish I could get home !
Well, my dear, I must go and work at the hospital.
212 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 183.
B.E.F.
August 1 6, 1915 (Monday evening, 7.15).
Though it is only quarter past 7, it is already nearly
too dark to write at my window, and in a few minutes I shall
have to drag my table back into the room and light my lamp.
This morning was almost cold, but by midday it had grown
hot again ; still, it is autumny.
F was to have come this afternoon at 2.30, but didn't
turn up ; I waited in for him, and wrote duty letters — twelve
of them to English, French, and American correspondents.
So, though I was sorry not to get a walk, I did a lot of busi-
ness. I did a long morning in the hospital, and felt I deserved
a walk after luncheon to blow away cobwebs and home-sick-
ness !
(I have already had to desert my window and light up for
the evening.) It was a year yesterday since I left home to
come out to this rotten old war, and in my innocent soul I
thought then the war would all be over in a few weeks ! Still,
dear, one cannot help reflecting how much God has done for
us; no harm befell me up at the front, and I am well and
comfortable ; and He has preserved you wonderfully in health,
and on the whole in good spirits. Times of low spirits must
come occasionally; nevertheless, on the whole, your courage
and trust have sustained you, and for that I am unspeakably
grateful.
I am so glad you liked the little veil; it seemed to me
pretty, and I am sure you will turn it to some use.
I told you that I got on all right at the two functions
yesterday, which I had quite dreaded. The mitre was
enormous, and would have been a -mask, only the Master of
Ceremonies poised it on my ears; at Vespers they had stitched
it up, and it fitted beautTully. The music was fine, but too
grandiose and florid for my taste; only the professional
singers took any part.
However, they were all pleased, and I was much thanked.
I think you rather take it for granted that the Beraneks
•were guilty : I don't at all ; I merely think that there was
enough to justify the police in taking action — i.e., that they
were not bullying, but merely taking precaution to be on the
safe side. I find it really was because of the girl's journey
to Switzerland that the arrest took place ; the police went with
her, stayed near her all the time in Switzerland, came back
with her, and on the next day arrested all the family. She
was with Germans the whole time; but then it was to hand
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 213
over the young cousin to her parents, and it was the police
themselves who gave the order that the little girl should not
remain here : so the Beraneks had to send her away, and they
could hardly send a child of thirteen to Switzerland, in war-
time, all by herself. What seemed to me so imprudent was
Mile. Beranek staying on in Switzerland a fortnight, as that
could not be necessary.
One thing very much against the spy theory is this : from
the beginning / have had one key of the letter-box, and I
can't imagine a spy-family risking any dangerous letters
falling into a stranger's hands; and as I opened the box,
which is at the gate, every time I passed "in or out, they must
have known that no letter of theirs would be likely to escape
my notice.
Tuesday a.m. — It is a regular white fog, with an autumn
chill in the air, and yet no doubt by midday it will be ever
so hot.
I hear the Russians are doing very well, and also that we
are, and also that immense numbers of fresh English troops
have come over to reinforce our line, so we are evidently going
to do something interesting.
Since I wrote the above I have said Mass and had break-
fast, and the fog has all gone and it is a morning of brilliant
sun and blue sky.
And now this snappy and disjointed letter must be shut
up ; I wish I could shut myself inside it and go with it.
Courage and patience ! I shall be going one of these days.
LETTER No. 184.
B.E.F.
August 17, 1915 (Tuesday evening, 6.30).
Here I am again at my window, beginning a letter to you,
this time early enough to have some hopes of finishing it
before it gets too dark to write without the lamp. .What to
tell you is another matter ! I did a good morning's work in
hospital seeing a number of new arrivals, almost all of the
Leinster Regiment, and hardly any of them very severely
wounded. They all seemed very glad to see me, and were
glad to get Prayer-Books, rosaries, scapulars, etc.
I meant to go for a walk in the park after luncheon, but
only read instead.
I got your letter of Saturday this morning, and am glad you
liked mine of Wednesday, and that you were amused by it ;
also that you think the de Missiessy family sounds nice.
They are nice, very like an English family of good class.
They asked F to go and see them, but he won't ; he has
2i4 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
to admit that Comtesse de M. is charming, but for some reason
he can't abide mademoiselle, and I perceive that it is mutual.
However, I don't take any notice. I wish he would go,
because he might pick up some nice young men friends there ;
all the young men I met there are of good class and nice.
Oddly enough, I have never met any man friend of his who
was a gentleman or nearly one, and I think he likes having
inferior men comrades, as they toady him; and all the while
he is a bit ashamed of them, for if any of them come, when
I am with him, to see him, he always seems relieved and glad
that I get up to come away as soon as I can do so without
rudeness. Of each of these friends he has invariably said
(afterwards) : " He is a very good fellow, but not a gentle-
man."
"Oh," say I, "you need not tell me that; though I am
English, I know a French gentleman very well when I see
him."
I fancy the big school he was at was a commercial school,
and that he had never mixed with young fellows of good class,
and so now he is shy of them. His absolute dislike of visit-
ing places and things of historic interest is extremely unlike
the ordinary taste of Frenchmen of position, who are gener-
ally particularly fond of seeing and talking about such things.
But it is no use complaining because one's friend has not
one's own tastes. I always knew we had scarcely a taste in
common : he hates reading, and has no appreciation of any
art except music ; pictures are quite uninteresting and mean-
ingless to him. We have had heaps of battles about this ; for
when I have been with him in Paris I wanted to take the
opportunity of seeing the many things of historic and artistic
interest there, but he simply worit (and you know our young
gentleman can be' obstinate), and never cares for anything
except shopping or sauntering along the crowded boulevards.
I only grumble to you, who know how fond I am of him ;
but really I have sacrificed countless hours to his tastes — or
lack of tastes — to please and cheer him, when I personally
detested this idle waste of time. He has very good brains,
and it often fills me with regret to see how he lets them run
to seed. I wish he was well enough to work, but he is not,
and it's no use thinking of it. I fancy only the higher aris-
tocracy do read in France; in the others there are no books.
I often noted it up at the front ; in no house where we billeted
were there any books, though often the houses were excellently
furnished, and evidently belonged to people with plenty of
money to spend.
Do you still get books from Boots' library in Salisbury?
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 215
Whenever I get back to writing, I don't think I shall want to
write anything to do with the war. If I could, I should
forget it !
I had a letter of very grateful thanks from my young Jew,
who has gone home ; at least, he has gone to Ireland (London
is his home) and he writes from Dublin Castle, where he
sleeps in the Throne Room ! I must answer him as soon as
I can find a moment for it.
I am sure Mme. de Missiessy would love to have anything
you made for her : but were you not expecting some more
" pieces " from Hampton's ? If so, wait till they come, and
make her a pretty bag for work ; all the time she and her girl
talk they are working, which is not the French way at all — as a
matter of fact, she is Belgian, only her husband was French.
I told them I had described to you the little procession of
children and friends on the night of her birthday, when they
all gave her their gifts of flowers, bonbons, etc., and they
said : " Oh, that is not French at all. It is a Belgian custom,
and our French relations and friends laugh at it."
At the 's on Saturday the other guests were a refugee
family from Lille (in German hands) — a father about thirty-four,
a mother about twenty-eight, and two little boys of twelve
and seven. They were pretty little creatures, but how they
ate ! I thought their little stomachs would crack. The lady,
who had excellent teeth, smiled incessantly, but did not say
much ; she was pretty, but had powdered herself so profusely
that her face looked like a rissole waiting to be fried.
Now I must stop. My letters grow duller every day; but
since the tragic disappearance of the Beraneks nothing has
happened.
A Scots officer in hospital told me this yarn to-day :
A Scottish laird sent for his gardener, and said : " Fer-
gusson, I'm given to know that you go about saying I'm a
mean fellow, and not much of a gentleman !"
"Na, na, laird," says Fergusson, "I'm nane o' that talkin'
sort ; I ay keep my opinion to myself."
The small cutting below someone gave to Wilcox :
"A NOTRE-DAME.
"Dimanche 15 aout, en l^glise Notre-Dame, a Versailles,
a dix heures du matin, une messe pontificate a etc c61ebree
par Mgr. Bickersfatte-Drew, protonotaire apostolique, au-
monier de 1'hopital militaire anglais de Trianon-Palace.
"Mgr. Bickersfatte est un converti qui s'est fait un non
comme romancier catholique a cote des Newman et des
Benson."
216 JOHti AYSCOUGH'S
I have not really changed my name to Bickersfatte !
The said Wilcox is nearly all right again, and I think he
will box no more.
I duly received the " Christmas Books " by Thackeray, and
have already read "Our Street," "Mrs. Perkin's Ball," and
"The Kickleburys on the Rhine," passable, but quite second-
rate stuff; and if I had been Lady Ritchie I should have
refused to republish them side by side with her father's really
great books. None of these papers have inspiration or illumi-
nation; they have only waspish sharpness, and that so re-
iterated that it becomes stale and tedious.
How Thackeray hated the Irish and libelled them ! I
wonder some big Hibernian did not larrup him : but then
Thackeray was very big too.
I must stop now to write and thank a lady who has sent
me a large box of sweets for the soldiers ; they like them very
much, almost better than cigarettes.
This is a deadly dull letter, but 7 am dull, with all the
cotton-woolliness of a cold still in my head.
I like to think of all your prayers for me, and know they
must be heard : don't get discouraged !
LETTER No. 185.
B.E.F., August 25, 1915 (Wednesday evening}.
I have written so many letters this evening that I am nearly
at the end of my writing tether. I had tea early, and started
writing directly after.
The day has been about as eventful as usual : Mass at 8,
breakfast 9.30, hospital till I, luncheon 1.15, then a read, and
a rest on my bed, then letters till tea, then more letters.
One of the poor fellows in hospital (not a Catholic) has lost
both hands and his sight. He is so brave and patient and
cheerful. What must his poor mother feel !
One of my own patients has temporarily lost both speech and
hearing through the explosion of a big shell quite close to
him— he received no wound at all. I had to talk with him by
writing in a copy-book ; he is only twenty, and rather a merry-
looking lad.
I wonder if you realize how home-sick I am ? I am tired
to death of Versailles, though I don't want any move except
to move home.
What I miss in all these minor books of Thackeray's is
the note of pathos; there are plenty of wonderful threads of
pathos in "Vanity Fair," and "The Newcomes," and "The
Virginians " (especially), but not an atom in these short tales ;
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 217
only a grim, ruthless, scoffing sarcasm and sour fun, and the
unrelieved fun ceases to amuse.
At 5 o'clock I was saying my rosary for you and picturing
you sitting in the garden : it was just the day for it.
I must stop ; my brain is woolly (and so is my pen).
LETTER No. 186.
B.E.F., August 26, 1915 (Thursday evening}.
I received your letter of Monday this morning, and not long
afterwards went to Paris in the tram, going first to an English
chemist's in the Champs Elysees to get some phenacetin, as I
had one of my goes of neuralgia. Then to an exhibition of
ancient tapestry, lace, and ecclesiastical plate saved from
Rheims and from various places, such as Ypres, in Flanders.
The tapestry and lace were most magnificent; I had never
seen such " important " specimens of lace anywhere, enormous
pieces as big as a sideboard cloth — i.e., perhaps 5 yards long
and I to 2 yards deep. The most beautiful was an immense
piece of pointe d'Argentan; the design quite entrancingly
lovely, and in absolutely perfect condition, but there were also
equally splendid and huge pieces of Venice point (with raised
design), Venice point with flat design, Mechlin point, Brussels,
pointe d'Alencpn, and countless Spanish and other laces new
to me. As to the tapestries, they were vast and quite glorious :
what a blessing they were removed from Rheims, Ypres, etc.
Then I went to Lady Austin-Lee and had an excellent
lunch. Sir H. seemed well and in good spirits. They have
been wonderfully nice to me, and of boundless hospitality;
and she always speaks of me to others with extreme affection.
I should have enjoyed myself better if I had not had a
splitting headache all day, which is, I am glad to say, now
gone. Paris on a blazing August day is not the best cure
for a headache : not that it is noisy or stuffy ; its streets
are wonderfully quiet for a great city, and the spaces are so
huge and open there is plenty of air. Still, I think, the air
of vehement movement and bustle makes a headache much
worse.
I must go to dinner.
LETTER No. 187.
B.E.F., August 28, 1915 (Saturday night}.
It has been hotter than ever all day to-day, with the sort
of heat I specially dislike— a thick, dirty-feeling heat, without
any visible sun : a sort of sirocco, in fact.
218 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
F came this afternoon, and asked me to take him round
to see our hospital, which I did. While we were going through
the wards Lady Austin-Lee came in, and asked us both
to luncheon again for next Thursday : is she not hospitable ?
I received enclosed from Lady Glenconner, which you may
like to read ; I had written to her a few days ago, when feeling
particularly home-sick, demanding one of her long letters to
interest and cheer me up. Poor woman, I think it needs all her
courage and sense of duty to England to keep her up against
the anxiety of having both her elder boys out in the war : Bim at
the front in this country, and Christopher, younger still, on his
ship in the Dardanelles. And, though she seems very happy in
her daughter's marriage, still, the loss of a third child, and
the only girl, from the home must make the circle very small
now. Besides, it seems to me that the marrying of one's
daughter must make a woman feel old; I don't suppose she is
forty yet, at which age many spinsters are called girls ! But
with the probability of being a grandmother in a year or so,
one can hardly think of oneself as a girl. She is really a
friend, and her cleverness and Wyndham brilliance and her
many affairs never make her overlook the absent, or make them
"out of sight, out of mind." I do hope and pray no harm
may come to her boys; but the Guards have all through this
war suffered terribly, and I see she is full of dread.
I sent you "The Sacristans" this morning, and a cutting
from a Yankee paper calling it a fine story. I remember,
when I wrote it, thinking it a good bit of work, but I was
too lazy to read it again before sending it to the Catholic
World, and entirely forget what it is about. I think I remem-
ber that it was rather grim and tragic.
You write about my unselfishness — well, I always think
one can (if one has any sense) know one's own faults and their
opposites as well as anyone else can know them; and I don't
think I am selfish, only I demand affection for affection, and
when I fail to get it, then I am sore and perhaps unreasonable.
What I mean is this : I expect I try to buy affection by acts
of what people call unselfishness; and real unselfishness wants
nothing, not even affection or gratitude.
Though I told you that to-day's heat is the sort I dislike,
it has not tried me at all — a proof that I am well. I have not,
for a long time now, had any more of that tired languid
feeling.
F returned to the charge to-day about trying to make
me go to Pontificate Vespers for the nuns at his hospital to-
morrow. I fancy he had promised to make me do it, and his
obstinacy was engaged ! Three times he returned to the
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 219
charge, and at last he said : " You don't know how much I am
annoyed at your continued refusal." Then I said : " My dear
boy, I do not want to tell you how much it annoys me that you
will continue to make me refuse. When I intend to do any-
thing- I am asked I say ' Yes ' at once. I do not refuse three
or four times in order to say ' Yes ' at last."
The little lavender-bags are so sweet and charming; I keep
one for myself, and I gave some to some of the nursing-
sisters in the hospital, who were delighted to get them.
Wilcox got one, which he promptly sent home to be kept among
his treasures. He has a profound veneration for you !
I fill my letters with very uninteresting talk, but there is
nothing to tell you ! My life is as monotonous as a cuckoo's
song, and if cuckoos wrote daily letters to their parents one
would pity the parents ! I am to go to dinner, and so good-
night.
LETTER No. 188.
B.E.F., August 30, 1915 (Monday, 8 a.m.'}.
I am only going to say a hurried " good-morning," and then
am going off on a long day's pleasuring. Our hospital has,
for the moment, very few patients, and consequently one can
get away for a whole day nearly without omitting any duty,
and I am off to Fontainebleau. It is a fine, but cool, morning,
and I have always been talking of this trip to Fontainebleau.
It is thirty miles on the other side of Paris, and so one has to
make an early start from here if one intends to get back the
same evening, as I do.
The rain I hoped for on Saturday night duly arrived, and
yesterday was a lovely clear, cool, clean-aired day, sunny and
with a blue sky ; before we had had great heat, with (often) a
clouded sky or a hot haze.
... I must shut up or I shall miss my train.
LETTER No. 189.
B.E.F., September i, 1915 (Wednesday evening, 5.30).
I sent you such a mean little letter to-day that now I must
try to make up by sending you one of decent length, though
I do not know at all what I am to make it out of. ...
I duly received the second little letter-case, which I will
bestow on some deserving object !
It is only half past 5 and nearly dusk, because the sky
is covered with dark clouds, and I expect we shall have a wet
night, but the day has been, fine and bright, though very cool.
220 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
After writing to you I must write to Lady Glenconner, or
she will think me ungrateful, as she obeyed my order to write
me a long letter by return of post.
I get up very early here, and yet somehow I don't get half
as much into the day as I do at home : away from my own
house I never seem able to get into an effective routine and
system of work.
I sent you a very little geranium seed, but though the border
is so long and so broad, and none of the first bloom was cut,
there is very little seed ; the heads left on the plants are very
unsightly, but hardly any have seed ; they are just ugly
withered bunches. I looked for more seed just now, and only
got about half a dozen seeds.
Seeing Fontainebleau made me realize more the selfish
extravagance of Louis XIV. in building Versailles. He had
magnificent palaces in Paris — our Kings had nothing in
London approaching the Tuileries (which I just remember, but
long vanished now) or the Louvre; he had all the glorious
chateaux of the Loire — Blois, Chambord, Chenonceau, Azay,
Langeais, Amboise; and, if they were too far from Paris for
country houses, he had St. Germain and Fontainebleau. He
could not hope to equal Fontainebleau, and he did not; but
he tried to surpass it, which he could only do in mere size,
richness, and grandiosity. Of course, Versailles is more
grandiose, much richer, much more ostentatious, than Fon-
tainebleau, but in charm and artistic splendour it does not
touch it ; and the Versailles park, clever and even imposing as
it is, has none of the loveliness of the Fontainebleau forest. To
console you, however, for not having seen the forest of Fon-
tainebleau, I may say that, lovely as it is, the trees are nothing
like so grand as those in the forest at Savernake : they are
crowded too close, and there is too much undergrowth (to
encourage the wild-boars, etc.), so that none of the trees are
forest giants like those at Savernake. Louis XIV. knew well,
when he spent his millions in making Versailles, that France
was starving.
The book of views of Fontainebleau cannot, of course, give
you an idea of the exquisite schemes of colour in each room :
no palace can be more beautiful in that respect, for sheer per-
fection can never be surpassed.
One of the little lavender-bags you sent I keep in my letter-
drawer, which I just opened, and a quite delicious fragrance
came out to remind me of you and home — of which I never
need any reminder. To-morrow I go to lunch with Lady
Austin-Lee, and shall see no more of her for some time, as she
is leaving Paris for a month's holiday in the country : I don't
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 221
think she often goes to England, which, of course, is not her
home. She is very good, and to me she has been extraordin-
arily kind. . . . She is a very sincere woman, and I think
with her once a real friend it is always a friend. . . .
I owe tons of letters — to Lady O'Conor and the Bishop
among others : and the latter is always so good ; I leave his
letters six or seven weeks unanswered, and as soon as I do
write to him he answers by return, always with brimming
affection.
Father Wrafter has sent me another parcel, goodies for the
men and more envelopes for me — to him, too, I must write.
I wish I could paint you the sunset effects outside my
window. The sunset itself is at the other side of the house;
but the upper sky is all slaty-grey, the foreground of the
garden dusky green, with only the colour-patches of roses
and white hydrangeas showing up, for it is in the house's
shadow : but a row of cypress-bushes catches a wonderful
golden gleam, and behind it a long brown roof has turned
carmine; the trees beyond the garden are deep brown-pink,
and the white houses among them are salmon-rose, with their
roofs a brilliant raw scarlet like new flower-pots : just the
lower rim of the sky behind is lilac-rose, flushing into a warmer
purple every moment.
It is lighter now than when I began writing an hour ago,
but the moment the sun has set it will be nearly dark. /
I have proclaimed an armistice with the lean cat and made
her into a pensioner; instead of fleeing from me, she comes
now for a crusty breakfast, and for a supper of scraps, and
the birds are less an object of wistful interest to her. I read
somewhere that beasts of prey are always hungry, as they
never — with all their hunting — get enough to fill their gaunt
sides. It made me feel quite sorry for them.
I must now write some other letters, so I will stop this babble,
which you must find nearly as silly as Tennyson's brook.
LETTER No. 190.
B.E.F., September 3, 1915 (Friday morning].
"I hope you are quite well, as leaves me at present," my
cold having entirely vanished.
Yesterday F and I lunched with the Austin-Lees, Sir
Henry being there, and a Captain Randall, a great aviateur
and expert in it. The two latter went off after luncheon to
the Embassy to do business, and Lady Austin-Lee, F , and
I went off to a cinematograph in the Boulevard des Italiens.
222 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
The show was excellent, and Lady A.-L. enjoyed it tremen-
dously, but I found it too long, as it lasted over two hours.
The war films (quite recent ones) were excellent and very
wonderful.
Lady A.-L. wanted me to go and have tea with her after-
wards, but I wished to go and buy the steel helmet for Bim,
that Lady Glenconner asked me to get, so I went off on my
own and left her.
It is a very autumnal morning, dark and sombre, and threat-
ening abundant rain : quite cold, so I am feeling well and
cheerful.
Just now I burned my finger — the one one holds a pen
with — with the lid of the kettle, and I am trying to write this
with the pen held between the third and fourth fingers, and
do not find it at all easy.
Your Tuesday's letter came just now, in which you tell of
your after-tea visit to the garden. If at any time you are
tired or sleepy, don't force yourself to write a letter, but just
write a few words saying, " I am well and will write soon."
What matters is for me to know that you are well. It isn't
news I care for. And both of us have often some difficulty
in finding any.
I must shut up and go to the hospital.
Many thanks for the pretty and lucky white heather.
LETTER No. 191.
B.E.F., September 3, 1915 (Friday night}.
I am very tired after a long and wearisome afternoon in
Paris trying to find the steel "calotte" for Bimbo Tennant,
as his mother asked me. I tried innumerable shops ever so far
apart, some in the most central and fashionable neighbour-
hoods, and some far away in extremely ^^fashionable quarters,
to all of which shops I had been recommended; it was only
very late in the afternoon that at last I did get the thing, so
to-morrow I can send it off to Bimbo, though I feel much doubt
as to whether he will wear it. I did nothing else in Paris,
so my visit has given me nothing to tell you.
Wilcox has sallied forth to see an old French priest who
talks English and is devoted to him ; this priest is absolutely
blind, and says his Mass by heart. Before our menage in this
garden house began Wilcox could go and see his friend much
oftener. He is too busy now, for Wilcox has to be housemaid,
caterer, marketer, cook, and kitchen-maid, and it keeps him
pretty well occupied. 7 cook some things — omelettes of ever
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 223
so many sorts invented by Mr. Ayscough, sauces for our fish,
etc., and puddings when we have any.
Did I tell you that in the cinematograph yesterday there
was a series of quite wonderful Indian shikar (hunting) scenes ?
Too wonderful : one of them made me feel quite sick. A sort
of caravan of native camel-drivers, passing through a jungle,
decide to let loose one camel and sacrifice it, to give them time
to escape from some tigers. You see the wretched camel loosed
and left, and then as it trots to and fro across a glade a huge
tiger leaps out and attacks it. The beast makes for the camel's
long neck, and in a few seconds pulls the huge terrified animal
down, and you see all the horrible struggling and kicking
till the struggles cease and the camel is dead. It was like a
nightmare.
There is none of that quivering and sputtering there used
to be in the old cinematograph ; it is all quite clear and smooth,
with no starts or flickers.
I wonder how Mme. M — : — is enjoying herself at the seaside ;
her only idea of dissipation is going to church, and I fancy
she will find it hard work amusing herself. In some ways she
is like Countess S , but less of a lady, and extremely
generous, whereas our older friend was mean and stingy. The
resemblance chiefly consists in a total absence of tastes and a
flat sort of pietosity. But Mme. M does much for the poor,
and works really hard nursing the wounded. Neither lady
ever reads or thinks, and Mme. M doesn't even gossip.
I must be going to bed, and, as I have nothing to write
about, you do not lose much. Good-night, dear, and may
you have none but happy dreams and wake to-morrow to a
happy day.
LETTER No. 192.
B.E.F., September 5, 1915 (Sunday}.
It is a lovely autumn morning, just the sort I love : bright
and cool. If I were not home-sick I should say Versailles
was looking lovely ; but I am " fed up " with it, as the soldiers
say, and can't admire it as it deserves.
Last night, instead of writing to you, I wrote a long letter
to the Bishop, as his last to me had been waiting since July —
six weeks — for an answer.
This day last year the horrible retreat from Mons ended,
and we began to move north again. How well I remember it !
We were quite near to Paris, though I did not realize then how
near, having no map ; I have just been looking out the places
on a map of the environs of Paris I bought yesterday.
224 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
F turned up yesterday and wanted luncheon; I can't
manage luncheon for guests in this house now, so took him off
to an hotel. To-day he lunches in Paris with a middle-class
comrade; to-morrow he asks me to give him lunch again. I
wish he would try to content himself with the luncheon the
nuns give him at his convent, and not be so restless. But, as
he will not read, he must be always running about.
We had a smallish batch of wounded in yesterday, about
270, after having none for several weeks, so I must go round
and see them.
Your parcel of lavender-bags also arrived this morning,
and quite scent the room. Lady Austin-Lee said on Thursday
that the one I gave her made the whole drawer in which she
put it fragrant.
I have been up since 5, and arn quite sleepy already — it is
about 10.30.
LETTER No. 193.
B.E.F., September 6, 1915.
I received this morning your letter acknowledging mine
telling you of my Fontainebleau visit. . . . Fontainebleau is
in every way superior to Versailles, though less pretentious,
and one feels all the time how the former had been a home
of the French Kings for 800 years, whereas Versailles was only
built to be a pompous death-bed for the monarchy.
Yesterday, having had a late breakfast after Mass, and
wanting no luncheon, I hired a victoria and drove again to
Malmaison, the Empress Josephine's house and home. It was
a lovely afternoon and a lovely drive.
Outside the "barrier" (town-gate) at this end of Versailles
the country, real country, begins at once, whereas outside the
barrier on the Paris road there is no country, but houses the
whole way to Paris, though it is true they are but a narrow
strip with forests behind them.
The first place we passed was a hamlet called Rocquencburt,
with a large, comfortable-looking chateau, in large and fine
grounds, backed with woods, belonging to Prince Murat ; he is
a cousin of the Clarys. You know Napoleon I.'s sister Caroline
married his General, Joachim Murat, and Napoleon made them
King and Queen of Naples, and the present Prince Murat
would also be King of Naples had not the Napoleonic power
fallen; he is very rich, and very thick with the Clarys, who
have often talked of him to me.
We also passed a hunting-lodge of the Emperor Napoleon
III.'s and a pretty property of the Empress Eugenie's — all
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 225
carved, so to speak, out of the forest. At Malmaison I dis-
covered that the Empress Josephine and her daughter, Queen
Hortense (mother of Napoleon III.), wife of Napoleon's brother
Louis, King of Holland, were buried in the parish church,
called Rueil, and went there. It is a handsome, well-kept
church, and I got you cards of the monuments, which are huge
(much too big). The drive home was by another road through
a forest called St. Cucufa — a very odd name : quite lovely,
with a very pretty lake in the middle of it, a small lake that
made me think of some of those near Ellesmere.
I was game to go on a long while writing; but
has just come in asking for luncheon, and I can't write with
anyone waiting ostentatiously for me to be finished.
So good-bye. I send two or three odds and ends of cards
too — a very nice Fontainebleau one and two of Versailles.
LETTER No. 194.
B.E.F., Monday evening, 6.45.
Yesterday was a very bright, though quite an autumn day,
all sun and shine, though driving through the forest there was
an unmistakable "bite" in the air, belonging rather to late
October than early September, whereas last year at this time,
at the front, September was all blazing heat, like a very hot
August. To-day there has been less sun after midday, and
between 5 and 6 quite cold, though a hot thick fog came on.
I am, this evening, a bit in the dumps, and am selfish enough
to tell you so. I am home-sick in every way — not only for
you, but for my home occupations too. The day here seems
to slip away with so little done, and yet I get up very early.
There seems no doubt at all that Germany is beginning
seriously to want peace; but the Allies know very well that
peace now would really give them nothing after all they have
spent in suffering, in men, in money, and in sacrifices of every
sort. The New York Tribune put it very well, saying : " Ger-
many is like a gamester who has been winning all night, and
says, ' Now we have played enough : let's stop ' ; but the others,
who have been losing, say, ' Not at all : you must go on now.' "
The Allies feel that Time will be their best friend, and Germany
knows it will not be hers. The Allies began to fight short
of everything, men, munitions, training, and comprehension
of what the war was to be ; now they are much stronger, and
grow stronger daily, so they can't be expected to want to stop —
just at Germany's moment, and especially as they know what
impossible demands Germany would make.
Still, it is a beginning of hope that one side should at last
226 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
be thinking of peace. Obviously, as long as neither side
thought of it there could be no beginning of hope. And, after
all, I expect that when Germany sees that the Allies are not
jumping at the first idea of peace, her demands will come
down ; the more she realizes that the Allies want to go on, the
less anxious to go on will she herself be. ...
I had a charming letter to-day from Herbert Ward (talking
of the cinema in my letter the other day reminded me of him :
do you remember he was with us when a man came and gave
a short " demonstration " in our dining-room ?). He is now in
Quetta, at the extreme north of India, on a signalling course ;
a great change from Madras, his station, in the far south. He
is a very faithful and devoted friend. . . .
It is lamentable that they should have disfigured that dear
little old plain church : it wanted no restoring ; and as for
yellow-washing the old Saxon font, it was brutal.
I am to go and eat. So good-night.
LETTER No. 195.
B.E.F., CHARTRES.
September 7, 1915.
You will be astonished to see a letter with this date. Let me
hasten to tell you I have not been moved from Versailles, and
shall go back there to-morrow night. But I have always wanted
to see Chartres, which has about the most interesting cathedral
in France, and a famous ancient shrine of Our Lady : so as
to-morrow is the feast of Our Lady's birthday, I determined
to come here to-day and say Mass at the shrine to-morrow
morning. Chartres is a smallish place, perhaps as big as
Winchester, but a very clean, cheerful little country city,
beautifully situated, and the cathedral finely placed. It is
one of the oldest in France, and, as you will see by the cards
I shall send you, extraordinarily beautiful. It is full of
almost unique mediaeval stained glass, and one of the two
spires is a dream of beauty ; the other, much less lovely, is far
older. The famous shrine of Our Lady is very interesting;
in the time of the Druids there was a black image of a Mother
and Child, and those heathens venerated it as the mysterious
presentiment of a Vierge Enfantee, a Virgin who should have
a son. When Christianity was first preached here, the
pioneers of the new faith did not sniff at the old devotion,
but explained it, and said " The Virgin with the Son is Mary,
the Mother of Jesus, the God made Man," and the old worship,
become articulate and conscious of itself went on, and has
gone on ever since.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 227
The shrine is a wonderful chapel in a quite wonderful
crypt under the great cathedral, and is lighted by countless
tiny lamps that have a singular and most impressive effect I
got leave to go there alone, when no crowd was there, and said
the Rosary in perfect quiet and solitude (I am to say Mass
there at 6.30 in the morning), and was allowed to venerate the
special relic of this place — i.e., the veil of Our Lady. The
whole relic is only exposed on rare occasions, but a little bit
has been detached and is enclosed in a Gothic reliquary, and
that they brought to me, and I was able to examine it closely.
It is a little piece of some very ancient linen fabric woven
loosely, with a sort of pattern running through it. It is one
of the great relics of the Catholic Church, and it is really a
privilege to have been able to see and venerate it under these
conditions, apart from any crowd and fuss. The whole crypt
is really wonderfully impressive, huge, of immense age, dating
back to the introduction of Christianity in almost Apostolic
times, and unspoilt by any attempts to make it smart and
modern : the weird lighting with the countless tiny oil-lamps
is exactly what suits it. In one part is a stone well, 100 feet
deep, down which the first martyrs of Christianity in these
parts were thrown. I have seen nothing so impressive outside
Rome.
I am staying in a very old, quiet, and comfortable hotel,
clean and excellent, but quite unpretentious, and not expensive ;
the whole place is more like an English cathedral town than
any I have seen outside England, only here the cathedral is
still Catholic, whereas in England the cathedrals are torn from
the worship for which they were built.
This letter won't go by the military post, and I should like
to know how long it takes to reach you.
The railway journey was very pretty, through a country
like an endless park, with prosperous villages here and there,
rich farms, and opulent rows of new corn-ricks.
I wrote my last letter in the " dumps " : the change of scene
and air has quite cheered me up again. And, as you know, I
always like travelling, even short distances, and the mere
railway journey is always a pleasure and relief to me.
I am uncommonly sleepy, and must go to bed.
LETTER No. 196.
B.E.F., September 8, 1915 (Wednesday night}.
This morning I posted to you by the French civil post at
Chartres a letter I wrote you thence last night ; but I do not
know whether you will receive it before this one or after. I
228 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
need only repeat that letter so far as to explain that I have
long been anxious to visit Chartres, whose cathedral is one of
the most ancient, beautiful, and interesting in France — or,
indeed, in any country ; and as to-day is Our Lady's birthday,
and the great feast-day there, I went yesterday, so as to be able
to say Mass in the shrine there to-day.
I have so many different cards of it that I shall send them in
at least two batches — perhaps in three; but none are dupli-
cates, and I would like you to keep them all.
I said Mass in the shrine at 6.30 this morning. The chapel
is in the crypt, which was crowded with hundreds of pilgrims,
who all went to Holy Communion. It was wonderfully impres-
sive and devotional, almost like saying Mass in one of the
Roman catacombs. After Mass I went to the hotel for break-
fast, then to High Mass, sung in the cathedral itself. The
Archbishop " assisted " at the throne, and I was in the stalls,
and saw the function beautifully. It was fine in itself and the
setting glorious. The vast church was crammed with
pilgrims, and the music was solemn and good — pure Gre-
gorian, and the ceremonies carried out with perfection : quite
one of the scenes that one can never forget.
After luncheon I went to visit two other churches, St.
Dierre and St. Aignau, both very fine and very ancient. The
,tained glass at the cathedral and at St. Pierre is splendid and
hard to rival, being of the eleventh and thirteenth centuries,
very rich, though somewhat sombre in effect, being of very
dark colouring, and making the church darker than is usual.
After another farewell visit to the cathedral I caught an
express train back here, and found my garden house very
homely and comfortable.
I do not think any cards can quite convey the singular
loveliness and charm of Chartres Cathedral. Every moment
one looked at it, from every point of view, its beauty seemed
to become more entrancing ; and it stands well, not shut in by
mean houses, as many Continental cathedrals are. Rouen is
not comparable to it : Chartres being much earlier and much
purer in style, less florid and less heavy. And the city of
Rouen does not attract me a bit ; it is big, noisy, crowded, and
very dirty, whereas Chartres is brilliantly clean and cheerful,
stands high, and though the streets are often very ancient and
winding, they are gay, and at the same time quiet ; though it
has 40,000 inhabitants, it is a regular country town, with no
manufactures or tall chimneys, and no slush or grime. Round
the cathedral there seems to reign a smiling calm, that the caw
of countless jackdaws upon the towers only makes more
peaceful and more gay. The weather was perfect, very bril-
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 229
liant sunshine, and not too hot, though a great deal warmer
than it has been for weeks.
It was not at all an expensive trip either, for with a military
ticket one got there (first class) for four francs, and the hotel,
though thoroughly comfortable, was very cheap.
I must go to bed now, and so, wishing you none but happy
dreams and praying hard, hard, that we may soon be together
again . . .
LETTER No. 197.
B.E.F., September 10, 1915 (Friday morning}.
I am beginning what I fear will be a very short and a very
empty letter before going across to the convent to say Mass.
It is a perfect autumn morning — clear, pale, azure sky, light
horizon haze, bright sun, and tiny, smooth breeze. But it
will become hot as the day advances, as yesterday did — our
hottest day for weeks.
Yesterday afternoon I went to tea — the first tea I have been
to, I think, since leaving England — with a very nice family
of Americans ; their name is Pringle, and they are, of course,
of Scotch descent, but their family has been in America for
nearly 300 years. They themselves were all born in America,
but have lived in France nearly all their lives; they have a
house at Biarritz and another here, to which latter they have
only just come for the autumn. Only one of the four sisters is
a Catholic, but they are all ardent admirers of Mr. Ayscough's
books. The family consists of four sisters and a brother.
I found them having tea under the trees in their garden, and
was instantly surrounded by a yelping crowd of dogs (six),
one of which, without a moment's hesitation, bit me in the
front of the leg. The ladies seemed to take it as a matter of
course, and said : " How silly of you to bite Monsignor, Toto ;
he is not going to hurt you."
There was a young American there too — from Paris, I think
— very American, with an accent you could have wiped your
boots on, but evidently a gentleman and nice. He looked
rather scowly when the train of dogs flew at him on his
arrival.
By this post I send you two ginger-bread pigs, one for
you and one for Christie, which I bought in the pilgrimage
fair at Chartres. They were made to order — at least, the
names were!
In the little box I put the rest of the cards, and a small
round box which I bought at that " Kermesse " at Chaville, two
or three months ago. I didn't in the least want it, but the
230 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
enterprising lady insisted on my giving her 5 francs for it.
So now I send it on to you, with a little geranium seed in it,
and you can use it for what you like.
I find that many people now feel certain that the war cannot
last beyond the end of this year ; that the Germans are running
short of money, men, and food, and that soon they will be
forced to stop fighting. I'm sure I hope so. I began this
before Mass, and went on with it after my breakfast. During
Mass the sun made pretty dancing lights and shadows on the
altar, shining through the leaves of the trees outside, that the
breeze was shaking.
We had a new batch of wounded in yesterday, not very
many, but nearly 300, and I must go round to the hospital now.
LETTER No. 198.
B.E.F., September 12, 1915 (Sunday night}.
I went to Paris to-day to lunch with the English Passionists
at their house in the Avenue Hoche. They are three, Fathers
Logan, Hearne, and McDarly, all very nice, straightforward,
friendly men, and I enjoyed it. After luncheon we sat in the
garden and talked, and then I came back here for my little
evening service.
Since then I have been reading the Month you sent me
with this writing-block, and I think I have read it all through.
Such a long, quiet read was a treat ; I seem to have so little
time for reading here.
I heard that the Cardinal cannot get nearly all the
Chaplains he wants for this place (France, I mean). . . . Not
that priests are unwilling to come, but because their Bishops
won't let them.
Father Keating, the editor of the Month, saw the Cardinal
a few days ago and tackled him about the continuation of
my series of papers in the Month, and the Cardinal at once
said that I am to go on writing them, and spoke of them in
terms of high eulogy; but the indiscreet writings of some
Chaplains, to newspapers, etc., had caused the general pro-
hibition some months ago of all writing for the press, which pro-
hibition I have scrupulously obeyed : this prohibition was,
of course, demanded by the War Office. You will accord-
ingly see a new instalment of my " French and English " in
the October Month.
The American family I lunched with yesterday are very
good company, and ought to be in a book. They are from
Carolina, and aristocratic but not poor, as many of the old
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 231
Southern gentry are ; on the contrary, they look in every way
all calm prosperity. They have quite a nice garden to their
house, and seem to spend most of the day sitting out in it,
knitting, embroidering, and talking — especially the latter.
The small dog who bit me made great friends with me on my
second visit, and was jealous when any of the other dogs
came near.
LETTER No. 199.
B.E.F., September 13, 1915 (Monday evening).
I haven't anything particular to tell you, except that I am
always thinking of you and saying countless Masses for you.
When you sit looking out of the window, if you think of me,
you may be pretty sure I am thinking of you too. . . .
Do you remember a very nice young aviator who came over
to luncheon once — his name was Mapplebeck, and he had
had a bad accident while flying, but was quite recovered ?
1 am so grieved to see that he has been killed. Poor lad ! he
was very lovable and attractive.
We are having a spell of heat here too, but I do not feel it
at all.
I have been rather uncomfortable lately owing to inflamma-
tion of the periosteum, which means the envelope of the roots
of my teeth. I went and saw the dentist, and told him flatly
I would only have a tooth out if he could undertake it should
be a very different operation from the last. This was the
elderly dentist, not his partner, who operated before. He
examined my teeth, and said : " They are excellent ; but they
are quite extraordinarily firmly rooted in your jfews : only
one, the broken one (it is not decayed, but simply broken),
is the culprit that sets up the slight inflammation; but I
can't advise you to have it out, for it is fixed like a rock in
your head, and you would suffer horribly. My partner will
never forget how you suffered with the corresponding tooth
in the other jaw which he extracted. He says it was far the
worst extraction he ever had to do, and he could not have
believed anyone's tooth would be so embedded like a rock in
the jaw."
So I have to grin and bear it, and no doubt it will be all
right in a day or two. I was quite pleased to find the dentist
of my own opinion that it would be useless to risk the real
shock of another extraction like the last. And I think, con-
sidering that that other tooth was so immovably fixed, I was
lucky that he did not break away some of my jaw with it.
The cocaine injection deadened the pain of the first extrac-
232 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
tion, but there were four, and the effect had quite gone off
before the whole thing was completed, so that the last two . . .
were really wrenched out without anything to make the shock
and pain less. I felt that my heart could not stand much
more, and I believe if I had gone on to have another tooth out
then I should have collapsed.
I must stop ; and so good-night.
LETTER No. 200.
B.E.F.
September 18, 1915 (Saturday morning, 6.15 a.m.~).
Your letter of Tuesday morning I found at the hospital
when I went round there yesterday morning, after closing my
own letter to you.
I worked in hospital till luncheon-time, then came home,
and after luncheon went off to the chateau to meet the
Pringles, F , and young Mr. Dawson (he is quite grown-
up, you understand — about thirty-seven or thirty-eight !).
We had a very interesting time going over the chateau.
In addition to all I had seen before — the State apartments,
chapel, etc. — we saw the private apartments of the Kings
and Queens, the apartments of the Princesses (daughters of
Louis XV.), and the apartment of Mme. du Barry, the bath-
room of Louis XV., and that of Marie Antoinette, etc.
F got us into trouble ! We were in the King's
dressing-room, all close together in a group, and I said to the
guardians : " I suppose that door is a ' service-door ' for the
servants to enter by ?"
" No, Monseigneur, it is a cupboard," said the man. F ,
with all of us looking, must needs open the door, and . . .
" Modern !" explained the guardian laconically.
The four Americans evidently were choking with laughter,
and so were we three men ; but we all scuttled off to pretend
to admire some carvings or pictures or something !
We also went up on to the roofs, and the views over the
surrounding gardens, park, and forests, were really glorious.
Then we went to tea with Mr. Dawson at his flat, and a
young M. Pleyel came in and played the piano quite magnifi-
cently— the finest playing I ever heard except Paderewski's
and Slivinski's; but this young fellow is only twenty, and a
soldier (not by profession, but by conscription).
I am so glad you like the little brass and silver box that I
bought at the " Kermesse " at Chaville ; also the pig — you had
better eat him up, or he will get high this close weather.
In a week or two I shall send you some small plants of the
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 233
fuchsia I told you of, with scarlet, trumpet-shaped, pendant
flowers : not large plants, as the gardener tells me it is a very
quick grower, and these small plants, about 10 inches high,
will be quite big and tall next year.
Now I must dress, so good-bye.
LETTER No. 201.
B.E.F., September 19, 1915 (Sunday nighf).
Your letter of Thursday reached me to-day, and now I
hope to have a quiet talk, though, like yourself, I haven't a
great deal to tell you. Yesterday I had to go to Paris to get
Bimbo Tennant a steel helmet, painted dove-grey, in addition
to the "calotte" or steel skull-cap I had already sent him. It
was hot and stuffy ; but to-day has been quite different, sunny,
clear, and fresh — much more to my taste. A good many
leaves have fallen, and the many boulevards of Versailles are
strewn with them. Soon the parks will be looking lovely, but
to make the trees turn colour some night-frosts will be wanted,
and so far there have been none.
I had a note to-day from Miss Maria Pringle (the Catholic
sister) asking me to tea to-morrow. They are an acquisition
to my very small stock of friends here ; their talk is pleasant
and cheerful, and they are charming ladies, of an old-
fashioned sort not too common now.
I am to lunch with them one day this week too, to meet a
very great friend of theirs of whom I have often heard — the
Marquise de Montebello, whose husband used to be a very
distinguished Ambassador from France to the Court of
Russia, where Mme. de Montebello herself made a great name
by her charm and cleverness.
On Tuesday morning I am going to Paris to see the conse-
cration of a Bishop by the Cardinal Archbishop of Paris at
the ^Madeleine. The new Bishop — Monseigneur Riviere — is
cure of the Madeleine, and is becoming Bishop of Perigueux ;
it will be a very fine and interesting function. Cardinal
Amette will be assisted by the Bishop of Arras (which town is
in German hands) and the Archbishop of Sens.
The Pringles are indignant if one pretends to think them
Yankees: for South Carolina was all against the Northern
States, and was friendly to England at the time of the War
of American Independence. And they only went to America
in the eighteenth century, and scoff at the Pilgrim Fathers !
When I was in India long ago the German Jesuits in
Bombay and in that Presidency were extraordinarily kind
and hospitable to me, and their work was splendid ; they had
234 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
built half a dozen immense and excellent colleges, and the
Government was loud in praise of their work : now they have
all been "deported" (124 of them), including the Archbishop
of Bombay and the Bishop of Poona. They are not accused
of any plotting or disloyalty, and it seems rather hard; but
the other missionaries, always very jealous of their splendid
work, have been badgering the Government to " deport " them.
As a matter of fact, being turned out of Germany for being
Jesuits, they were the last people to want to abuse the hospit-
ality and toleration of our Empire. As all the clergy through-
out the whole Bombay Presidency are Jesuits and Germans,
it is a sad thing for the Catholic population in those parts, as
they will be left without clergy, Mass, or sacraments. They
had been there sixty years, since 1854, and the condition of
things when they arrived was very bad ; they were given the
job on purpose, the only priests there before being nominally
" Portuguese " (really natives of Portuguese name, descendants
of converts made long ago by Portuguese missionaries, and
called by the family names of their Portuguese godparents),
ignorant and incapable. The Jesuits got everything restored
to decency and order, built churches and schools and colleges
everywhere, and made their congregations models of be-
haviour and intelligence : and now the whole body of clergy
in the Presidency is "deported" wholesale.
Good-night.
LETTER No. 202.
B.E.F., September 20, 1915 (Monday evening}.
To-morrow morning I must get up before 5 and say Mass
before 6, so as to get in to Paris in time for the beginning of
the consecration of the Bishop of Perigueux. So I must write
to you to-night, as I may not get home in time to write before
our rather early post is made up for England.
I have not long come in from the Pringles, who asked me to
tea. The family (and the dogs) were in full force, and we sat
under the trees in the garden till it grew a little chilly, when
we moved indoors. The dogs had several loudly contested
battles among themselves; but as they only bit one another,
I had no objection.
All morning I worked in the hospital. One poor fellow
has his eyes badly burned by the liquid fire the Germans
squirt at our fellows now, but I do not think he will perman-
ently lose his sight.
I was shown by Miss Maria Pringle a very interesting little
note thrown into one of the French trenches by the Germans,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 235
and picked up by a French soldier friend of hers. It was
written in good French, and said :
" COMRADES AND BRAVE FRIENDS !
" Why go on fighting against us ? We do not hate
you ; it is the English we hate. We know how brave you are,
and how splendidly you fight; but you cannot dislodge us;
we are too strongly entrenched and have too many troops
behind us. You will only sacrifice your brave lives for
nothing. Do make up your minds to surrender, and we
promise on our word of honour that you shall be well treated.
The English are doing badly in Egypt and in South Africa :
they will be beaten soon. You are foolish to be on their side.
Why be beaten with them ? Come over and trust to us, and
you will be well treated.
"YOUR COMRADES AND FRIENDS."
I had often heard of these notes, but had never seen one.
The French are not at all likely to be taken in by that sort
of stuff; it would take a very different salt to catch them by
the tail.
Your letter of Friday arrived this morning ; I am so glad it
cheered and pleased you to know how constantly I say Mass
for you — many times each week — and that my thoughts are
almost incessantly with you.
I knew you would be grieved to hear of young Mapplebeck
being killed ; he was really a nice lad, and I had often hoped
to meet him again.
I guessed Miss Burtt would come round to see you, and am
delighted that my very minute gift gave her pleasure. /
thought that little brooch pretty, though less original-looking,
perhaps, than the others.
There does not seem to be much news in the paper to-day,
but the letters I get from fellows at the front seem sanguine
and cheerful. You mustn't be too much depressed by the
Daily Mail, whose pessimism is part of its campaign against
the existing Ministry. I fancy it wants to get Lloyd George
made Premier.
You will say that this is a very dull and prosy letter, and
so it is; but hospital work is monotonous, and does not give
one much to talk about.
I gave some of your lavender-bags to some of the nuns at
the convent opposite, where I say Mass five days a week. I
only said you had made them, but they hopped to the con-
clusion that you had made them expressly for them, and
thanked with such profuse gratitude that I felt quite guilty.
The charged me with voluminous messages of gratitude.
I must dry up now; so good-night.
236 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 203,
B.E.F.
September 21, 1915 (Tuesday
I said Mass at quarter to 6 this morning, had breakfast,
and went in to Paris, getting there at 8.20, and went straight
to the Madeleine, where the consecration of Monseigneur
Riviere was to take place.
The tickets I had were not numbered, and only gave
admission to the church, so I had no right to expect any good
place, but I showed my card, and they gave us two splendid
-places at the very top of the church, close to the sanctuary,
where one saw the whole ceremony perfectly.
It was quite one of the finest and most glorious functions
I ever saw. The Cardinal Archbishop of Paris, Cardinal
Amette, was the consecrant, assisted by the Archbishop of
Sens and the Bishop of Arras, and there were sixteen Bishops
altogether. The music was most beautiful, and the long, very
ancient ceremony extraordinarily imposing and fine.
Towards the end a Master of Ceremonies came and begged
that when all was over I would allow him to present me to the
new Bishop. Poor man, he looked terribly tired, and I should
think he had violent neuralgia — 7 should have had if I had
been in his place, anyway.
After some luncheon I went on one of the Seine steamers
down the river to the Jardin des Plantes, and 'renewed my
acquaintance with the wild beasts, some of whose portraits I
send you !
I went to the lions' quarters at 3 o'clock to see them fed, but
the lions' butcher telephoned that he had not been able to get
their dinner in time, and could not send it round till 5 o'clock.
If I was disappointed, imagine the disappointment of the
lions ! They looked so terribly empty, and each of them
fidgeted round and round his or her den in uncontrollable
hunger and impatience. They are only fed once in the twenty-
four hours, and the piece of horseflesh they get is not big, so
I'm sure the poor creatures were enduring pangs of hunger.
When I speak of the "lions," that includes all the large wild beasts
in that house — wolves, panthers, pumas, hyenas, etc. There are
lots of jackals, very pretty little foxy beasts, and uncommonly
glad to get hunks of buns, etc. : so were the huge bears —
brown, black, and polar. But no amount of hunger would make
the lions eat sweet cakes ! They looked much as Napoleon
would have looked had you offered him an acid-drop. One
large snake had just been changing his skin, and the old one
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 237
was lying in his tank, but he seemed quite done up by the
ceremony — like the Bishop of Perigueux.
There were plenty of crocodiles, but no large ones ; four or
five huge turtles; a lot of chameleons, that really did abso-
lutely copy the colours of what they were sitting on — those
on a tree-stump were just the shade of its bark, while those on
the yellow sanded floor were exactly of that shade.
No English mail came in to-day, so I suppose there will be
two to-morrow.
I am very sleepy after getting up at twenty past 4 this
morning and all my runnings about to-day, so I will go
to bed.
I hope you are well, and that this honest autumn weather is
suiting you — to-day, by the way, was uncommonly hot in
Paris, much hotter than any day of August; still, not stuffy
or heavy. On the Seine there was a fresh and sweet breeze.
Good-night.
LETTER No. 204.
B.E.F.
September 23, 1915 (Thursday evening, 5.45).
It is a heavy, disagreeable evening — what I call " gashly " :
the sun disappeared about 3 o'clock, and it became thick and
cloudy, but hotter than ever, with not a breath of live air any-
where. Now a few hot drops of rain are falling, but I fear it
is not going to be much.
I used to tell you that this grey hot weather at Versailles
was like a Malta sirocco, but the difference is that whereas the
sirocco was teeming with damp, it is not so here, but very dry,
and I suppose that is why one does not feel it much. Still,
it is very oppressive, and always depresses my spirits for the
moment ; as you know, the dark weather that comes from rain
never depresses me in the least — that seems to me natural and
above-board.
Hurray ! The rain is really coming down, and I hope it
will go on all night and give us a clean, washed day to-
morrow. Though it has not yet struck 6, it is so dark in my
window that I have to move my writing-table back to its place
and light up for the evening. . . .
I had a very nice letter from Lady Austin-Lee to-day,
rather reproaching me for not having written, so I must do
so ; and Countess d'Osmoy also writes mildly reproaching me
for my silence. I must write to both this evening, also to
Lady O'Conor and the Duchess of Wellington.
The story of the German governess at Woolwich is very
interesting and instructive; no doubt the Germans have had
238 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
plenty of such spies for years past, and no doubt everyone
thought their particular Fraulein was immaculate.
I wonder where the Beraneks are, and if they are still in
the land of the living.
Queen Engenie of Spain must be having a very uncomfort-
able time of it; Spain is furiously pro-German, and her
mother-in-law, the Queen Dowager, is, of course, Austrian.
Is the Austrian Emperor's portrait that he sent me still dis-
played on the inlaid table in the drawing-room? I forgot
all about it; but I think it would be well to wrap it up in
silver paper and put it safely away till after the war.
I must now stop to tackle those other letters.
I bought you a pretty ring for a birthday present to-day,
and thought to send you besides a little tip. Does that suit
your ideas ?
With best love to Christie.
LETTER No. 205.
B.E.F., September 25, 1915 (Saturday evening).
When I was writing to you a night or two ago I spoke of
the very close, hot, sunless weather we had had, and how a few
drops of rain began to fall. Since then the weather has quite
broken, and yesterday and to-day have been very rainy,
though it has not rained all day to-day, nor did it do so yes-
terday.
However, at 2 o'clock this afternoon, the hour at which
we were to start in the Pringles' motor for Rambouillet, it
came down in torrents, and seemed determined to go on
indefinitely. So we (F and I) were not surprised that
the motor and the ladies did not turn up. After a while one
of their footmen brought a note asking if we could go to-
morrow, Sunday ; and so we walked round and found the
four ladies all at knitting or embroidery or stitching, and
rather glad to have two people to talk to. The five dogs all
leapt to their feet and barked and snarled, but we were neither
of us bitten, and presently they all dashed out into the garden
to bite the gardener at their leisure. When they returned they
were quite quiet for a while, but presently Koko became
jealous of Cricket, who was seated on Miss Susie's lap, and
made a leap at him and bit him, which Cricket returned
with interest. Miss Susie tried to impose peace, and I saw
Koko (my friend) give her two pretty successful bites. She
did not seem to be either surprised or annoyed, and Koko's
mistress, Miss Maria, said : " Susie, your dress must have
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 239
some very nasty dye in it, for poor Koko is spluttering and
making faces, as he always does when he has got something
disagreeable in his mouth."
Apart from these little interludes, our visit was very pleasant
and peaceful. I gave them (not the dogs) a lavender-sachet
each, and they were delighted ; and also I gave them a copy
of " Mezzogiorno." To-day I sent Lady Austin-Lee a copy of
" Faustula," and will give her " Gracechurch " as well.
The Pringles showed me an interesting picture of the
Pringle House at Charleston, in which their old aunt lives
alone. It was built in George II.'s time out of bricks brought
from England, and is a fine, solid, Georgian house, with a fine
stone portico : handsome, grave, respectable, and aristocratic-
looking.
In spite of the dogs, I never met so nice an American family,
and they give one a very pleasant impression of heartiness and
sincerity. They are just the sort of people you would like (I
can't undertake to say you would like the dogs ! ), and they
like the sort of things I like — reading aloud some book worth
reading, in a homely sort of way, while the rest work. . . .
Dearest, have courage and trust, and God will bring us to
each other again.
LETTER No. 206.
B.E.F., September 26, 1915 (Sunday evening}.
If this is a short letter, it is not because I am pressed for
time, but because my very long letter of last night used up
pretty nearly all I had to say.
Our hospital is for the moment nearly empty, as we sent
every man who could possibly be moved away to-day, having
received an order to be ready to receive a very large number
of wounded. This means that we are making a big "push"
up on the front ; and, oddly enough, I heard first that it was
to be from Scotland! — i.e., in a letter from Lady Glenconner
two days ago. Bim had told her that a big advance was to
be made, involving a million men.
I said Mass this morning, asking God to be with our hosts,
and especially that we and our French comrades might
succeed in taking vast numbers of prisoners who should sur-
render unhurt.
God knows I have never prayed bloodthirsty prayers;
still, one can see now that it would have been a merciful thing
if in the beginning of the war we could have, with our Allies,
inflicted a crushing blow on the enemy, even if it had
involved great loss of life, for then the war would not have
24o JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
dragged on with its daily and weekly losses of life for thirteen
months.
It looks as if things were about to emerge from the deadlock
of the last month or two : Bulgaria's mobilization has made
Greece mobilize, and will probably make Rumania do the
same, and at least there will be action; nothing tends to pro-
long the war like the sitting tight of recent weeks.
I must write other letters now, so good-bye.
LETTER No. 207.
B.E.F., September 27, 1915 (Monday evening].
We had a good large convoy of wounded during last night,
and I was busy in hospital all morning. Everyone seemed in
good spirits; the French and English advance had been so
successful and encouraging — the most successful thing on our
front since the Battle of the Marne nearly a year ago. If this
activity continues and is blest with similar success, it will do
something towards ending the war.
There is an air of cheerfulness and satisfaction on all faces.
I went to luncheon with our Americans, but the Marquise
de Montebello, who was to have come from Paris (on purpose
to meet me), had to telegraph that she could not come, as she
is in charge of a hospital, and wounded soldiers were pouring
in. Five thousand French wounded arrived, in Paris only,
from the front yesterday. Our hostesses and host were very
nice and pleasant, and our luncheon-party was very agreeable.
Afterwards two of the sisters motored us in to Paris for the
drive in their huge and most luxurious motor. We went by
the forest and park of St. Cloud and came back by Neuilly
and the Seine. I enjoyed it immensely. As you say, these
kind and really very agreeable ladies are a great acquisition.
They have a great friend at Biarritz (where they consider their
home is, as the house there is their own, and they spend eight
out of the twelve months there every year), the Duchess of San
Carlos, an American married to a Spanish grandee, who,
they say, is wildly jealous of their knowing me, as she is a
fervent admirer of John Ayscough's books. . . .
Yes, I am sorry for the German Jesuits of the Bombay
Presidency; but, as you say, English Jesuits in Germany
would no doubt have had much worse to suffer. And if it leads
to the appointment of English priests for the whole Bombay
Presidency, it will do great good. And it appears that there
have always been many English who disliked and resented
having these German priests to hear their confessions, preach
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 241
to them, etc., and after the war a more satisfactory arrange-
ment may be arrived at. It certainly seems odd that in a
whole Presidency of a British possession the priests should be
foreigners.
Tuesday, 7.45 a.m. — I am just going to say Mass for you.
LETTER No. 208.
B.E.F., September 28, 1915 (Tuesday evening],
It is a chilly, tempestuous evening, and I like it! The
morning was fine, so was the early afternoon, and I was
pleased to think that the Pringle party going to Brittany
were having such a nice day for their start; for Mr. Pringle,
Miss Maysie and Miss Susie, with the chauffeur, were going
in the big new car to Brittany till Saturday ; it is very power-
ful and quick, and can do 100 kilometres an hour. They
were to do 400 miles to-day !
I was to go to tea with Miss Cassie and Miss Maria : and
did so, but when I arrived the whole family was there. They
only got as far as Rambouillet, 50 kilometres from here, when
the car broke down hopelessly. However, it was decent
enough to do so close to the railway-station, and they came
back to Versailles by train. So their trip is all off. They
did not seem to mind much and took it very cheerfully.
There were two Irish ladies there, a Miss S and a
Miss B , the latter a tall, rather severe-looking person in
black, who eats nothing but raw meat ! She is supposed to
be able to assimilate no other nourishment.
And that is all there is to tell you.
Wilcox, to cure his stammer, used to read aloud to his
friend Father McGrain in India, and I let him read aloud to
me for half an hour every evening. He reads wonderfully
well, and read some of " Gracechurch " to me to-night. The
only mistake he made was to pronounce the name of Dives to
rhyme with lives. . . .
Your letter of Saturday arrived to-day. I'm glad you
liked the beast cards; I also thought the panther more like
a leopard, but all his names and titles are painted up over
his den, and he is some sort of panther. He is not very
large, and is very agile and playful, with graceful, rapid
movements; but when he sits still and looks out at you he
has a sulky, ill-conditioned face.
I saw that Stonehenge had been sold to that man, and for a
very poor price. I expect Lady Antrobus will be savage,
but I have heard nothing of her for ages. I used to meet
16
242 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Sir Cosmo at Amesbury Abbey; he is not at all like his
brother, being tall and slim. ... I wonder she does not
buy West Amesbury House (that big, picturesque house as
you go from Amesbury to Wilsford) : she always had a great
liking for it. ...
If my very small birthday present arrives before the 3rd,
please keep it till that morning and don't open it till then —
on your honour, now.
I think the Pringles do know the Austin-Lees already, but
not very intimately. I heard from Lady A.-L. to-day; Sir
Henry is with her, and they return to Paris all together next
week.
I must dry up now, and think of dinner, or supper. It is
rather an unconventional meal — never soup, sometimes fish,
sometimes mutton chops, sometimes cold ham ; never pudding,
and almost always fruit.
Give my best love to Christie, and remember me duly to
the Gaters.
LETTER No. 209.
B.E.F., September 29, 1915.
It is only the 29th ; but as this will not go till to-morrow I
think I had better be getting my birthday letter ready.
Beside the ring, I only send you a pair of gloves, and in a few
days will send you a small tip. . . .
I had to go to Paris to-day, and bought the gloves there;
they are 6|, because in the shop they said our English sizes
are slightly larger than theirs, so that 6| in French sizes is
equal to 6^ in English.
It was a cold drizzly day in Paris, and I stayed no longer
than I could help, and when I got home I was delighted
to find that Wilcox had made a good fire in my room — the
first I have had. For in the kitchen we do all our cooking
on gas stoves, which are very clean and convenient.
I always have revelled in the first fire of autumn, and this
one made my room look uncommonly cheerful and homely.
September 30. — It is a very bright but quite cold autumn
morning, and much more like very late October than the last
day of September. I have just received your letter of
Monday, and I suppose Alice is with you now, as she was to
arrive last night. I do hope she will be with you for your
birthday, and I think she will, as you said she was to come for
a week.
One of the nuns of the convent where I say Mass every
day gave me a book written by one of their English sisters,
and I send it on to you as part of your birthday present. I
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 243
do trust you will have a happy birthday : I shall say Mass for
you at 8 o'clock, and in the evening at 8.30 will drink your
health in a bottle of fizzy wine that must be bought for the
purpose ; there is no hope of my being with you this year for
your birthday ; but things are going so well for us now that
there really does begin to be hope of my being with you before
we are any of us much older.
Almost all my Masses now are said for (i) you, (2) the
blessing of God upon our arms and those of our Allies.
I have a very large number of wounded to attend to, and
must go round to hospital to do it.
So good-bye ; and wishing you every possible happiness and
blessing on your birthday, and during your eighty-seventh
year.
Best love to Christie and Alice.
LETTER No. 210.
B.E.F., September 30, 1915 (Thursday night}.
I posted my meagre birthday presents — a little ring, a pair
of gloves, and a book — to you to-day, with a rather dull
letter. As I think it very likely they will arrive too soon, I
wish you a very, very happy birthday, and all comfort and
happiness possible till we are together again, and after. Alice
was to arrive last evening, and as I think you said she was
coming for a week, she will be with you on your birthday, of
which I am very glad. She will cheer you two old parties up,
and have plenty to tell you.
Our hospital is now crowded, and so I am busier than
usual; but of 800 wounded who came in last (on Tuesday
night) there was not one stretcher case — they were all able to
walk in.
The paper to-day says that the German losses, on this
Western front, are 120,000 in killed, wounded, and prisoners.
If we keep on hammering at that rate the war really will come
to an end some day, and Germany will have to plead for
peace.
Talking of figures, you made me laugh by saying that Mr.
Chubb or Jubb or Drubb only gave 6,000,600 pounds for
Stonehenge — only, i.e., six million six hundred pounds. Not
so bad, either. I have a fire again to-night and am revelling
in it : it has been a glorious autumn day, bright sun, but cold
and bracing — fancy Versailles bracing !
We have had no frost, but the cold rains have finished the
really splendid long border here; for months it has been a
blaze of colour (like my face).
244 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Friday Morning. — No English mail in yet, so no letter from
you to acknowledge ; but no doubt the post will come in later
on in the day.
Yesterday someone sent me two bottles of old whisky, which
arrived smashed to atoms, and everyone else's letter smelling
vehemently of whisky.
I must now go off to the hospital.
LETTER No. 211.
B.E.F., October i, 1915 (Friday night}.
During the last few days, since the big advance of our
troops, our mails for some reason have been coming in very
irregularly, and to-day's has not yet arrived ; but no doubt it
will crop up to-morrow morning.
I have really nothing to tell you, as during the last day
or two I have been too busy in hospital to go and see
anybody or do anything.
The worst of this exclusively hospital work, and work in a
hospital like ours, is that you hardly ever get to know any of
the men well, as they are seldom kept here many days. As
soon as they can possibly be moved they are packed off to
Rouen or England, that we may have their beds free for more
lately wounded men.
In the street to-day I met Mile, de Missiessy, who told me
her mother has been ill for three weeks with sciatica, and is
to-day rather sad because her elder son has to join his regiment
at Souchez to-morrow, the place where the fighting is so fierce.
She begged me to go and see Comtesse de Missiessy to cheer
her up.
Saturday Morning. — . . . The same post brings me another
parcel from Father Wrafter, a very nice letter from Lady
O'Conor, a very cordial and affectionate letter from the
Bishop, and a lot of others.
Our bright, cold, and invigorating autumn weather con-
tinues, and I feel very fit in consequence; for the moment I
have no cold — at Versailles I am generally armed with one —
and my "periosteum" has given over annoying me.
LETTER No. 212.
B.E.F., October 3, 1915 (Sunday}.
Many Happy Returns of the Day ! I said Mass for you
at 7.30 this morning, and begged Our Lord to give you a
happy, cheerful day, and to grant you all your prayers. It
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 245
is a lovely October morning, very bright, with a disappearing
frost, no wind, but a keen brisk air.
The only letter I got to-day — a very rare occurrence — was
yours of Thursday : a very cheery one, reflecting your
pleasure at Alice's coming.
I am so glad you mutually thought each other looking well.
Now, my dear, I'm going for a little stroll in the parks, the
first for weeks and weeks.
So with best love to Christie and Alice, and 10,000 wishes
that you may be having a happy birthday. . . .
October 3, 1915 (Your birthday at ni±
In a few minutes I shall go down to dinner to drink your
health in a specially purchased bottle of wine, the only cheap
thing in France just now; any reasonably cheap eggs explode
in your face, and any cheap butter is appalling.
This morning before luncheon I went, as I told you I was
going to, for a little walk in the park, and went to the Little
Trianon, almost wholly empty at that hour. The day was
lovely, so was the place, and I enjoyed my solitary stroll
very much. Last year I remember going for another lonely
stroll on your birthday — up at the front then, and I nearly
strolled into the German lines ! It was just such a day as
to-day, bright and fresh, with the smell of autumn in the
brisk air.
The Trianon glades were incomparably lovelier to-day
than last time I was there : the blackish-green monotone of
summer changed into many varied shades of yellow, citron-
green, and russet, and the ground patched with deep, rustling
litter of fallen leaves. I picked a few geranium seeds from
the long borders in front of the little palace; and though
they are nothing wonderful, they will interest us hereafter as
having come from Marie Antoinette's garden.
On coming home I found a note from the Pringles asking
what had happened to me, as I had not been near them since
Tuesday, and begging me to go round this afternoon, which
accordingly I did. They were all very cordial and friendly
and glad to see me; and, as their big motor has been put
right, our trip to Rambouillet is to come off to-morrow after-
noon, if it is a day like to-day and yesterday. We go by
the village and castle of Montfort, whence Simon de Mont-
fort came.
After tea I went to the hospital for my little evening service,
and then instructed a convert, and finally came home and am
writing this.
246 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 213.
B.E.F.
October 4, 1915 (Monday night}.
I have a little more than usual to make you a letter of,
because to-day our trip to Rambouillet really came off, and
most delightful it was. The motor came to the gate at
2 o'clock, and inside were Miss Maria, Miss Maysie, and Miss
Susie — the eldest sister, Miss Cassie, and the brother, Duncan,
stayed at home.
The whole drive of about twenty-five miles each way was
through a perfectly lovely country. We went one way and
came back another, but both ways were equally beautiful. It
is nearly all forest, but not flat forest — deep forest valleys
and wooded hills.
We went by Port Royal, and got out of the motor to visit
the site (there are scarcely any ruins) of the famous Abbey of
Port Royal : I doubt if you know much about it, but perhaps
you may. In the late seventeenth century and early eighteenth
the nuns of Port Royal were very famous, chiefly for their
austerity and fervour, but they fell into bad odour with Rome
and the rulers of the Church on account of a suspicion of
heresy that attached to them — the Jansenist heresy, which
showed itself in a hard and narrow rigorism, and, like all
heretics, they were uncommonly obstinate. The convent, or
abbaye, was still going strong at the Revolution, during which
it was completely destroyed — so completely that little remains
save the colombiere, a great dove-cot, of which I enclose a
card, and another of the remains of the kitchens, etc.
The situation is lovely — sloping meadows shut in by
wooded ridges of hills, and views of rich water-meadows in
the valley bottom.
After getting back into the motor, we went through Dam-
pierre, a village belonging to the Due de Luynes, with his
big chateau nestled down in it. He is quite young, and I
meet him occasionally.
At Rambouillet we went over the chateau, which is, of
course, no Versailles or Fontainebleau, but is fascinating. A
very ancient chateau — a fortified manor, not a castle — was
replaced by another chateau in the fourteenth century ; of the
older chateau there remains the massive squat tower, and in
that tower Francis I. died on the 3ist March, 1547.
In 1706 Rambouillet became the property of the Comte de
Toulouse, son of Louis XIV. by Madame de Montespan, and
he had all the rooms lined with exquisitely carved panelling,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 247
as you can see in the pictures I send. Louis XV. often stayed
there, and hunted in the forest. Louis XVI. bought the place,
and it became a Royal residence — a sort of shooting-lodge.
Napoleon I. also used to stay there, and his bathroom is now
a small study; he had it all painted in Pompeian style by
Vasserot Louis XVIII. and his brother, Charles X., often
stayed there, and on 2nd August, 1830, Charles X. signed his
abdication in the dining-room.
Napoleon L, after Waterloo, came there, and slept there for
the last time on 2pth June, 1815 — eleven days after Waterloo,
setting forth next day on his journey to Brest to deliver him-
self to the English. At present the chateau is the country
house of the President of the Republic. The cards I send will
give you an idea of the place both outside and in. We had
tea in the little town, and motored back to Chevreuse. . . .
Your letter of Friday, October 1st, arrived to-day, and I
can see from it how you are enjoying Alice's visit.
LETTER No. 214.
B.E.F.
October 9, 1915 (Saturday, 10 a.m.}.
Your very cheery, welcome letter of Wednesday has just
arrived, and gave -me great satisfaction, because it showed
you were in good health, spirits, and courage when you wrote.
I'm glad you asked the Geddeses to tea, and found them
pleasant people. . . .
It is another excellent autumn morning, far from warm, but
cheerful and sunny. I have been saying Mass for the soul of
the eldest son of my fish-wife. When I went to buy my fish
yesterday I found the poor woman weeping bitterly over her
mackerel and sprats, and guessed only too well what had
happened, for I knew she had three sons at the front. The
eldest had just been killed at Souchez (where Comtesse de
Missiessy's son is). I could only say that I would say Mass
for him to-day, and she and two of his sisters came to hear it.
I went to see Comtesse de Missiessy yesterday, but found
her future son-in-law's motor at the door, and he just waiting
to take her off to Paris for a few days' change, so I did not
go in.
I'm in dread about Bim Tennant, not having had any
reply to my last letter (which required an answer), and know-
ing that the whole brigade of Guards had it very hot the
other day : the Colonel and Second in Command of the
Coldstreams both killed. I should feel it very much if any-
248 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
thing happened to dear Bim; he is more fond of me than
any of them are, and he is a very, very nice lad.
We have had some sharp work on our Indian frontier, up
north, Mahometan tribes (usually the most loyal) up against
us, and we have had heavy losses — 14,000 in one place. No
doubt the German agents have been busy spreading tales of
our being beaten in this war, and so lowering our prestige.
Unfortunately, Herbert Ward, our young friend, is up there,
and I fear his mother will be terribly anxious if she knows;
but it is not everyone who does know of this fighting on the
Indian frontier.
I am going to tea to-day with my Pringles, and always
like going there.
Please thank Winifred for her very great kindness and
thoughtfulness in writing me enclosed; nothing could have
given me more real pleasure than what she says about you.
LETTER No. 215.
B.E.F., Saturday night.
As I wrote to you this morning, and as nothing has
happened since, not even a shower of rain, I shan't have much
to say ; but I want to write to-night, because to-morrow I shall
be busy in the hospital.
I went to tea with my Pringles, who were all very jolly;
the tribe of dogs met me at the door, and were extremely
urbane, only jealous of one another, each wanting to be petted.
After tea, in the drawing-room, something excited them, and
my old friend Koko bit me in the thigh without the slightest
prejudice; it did not hurt, and did not draw blood, but of
course I felt it; he always bites whomsoever is nearest, so
no personal compliment was intended.
On Monday I am lunching there, and we are to motor to
St. Germain. . . .
Our diplomacy in Greece and the Balkan Courts seems to
have been rather innocent and ineffective. Anyway, I trust
King Ferdinand may meeet with the due reward of his Judas
policy, and that the Greeks may not fall into the folly of
making friends with the friends of Turkey. If the Germans
detach too many men for the Balkan adventure, they may find
themselves pushed pretty hard on the Western front and the
Russian too.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 249
LETTER No. 216.
B.E.F., October 11 (Monday, 10.30 a.m.}.
Yesterday I had your very cheery and comfortable letter
of Thursday, and also two copies of St. Joseph's Lilies.
Certainly the "appreciation" ought to satisfy you, if un-
bridled eulogy of J. A. is what you want ! I liked all the
literary part very well, but the personal part at the beginning,
about my heroic services out here (at Versailles ! ! /) made me
feel rather silly. However, I was at the front once !
After luncheon I went for quite a long walk in the parks, at
the back of them, where there are no formal walks, or statues,
or fountains, but natural woods and glades.
It was quite lovely in those woods, and I did so much wish
you could be there. The lights among the trees and glades
were exquisite, and the carpet of fallen leaves made a comfort-
able rustle as one walked. . . .
LETTER No. 217.
B.E.F., October 11, 1915 (Monday evening).
This morning I lunched with the Pringles, and afterwards
we all motored to St. Germain, and thence on to Poissy, of
which place I enclose half a dozen cards. The church is very
fine, and in it is the old font in which St. Louis (King
Louis IX.) was baptized. I do not remember the exact date,
but I should say it was seven and a half centuries ago. We
walked down to the bridge, of which you have a card here
enclosed, very fine, and with exquisite views of the river. It
was a mild, misty afternoon, but the mist did not hide the
woods, and only made them more beautiful. We walked
back to the church, where we had left the car, and drove home
by St. Germain again, where we again got out to walk on the
famous terrace, of which I sent you a card at the time of my
former visit to St. Germain. The view from it across the
Seine valley is quite superb, and the terrace is over a mile and
a half long; there our poor exiled James II. used to walk
and think of England — as I do !
At one end of it is the vieuz chateau of St. Germain (not
the great chateau of which you have cards) where Louis XIV.
was born.
When we got back to Versailles we all went to a restaurant,
where I treated our party to tea and toast — quite English
toast.
250 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
To-morrow there is to be an interesting concert in the
chateau here, in the Galerie de Batailles, and of course the
Pringles have taken a ticket for me too; and I am to go to
tea with them on Thursday. They are really the most hospit-
able and kind creatures, and they are an immense acquisition.
I only got your letter of Friday when I got in here. You
must not want to exterminate all the Bulgarians ! but you
may exterminate their hateful King as soon as you like — a
German, and a very bad one, base, treacherous, totally without
heart or conscience, and eaten up with ambition. I am sure
he imagines that Germany and Austria will make him Balkan
Emperor.
He is, of course, a cousin of our King, though not a very
near one ; and you will remember another cousin of his, Prince
Leopold, who came to see us at Plymouth. His mother,
Princess Clementine, was a daughter of Louis Philippe, and
as great a schemer as her father. . . .
I must write other letters.
LETTER No. 218.
B.E.F.
Tuesday night (no, Wednesday morning;
it is past 12 and a.m.).
I duly received to-day your letter of Sunday.
Yesterday I went with the Pringles to a very interesting
concert given — (i) to entertain wounded soldiers, and (2) also
to raise money for the Versailles war hospitals : so, of course,
the wounded men did not pay, but everyone else did.
It was the same sort of thing as the entertainment at the
Trocadero which I described to you long ago, but on a much
smaller scale. Still, the " encadrement " was more interest-
ing; for yesterday's concert was given in the vast Galerie de
Batailles of the chateau here, a splendid and truly regal hall
lined with colossal pictures of French victories. I enclose a
copy of the programme, as it is a sort of little memento.
The concert lasted from 2 till 5.30 ! Then I took the
Pringles to tea at a nice little tea-shop we have discovered ;
then I came in and began the instalment of "French and
English " for the November Month.
To-day, Wednesday, I have after luncheon to attend the
funeral (not to conduct it) of the officer commanding the
King's Own Scottish Borderers, Colonel Verner, who died in
our hospital from his wounds on Sunday night; I remember
him at Plymouth as a subaltern.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 251
LETTER No. 219.
B.E.F.
October 14, 1915 (Thursday, 9.45 a.m.).
Wilcox has just gone round to hospital for the letters, so
I do not know yet whether there is one from you for me or
no : there almost always is. Yesterday immediately after
luncheon I had, as I told you, to attend the funeral of Colonel
Verner, who commanded the King's Own Scottish Borderers,
and died on Sunday night from his wounds. The funeral
started from the hospital, and was a fine and touching sight.
The French sent a double squadron of Dragoons, besides
many officers; there were. all our officers who could possibly
be spared from duty at the hospital, and about seventy men.
The French uniforms were splendid, and made a fine contrast
with our sober khaki.
We marched very slowly all through the town to the
Gonard Cemetery, Mrs. Verner walking all the way just
behind the hearse. Her son (wounded) walked at her side,
also her mother and sister-in-law. These chief mourners had
a sort of guard of honour of French Dragoons. At the grave
the poor widow stood by her lad's side, and slipped her hand
in his ; they were both of them very simple and quiet. Only
as the coffin was lowered did I see her lift her eyes as if
trying to force back her tears, and a sort of spasm held her
very pale face.
There were numbers of French, both at the graveyard and
along the route to it, and I think the wonderful sympathy and
respect shown comforted the poor woman.
This morning when I got up at quarter to 6 there was a
thick fog, but it has gone, and I should not wonder if we had
a sunny day.
The Pringles have a "beast party" to-day to polish off all
the callers whom they don't much mind missing. They
apologized for asking me to come and help, and seemed quite
grateful when I said, " Of course." So handling tea-cups will
be my afternoon's occupation, and F 's too. His little
friend the Duchess of T revise was next me at the concert on
Tuesday, but we only beamed at each other, as French people
do not chatter and whisper throughout a concert.
A Frenchwoman came to me and told me that a certain
soldier at our hospital was very eager to marry her. I saw
him, and said nonchalantly (quite as if I knew} : " But you
are married. . . ."
He at once admitted it, and swore he had never meant to
252 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
deceive Mile. G ; that he merely wished for the pleasure
of walking out with her, etc. So that little plot is cracked.
I shall presently be sending back the two Thackeray books
you sent, and with them some packets of letters. So don't
be disappointed, thinking it is a nice present !
I must dry up.
LETTER No. 220.
B.E.F., October 15, 1915 (Friday, 6 a.m.}.
I woke about 3 o'clock with horrible neuralgia; and, as it
got worse every quarter of an hour, I determined at 4 o'clock
to try a cure — the opposite of a "rest cure" — and got up,
dressed, went down to the kitchen, and worked — washed up
crockery, cleaned some saucepans, cut up and cleaned veget-
ables for soup, put the soup on to simmer, etc. ! ! ! — and it
was a complete success : the neuralgia is almost gone ; and
now I am sitting down to complete the cure by writing to you.
It is just light, though not light enough to write without a
lamp, and there is a dense white fog, as there was yesterday
at dawn ; but yesterday it ended in a very sunny day, and I
expect it will be the same to-day.
Yesterday afternoon I went to tea with the Pringles, who had
a regular tea-party. Of course, it was much less pleasant than
when they were by themselves ; the guests blocked themselves
up in corners, and would not budge, and there was no general
talk or moving about. Miss Maria said to me : "I wish one
might shake them." I said : " I know all about tea-parties,
and your mistake was giving them chairs. My mother always
used to try and make me do the same thing, but once you let
chairs into an At-Home tea-party you're done for : the people
glue themselves to them, and will neither move about nor talk
to anyone but the accomplice on the chair adjacent." . . .
I got your dear letter of Monday yesterday; you seem to
get mine much quicker than I get yours — at least, it is so
sometimes, for the one I wrote on last Thursday morning, as
I was starting for Paris with Wilcox, you got on Saturday
afternoon.
This letter of yours encloses Mr. Gater's note thanking you
for the wine; I am very glad you sent him that gift, for he
seems very much to appreciate it, and its being a Naval prize
makes it interesting.
Now I must do my real dressing and shaving; my 4 a.m.
toilette was "provisional," like a revolutionary government.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 253
LETTER No. 221.
B.E.F., October 16, 1915 (Saturday, 11 a.m.}.
I feel quite in the mood for writing a long letter, but it is
1 1 o'clock and I must go round to hospital, so my letter must
be put off till to-night.
October 16, 1915 (Saturday evening}. — This morning I had
no time to do more than write to say I had no time to write !
So now I will try and make up. I went off to the hospital
and saw a lot of new arrivals, and then came home to
luncheon, after which I met F at the gate of the Grand
Trianon in the park, where the Miss Pringles (or rather three
of them, for Miss Maysie has a cold and " kept house ") were
to meet us and go for a long walk. However, only Miss
Maria (and three dogs) turned up, as Mr. Pringle had made
two of them go out with him in the car. So we only went a
little walk, in the Little Trianon, which was looking perfectly
exquisite. The trees have turned the most lovely colour, and
their pictures in the lakes and in the little artificial river
were almost more perfect than themselves; and there was a
tender, opal-like "atmosphere," not in the least a mist, but
just an effect of bluish-pink between the more distant belts of
trees and the eye.
You would have longed to paint dozens of pictures of it
all, and there are inexhaustible pictures there. After our
walk we returned to the Pringle house and had tea; the
motorists had not returned, but we found Miss Maysie in the
drawing-room. Almost everyone here seems armed with a
cold just now, including poor Mr. Ayscough, whose snufflings
make me very uncomfortable. I am sure it is the relaxing air
of Versailles that makes one so apt to catch cold ; but if one
hints to any native that it is relaxing, he almost swallows one,
cold and all.
Lady Austin-Lee was out when F and I called there
yesterday, but this morning I had a note from her begging me
to go to luncheon to-morrow ; that, unfortunately, I cannot do,
as I am engaged to lunch with the Chaplains of the convent
where F is in hospital.
Yesterday he and I went in to Paris, where I had to buy two
more helmets at Lady Glenconner's request ; one for a son of
her sister, Lady Wemyss (who was Lady Elcho when you met
her long ago; since then her very old father-in-law has died,
and her husband has become Lord Wemyss) ; the other helmet
is for another brother-officer of Bim's, Osbert Sitwell.
254 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Also, I wanted to buy the stockings, muff, and " stole," for
you.
I did buy all these things, and to-day sent off your things,
which I hope will arrive in due course. I hope you will think
the fur — a soft grey — pretty, and it feels soft and comfort-
able; of course, it is not one of the costly furs, for, though
you deserve the best, I could not afford them. The stole is
large and broad, and should keep you warm. I think the
soft slaty-grey of this fur will suit you better than black or
than the yellowish sorts of furs.
After our shopping we called on Lady Austin-Lee, and,
she being out, we went then to the Faubourg St. Honore to
call on Comtesse de Sercey, a great friend of Lady O' Conor,
whom I have been promising to call upon ever since I arrived
here. She was out, but her sister, Mile. d'Angleau, was in,
and we stayed about half an hour. She is a clever, amiable
person, with almost overwhelming conversational powers.
And that, I think, is all I have to tell you of my doings.
Your letter of Wednesday came this morning, in which,
oddly enough, you mention Harold Skyrme's being in the
Warsfite, and by the same post came a letter from him. He
had had a few days' leave, which he spent in the bosom of
his family, the whole bosom assembling at Cardiff for the
purpose.
All letters from neutral countries like Holland would be
sure to be opened by the Censor ; my letters to you never are.
is quite civil to me these days. He must be feeling
out of sorts. You must understand that his politeness is
like anybody else's rudeness.
I must stop now to write to Father Wrafter ; he has got his
wish at last, and is coming out to the front as a Chaplain,
and his last act is to send me a beautiful warm new rug and
a big piece of Irish bacon !
LETTER No. 222.
B.E.F., October 18, 1915 (Monday, 12 noon}.
I can only write very hurriedly. Last night when I got
in from church I had a ruck of little things to do one after
another till it was bedtime; and this morning, since Mass, I
have been really very busy.
It is St. Luke's Day, and is a regular St. Luke's summer
day — very sunny, rather still, and rather cold. Just as I
was vesting for Mass this morning I heard that my late land-
lord here, Beranek, is dead, so I offered the Mass for him.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 255
He was in a very precarious state before his arrest, spitting
blood and so on, and all the worry of his imprisonment no
doubt told against him. I believe he has been ill almost ever
since his arrest, and his death hardly surprises me.
Yesterday I was very busy, but had to lunch at F 's
convent — a party of five, myself, F , the Chaplain of the
convent, a Canon of Versailles, and the Duke of Trevise,
grandson of Napoleon's Marshal, Mortier. The luncheon was
rather stodgy and overpowering, but everybody was very
nice and cordial; only my cold was at its snuffliest stage,
and I felt incapable of making myself agreeable. I walked
home to shake down the food !
I must dash round to hospital, so with best love to
Christie . . .
LETTER No. 223.
B.E.F., October 19, 1915 (Tuesday, 11.30 a.m.").
You mentioned in the letter I had from you yesterday that
you had been two days without a letter from me; but then
you had twice lately mentioned having two letters from me
in one day, and it is inevitable that, if two of my letters
arrive together, there must be a day without any. If you
have two letters on the same day 'twill then mean that two
days with no letter must follow. . . .
I fancy that I and Wilcox between us live on less than one
English servant — i.e., we live on less than 55. a day between
us, and that includes not only food, but drink, lighting
(petroleum, etc.). . . .
I enclose some eucalyptus-leaves off one of the many trees
here ; if you get a cold, have them boiled in a small saucepan,
and after sweetening with honey, or treacle, or sugar, drink
the "tisane" as hot as you can take it, after you are in bed.
It is excellent. You should repeat the dose every night till
you are cured.
Yesterday I took Miss Susie and Miss Maria Pringle for
a long walk in the wild parts of the park behind the Trianons
in the direction of St. Cyr. It was a perfect St. Luke's
summer day, and the trees and glades were too lovely ; I have
never seen such . exquisite autumn colouring, and yet very
English. The trees were all our own sort of trees — elms,
chestnuts, beeches, oaks, alders, etc.
Then we went back and had tea, after which I had church
at the hospital.
I must stop. I can send heaps more eucalyptus-leaves.
256 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 224.
B.E.F.
October 21, 1915 (Thursday morning, 10 o'clock}.
Versailles in the mornings at this season is like a city in
the clouds. I suppose all the thick mists come from the
forests with which we are surrounded for miles in every direc-
tion. To-day the fog is the densest we have had, but I expect
about noon it will yield and turn to a soft, sunny afternoon.
I had your letter of Monday just now, in which you tell me
of Winifred's Sunday afternoon visit : I am sure you enjoyed
the quiet chat with her.
Yesterday I went to tea with the Pringles, who had half
expected a tea-party, but the other guests weren't able to
come (except one), and I was delighted. That one was a
young Anglican Chaplain — a tall, clean, pink young divine,
with an air of always saying " Dearly beloved brethren."
The eldest Miss P. said : " I know you are always sending
your mother post-cards — would you send her these ; they may
interest her, because she knows America, and I think they are
pretty." So I send them on, though, of course, Pennsylvania
is very far from your part of America. The Pringles' mother
was a Pennsylvanian from Philadelphia, a Miss Duncan, also
of a good Scotch family, and I fancy, from all I hear them
say, very charming, refined, and clever.
How clever you are and economical ! I am sure the tea-
jacket and lilac gown together are charming; I wish 7 could
make new tunics out of old breeches !
I must dry up because I have nothing more to tell you.
LETTER No. 225.
B.E.F.
October 21, 1915 (Thursday night}.
I have just come in from a long and delightful motor
excursion with the Pringles. They picked me up here at 2,
and we went by St. Cyr, through Trappes, Houdan, etc., to
Montfort, where we got out to visit the church and then the
ruins of the castle.
The church has a very ugly late (seventeenth-century)
fagade in a villainous pseudo-classic taste ; but the east end is
lovely, with beautiful flying buttresses. I enclose a few cards,
one of the approach to the little town from the south, on which
I have put A; one of the approach from the west, with the
castle ruins to the right, marked B ; one of the south side of
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 25;
the church, marked C ; one of a street in the town, marked D ;
one of the beautiful east end and apse of the church, marked
E ; and the one marked F illustrates one of a series of splendid
stained-glass windows running almost all round the church —
not early glass, but sixteenth-century Renaissance, quite
superb of its sort.
The card marked G (at the back) is of the ruins of the
castle. The situation of the castle reminds one of Arques, but
the ruins consists of the tower here shown, that only d^tes
from 1498, the lower donjon-tower, and a few detached lumps
of rubble masonry — nothing near so fine as Arques. The
great interest of Montfort is its being the domain of the great
Simon de Montfort, so famous in our own history.
After leaving it, we came home a different way, by Mantes,
a much more considerable place, with a cathedral ; but we were
so late and the fog was getting so thick that we only stayed
three or four minutes to admire the cathedral, and came on,
so I could not get you any cards.
The drive was all through a beautiful country, very
accidente, narrow valleys, so close together as almost to seem
like the furrows of some titanic ploughman, and all bristling
with woods, whose trees were of every conceivable colour —
russet, carmine, scarlet, orange, lemon, melon-rind, and grey-
green.
We came home through St. Germain, passing close by the
palace where James II. held his exiled Court : it stood up
pallid in a shroud of mist.
And that is all of the day's doings that gives me any-
thing to write about.
Shan't we (F and I) miss the Pringles when they go
south ? They are so boundlessly hospitable and kind, and they
are themselves so nice : always cheery and full of a piquant
sprightliness, chaffing each other remorselessly all the time.
I think they are the very best sort of Americans, really well
born and absolutely well bred : the mixture of the South
Carolinan father and Pennsylvanian mother is most agree-
able. You know Philadelphia, whence their mother came, is
supposed to be the most aristocratic city in America. The
Americans say, " Boston for what you know ; Philadelphia for
who you are ; and New York for — what you've got."
A certain Norman Marquis found me out the other day,
and bored me to death over the Normans and their grandeur,
and our own direct descent from the reigning family of
Normandy; he wanted me to take part in a great Norman
reunion, and I flatly refused, saying I had very different work
here, and dropped him and his Normans promptly. . . .
258 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 226.
B.E.F., October 23, 1915 (Saturday morning, 7.35).
I am just beginning a letter to you before going across to
the Hermitage convent to say Mass. It is a very cold, bright,
frosty morning, after a night of clear, bitter cold moonlight.
I am to meet F about 11.30, and we are to go in to
Paris together to lunch at Lady Austin-Lee's.
Yesterday I did nothing all day but the following : At a
quarter to 8 I said Mass; at 9 buried a poor soldier; then
worked in hospital till 1.30. Then wrote letters till tea; then
evening service at hospital, from 5.30 to 6.45 ; then home to
say "office," write letters, etc., till bedtime.
I had two letters from you yesterday, one written on
Tuesday morning and one on Tuesday afternoon. In the
second you announce safe arrival of the furs and stockings;
I am quite delighted that they please you so much. I hoped
that you would like them, and really I thought this grey
Siberian fur prettier than some far more costly. Also, I
thought that the stockings seemed warm and comfortable.
10 a.m. — I have said Mass, breakfasted, and received my
letters, including yours of Wednesday and one from Winifred
Gater.
The furs and stockings seem to have been a most successful
present, and I am very glad you think the latter good quality ;
I think French people think more of quality and less of
"cheapness" than we do. But these stockings were any-
thing but dear ; 3.50 fr. a pair, I think — i.e., about 2s. 8d.
Among Father Wrafter's recent gifts to myself is a very
soft and warm rug — about the same quality as the one Lady
Glenconner gave you, though of a different colour — and it
makes me very comfortable.
To-morrow I have to go to tea with the Pringles to meet
Mme. de Montebello.
Yesterday I absentmindedly sallied forth in black trousers
and Jkhaki tunic. I met Wilcox, who said grimly: "Well,
Monsignor, I'm glad you've got any on, you're that absent-
minded !"
All the same, I'm not a patch on him for up-in-the-moon-
ness. He is capable of putting the meat to roast in my bed.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 259
LETTER No. 227.
B.E.F., October 24, 1915 (Sunday}.
Yesterday I went in to Paris to lunch with the Austin-Lees,
whom I had not seen since early in September. There we met
also Comtesse d'Osmoy, who was passing a few days in Paris
— her home is far away, near the sea, in Normandy, in a big
chateau called Plessis. She was very nice, as she always is,
and seemed delighted to see me again. She enquired keenly
after you ; your miniature made such an impression on her !
Lady Austin-Lee looked younger and prettier than ever in
black — mourning for the only relation she had in France, who
died the other day at Orleans. . . .
The fourth guest was a very young American man called
Scott, from Rome, where he has lived almost his whole life
with his mother, a very nice fellow.
I got back just in time for my evening service at 5.30 in the
hospital — and that is my day for yesterday.
To-day, Sunday, I am not very fit, a sort of gastric bother,*
and a scandalous tongue ! (I don't mean as talking goes, but
to look at).
I was going to the Pringles' this afternoon, but don't feel
up to it. ...
LETTER No. 228.
B.E.F., October 25, 1915 (Monday, 1.30 p.m.).
It is a very sour, cross-looking day, with very little light
and no warmth ; no breeze, but only a dank emanation from
the sodden woods — the sort of day that makes evening, with
drawn curtains and lighted lamps, very welcome.
I am much better than I was yesterday, and have just eaten
an excellent luncheon. By to-morrow I shall be quite well;
but I had a regular chill of the liver — a thing I often do get
at home.
After Mass yesterday I came home and went back to bed,
and stayed there, and ate nothing, which treatment brought
about the desired results.
I hope you will not try to economize over fires and catch a
chill.
I heard from Roger to-day, and send the letter on to you :
also Mrs. Newland's. And I had yours of Friday, acknow-
ledging receipt of some eucalyptus-leaves.
I must stop or I shall miss the mail.
* It was not " gastric," but much more serious. He steadily became
more ill till after his operation in January. — EDITOR.
260 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 229.
B.E.F., October 26, 1915 (Tuesday, n a.m.}.
I received this morning your letter telling of the arrival
of the five officers. I am delighted to hear that you made
them welcome, but I don't think you would be likely to do
anything else. If the house of one officer in the Army is not
open in war-time to other officers, I don't know what house
should be. If any more come, please think of them as if they
were me, and let them be treated as you would like me to be
treated, if cold, tired, and hungry I knocked at any door for
hospitality.
I am quite well again now after my gastric attack of
Sunday, and I am going in to Paris for a drive with the
Pringles in their motor-car at 1.30. So I must bustle up, as
I have not done my hospital yet — it is very empty for the
moment.
It is a rather unpleasant day, raw, and with a biting wind ;
but even as I write the sun comes out to do his best for us.
I must really be off, so good-bye.
LETTER No. 230.
B.E.F., October 27, 1915 (Wednesday, 11.30 a.m.}.
It is a very bright (though far from sultry} October morn-
ing, cheery and healthy. It began badly yesterday, but
turned out brilliantly fine, and I had a very nice drive in to
Paris in the afternoon with the Pringles ; we went through the
park and forest of St. Cloud — the palace no longer exists, it
having been burned by the Communards in 1871.
The colouring of the trees was splendid, and there are mag-
nificent views out across the Seine valley.
We went to see Mme. de Montebello, whom I found charm-
ing : she was very picturesque, with grey hair powdered
white; she is very grande dame and imposing, but most
cordial, and full of esprit and brightness : we cottoned to
each other promptly. She was French Ambassadress at St.
Petersburg when Lady O'Conor was our own Ambassadress
there. By the way, I heard from her to-day, and she enquires
much after you.
I see in to-day's paper that young Yvo Charteris, son of
Lady Wemyss, to whom I sent the helmet, was killed on the
1 7th. I think that is the fourth nephew Lady Glenconner has
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 261
had killed since the war began; and, as he was in the
Grenadiers with Bim, I fear it will terrify her.
On getting back from Paris yesterday I had to give Holy
Communion to a poor soldier who is very badly wounded — a
big piece of shrapnel wedged into his lung ; then I had evening
church, a daily event as long as the men will come.
I must dry up and go round to hospital now.
LETTER No. 231.
B.E.F., October 30, 1915 (Saturday}.
I have just received your letter of Wednesday, and in it the
envelope of my own letter to you of last Sunday opened by
the Base Censor out here — Paris, Rouen, or Havre, I don't
know which. As it is the first letter from me he had opened
out of the tons I have posted, I can't grumble.
The duck arrived at the same time, thus announced by
Wilcox. "Enter forth his highness (hope not) the chicken!"
The duck is splendid, a very large one, and well grown,
well fed, well killed, and well trussed. It shall be roasted
for our Sunday dinners to-morrow, and will last us several
days. A chicken last week lasted us all Sunday, Monday,
Tuesday, and Wednesday, and made us the soup that furnished
our suppers on Thursday ! Mary sent a killing letter with the
duck, which I will duly answer.
Yesterday I went to tea with the Pringles : a semi-tea-party,
with about five other guests, all of whom bored me; but I
stayed on after them, and enjoyed the time with my kind
hostesses alone. To-day I lunch there, as I have told you.
It is a grumpy-looking day, sunless and bleak, but not really
very cold.
I don't like your occasional allusions to having a fire : you
ought to have one every day. MlND ! Have good fires, and
keep your old bones comfortable, which will save doctoring
and will keep you out of the blues.
I must go off to hospital now, so good-bye, and with best
love to Christie.
LETTER No. 232.
B.E.F., October 31, 1915 (Sunday}.
It is a wet drizzly morning, not cold, but cheerless-looking,
and one's room, with a good fire, is a very pleasant place to
be in.
262 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
After Mass at the hospital, and seeing a few patients rather
specially ill, I came home, breakfasted, and am now writing
this to you.
Mary's duck is roasting downstairs, and filling the house
with excellent odours of an unwontedly good Sunday dinner.
I will drink Mary's health in the gravy !
Yesterday I lunched at the Pringles' — a party of about a
dozen : five of themselves, Marquise de Montebello, a Captain
Belz (Alsatian, who has only one leg left, having had the other
blown off fighting for France), an old haft-French half-
American, Mr. Vail, etc., and myself. We had an excellent
lunch, and I had long talks with Mme. de Montebello. She
is grand daughter-in-law of Napoleon's Marshal, Lannes.
I must dry up — take this round to the hospital.
LETTER No. 233.
B.E.F.
November i, 1915 (Monday, All Saints' Day].
A very wet " Toussaint," but not at all cold. I had Mass
at hospital at 8, and directly after breakfast went back there
to give Holy Communion to a man who was rather badly
wounded.
This afternoon after luncheon I go back to give it to another
man.
Yes ! poor young Yvo Charteris was already killed when I
sent him the helmet. I fear it will make Lady Glenconner
terrified for Bim. The officers of our Guards have suffered
fearful losses from the very beginning of the war.
I duly received the mittens yesterday, and do not despise
them at all : you may be sure I should never despise anything
made by you ; when we have cold, raw days I will wear them,
but to-day is rather muggy and close.
I want you to make me a little sort of pad (rather like
a kettle-holder!) for cleaning my razor on after use. It
should be rather thick — just as a kettle-holder is : one side
might be made of coarse linen (old rag, a bit of old tablecloth,
napkin, or towel) ; the other side of cloth, velvet, etc. On the
linen side one would wipe the razor, on the other one
would polish it.
I am going to tea with the Pringles after leaving the hos-
pital, and I am afraid that will be the good-bye visit. I shall
miss them terribly, for I am really fond of them, and they are
cordial hospitality itself.
I must dry up (I wish the weather would !) and so with best
love to Christie.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 263
LETTER No. 234.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 2, 1915 (All Souls' Day}.
... I have just got back from the big function at the
cathedral — a High Mass of Requiem, with "Allocution" by
the Bishop. The cathedral was crammed, and a very large
proportion of the congregation were French officers and sol-
diers. The singing was fine, and Mgr. Gibier's discourse was
just what it should be — simple, tender, sincere, direct, full of
sympathy and heart : not too long, and not too eloquent! I
was able to understand every word.
Before the Mass I talked to him, and he was very cordial
and nice ; he has a wonderfully sweet and good face, singularly
like Pius X.
It was rather a struggle to get there in time, but I was (ten
minutes before Mass began), for the cathedral is right at the
other end of Versailles, and I had three Masses of my own to
say at the hospital first. The Pope now gives leave for three
Masses on All Souls' Day, as on Christmas Day. I got up
at quarter to 5. Yesterday afternoon I went to tea with
the Pringles, and stayed on till nearly 7, chatting very
comfortably : how I shall miss them !
Your letter of Saturday arrived to-day, and I return the
postage rate; but I doubt if it concerns me, as our rates are
special : nothing for a letter under 4 ounces, and so on. . . .
LETTER No. 235.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 3 (Wednesday morning].
. . . This will be a scrubby short letter, because (i) I have
nothing to say, (2) no time to say it.
I received your letter of Sunday this morning, in which you
promise me a cake from Mrs. K . When I glanced
through that bill of Hart's I noticed that the prices are all
much lower than what one has to pay here, so I was pleasantly
surprised.
I went to tea with the Pringles again yesterday, and stayed
on very late chatting. To-day I go again, and to-morrow, at
8 a.m., they start for Biarritz in their car, the servants going
by train. I shall miss them terribly ; they are the only friends
I have made here except F and the A.-L.'s, and their
264 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
departure will leave an irreparable gap. The weather, very
sour and scowly, the last day or two, has brightened up, and
to-day is a regular smiling October day, which really should
have arrived last week.
I sent you a harum-scarum book called " Manalive," by G. K.
Chesterton ; it rather makes my bones ache (my mind's bones),
it is so jumpy. But I must confess it keeps me interested. . . .
LETTER No. 236.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 5, 1915 (Friday morning}.
... I am afraid that on Sunday you will have no letter
from me, though you will receive a very amusing book — " Some
Experiences of an Irish Resident Magistrate." Yesterday
I had such a crowd of little things to do in the morning that
I missed the post altogether. To go back to Wednesday :
I went to tea for positively the last time to my kind Pringles,
and stayed on till nearly 7. I really felt sad saying
good-bye to them, and cannot tell you how much I shall feel
their loss. However, instead of grumbling at that, I had better
think gratefully of the many pleasant hours they have given
me during the last couple of months.
They were to start at 8.30 yesterday morning; lunch at
Romorantin, motor on to Limoges, dine and sleep there, and
motor on to Biarritz to-day.
Yesterday I gave Lady Austin-Lee luncheon in Paris, at a
restaurant called " L'Escargot," rather a famous place, but not
at all smart, nor in a smart part of Paris. L'Escargot is its
name because snails are the speciality of the house. Lady
A.-L. and I had both of us a curiosity to go to the place, and
to try the snails. Some of the people we saw ate three dozen
each ! but we only ordered one dozen and a half between us ;
and, though I ate eight out of my nine, Lady A.-L. only ate
six out of hers. The taste is all right, but they look
appalling ! ! I am glad to have tried them, but don't intend
to try again. After the snails we had another speciality of the
house — pig's feet, first stewed, then roasted : not nasty, but
not particularly good. Mind, this place, though rather in the
slums near the "Halles," is anything but cheap; there were
several millionaires lunching there near us !
I'm glad all the papers, etc., I send make a little pastime
for you. I hardly ever waste a paper, it is sure to be welcome
to someone.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 265
LETTER No. 237.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 7, 1915 (Sunday).
... It is a very November day, pale, dim, wreathed in
white mist, and with a chill breath, though not a real wind. A
regular Ellesmere day of late autumn, a tree-smell everywhere
in the dank air ! I do like the French turning up their noses
at our English weather, for their own is its twin brother.
I said Mass at the hospital, and afterwards went to four
different wards to give Holy Communion to men who are
rather bad. Then I came home, breakfasted, read your letter
of Thursday and the N.Y. Herald, which I sent on to you.
I sent you an album of crochet a day or two ago, and now I
send another. I thought you might care to send them round
by Bert to Miss Polly Burtt ! but, if you care to keep them, I
should, of course, like that better still. The cake has not
arrived yet, but will probably come to-night; our letters come
in the morning, but our parcels only arrive about twelve hours
later. The cards I enclose are from the Pringles, despatched
as they sped south in the car from Limoges and Perigueux. . . .
I miss them sadly, but no more than I knew I should. . . .
LETTER No. 238.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 8, 1915 (Monday}.
... I enclose a further flight of post-cards fired off by the
Pringles on their way south ; they have now reached Biarritz,
and very soon I shall have a shower of letters as well !
Last night, when I looked out before going to bed, it was
thick fog; during the night that changed to a very hard
frost without any fog : and, an hour after I got up, the frost
had gone and the fog come back. It is very cold, and most
opportunely a new top-coat arrived last night from England,
what we call a " British warm " : a rather short, very comfort-
able and cosy uniform overcoat. I wore it this morning going
out for Mass, and found it a joy.
I told you that I gave Holy Communion to four men yester-
day after Mass : one of them died at midday, poor lad.
At my little evening service last night I noticed a very
intelligent-looking young fellow, with rather a handsome face,
266 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Irish colouring and eyes. As they were going away, I nodded
to him to stop a moment, and asked him his name. " Patrick
McGill." "Where do you come from?" "Donegal; but I
live at Windsor." "I suppose you have only been a soldier
since the beginning of the war?" "Yes." "What are you
by occupation ?" " A novelist." Then I remembered. . . .
Just before the war I remember reading reviews of two novels
of his, praised to the skies — one called " The Dead End " and
the other "The Ratpit" — and seeing a very interesting
portrait of him in one of the papers. He is only twenty-four,
very clever and brilliant, and with genius jumping out of his
eyes. We had a long talk, and I found him interesting, but
a little grand, especially in his way of talking. I send you
a book of W. W. Jacobs', called "The Lady of the Barge,"
a bundle of short stories, some very funny, some very weird.
I hope some of them won't keep you awake at night.
I must go to hospital. . . .
LETTER No. 239.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 12, 1915 (Friday}.
. . . Such a day ! — tearing wind, driving rain and chimneys
trying to smoke : not quite succeeding, because every French
fireplace has a thin sheet of iron to draw down in front of the
fire, and one can leave it half down if the chimney is trying to
smoke.
I went to see F again and found him a shade better,
but so weak that in the hour I stayed by his side he hardly
spoke a dozen words. He asked after you, and wished he
could write to you ; he really is fond of you, though he never
saw you. I thought he seemed very sad, though very quiet.
He said to me : " It would be less trouble to die once for all,
on the field of battle, than bit by bit like this."
While I was there Mme. de Montebello came to see him, but
only stayed in his room a moment. She is head of all the
Croix Rouge of France, and is going on a tour of inspection
of hospitals ; on her return I am to lunch with her.
I went, on my return to Versailles, to tea with Comtesse de
Sercy at the Hotel des Reservoirs here; she had with her a
Comte de Luz and his daughter : all three very nice, and
particularly cordial and friendly. They had come out from
Paris on purpose to give me this tea.
I must dry up (I wish the day would) : it is latish, I have
had such tons of letters to write.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 267
LETTER No. 240.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 15, 1915 (Monday].
. . . The very stormy weather* in the Channel has dis-
organized our mails, and I dare say you will be getting my
letters irregularly. On Saturday we had no mail, yesterday
we got Saturday's, and to-day I have just received your letter
dated Thursday, which ought to have arrived yesterday — i.e.,
we are still a day behindhand, and to-day's has not yet come in.
After Mass yesterday I had hospital work to occupy me
till it was time to rush off to the train for Paris, where I was
lunching with Lady Austin-Lee. So I could only send you
a word to say I had no time to write. The party at Lady
A.-L.'s consisted of herself, Sir Henry, and three Scotts — a Mr.
and Mrs. Scott and a young Mr. Alex. Scott. They were all
three Americans, and very nice ones.
After luncheon I read aloud the instalment of " French and
English " in this Month (of November), and the ladies wept !
I will get you the crochet stuff in Paris on Thursday, when
I am lunching there with the Scotts.
I am going to a tea-fight at the Huntingtons' to-day;
to-morrow I am invited to go to Mile, de Missiessy's wedding,
and am giving tea to Lady Austin-Lee and Mr. Scott ; and so,
with another lunch in Paris on Thursday, you see I am quite
gay. I am so sorry to hear of Dr. Allan's illness; poor old
man, he has not had a very joyful life since we have known
him, and I always liked him, if only because he was so old-
fashioned and so really a gentleman. Mrs. K 's cake is
excellent, and I must write and tell her so. But I have seemed
to have so very little time for letters lately.
I really must stop and go round to hospital.
LETTER No. 241.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 19, 1915.
... I went in to Paris yesterday to lunch with the Scotts
(i.e., Mrs. Scott and her son Alexander). It was a regular
London yellow fog, and we lunched by electric light : very
cold too; but the Scotts' rooms were too hot, heated with
" central heating," as they call it here— i.e., no visible fire, hot
puffs of hot air from somewhere — detestable, I think. They
268 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
have very handsome rooms in the Langhorn Hotel, Rue de
Boccador, and the luncheon was Ai. Mrs. Scott is really
charming, extraordinarily young-looking to be mother of a
son of Alexander's age (about twenty), and with a charming
face. Lady Austin-Lee was the only other guest.
To-day is cold, and foggy too, but here the fog isn't much.
I expect it is nearly dark in Paris.
Do you remember how often I have mentioned the long
border here? It was really magnificent, over 1,000 good
geraniums, many beautiful fuchsias (say fifty or sixty) many
abutilons, and other good plants ; and they have left all those
plants out to be destroyed, and they now are destroyed, all
black and hideous from the hard frosts ; and black and hideous
they will stay there all through the winter. It makes me
sad, and would make you frantic! The soldiers, who were
always working for Beranek, would have got them all into
the green-houses in an hour or two.
Your letter of Tuesday has duly arrived. I am always so
grateful for your cheery, pleasant letters : they are a daily
relief to my mind. I don't care sixpence whether they contain
news or not ; all I want is to see your writing and know you
are well and cheery. Never bother making out a long letter
if you feel indisposed to it — three lines would do for me, but
for those three lines I look out eagerly.
I must go forth to hospital. . . .
LETTER No. 242.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 20, 1915 (Saturday).
... I received to-day your letter of Wednesday in which
you mention having received the mantilla from Miss Maria
Pringle. I have at once sent on your letter to her. The
mantilla is entirely her own gift to you, but I believe it was
pinned up into Spanish form by the Duchess of San Carlos's
maid exactly as she does her mistress's when the Duchess
is in waiting (she is Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen of Spain,
and at Court all ladies must wear the mantilla). I am so
glad you like it, and I know Miss Pringle liked sending it.
Yesterday I went to see F , and found him much better,"
and in very good spirits — of course still confined strictly to
bed. While I was there Lady Austin-Lee came over from
Paris to see him, and so he had plenty of company.
On getting back to Versailles I went to tea with a Mme.
Guyon, whom I don't think I ever mentioned to you, but
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 269
whom I used to meet constantly at the Pringles', and they
begged me to cultivate her. She is clever and pleasant; her
mother was there too (they do not live together) as a guest
like myself. The mother is called Mme. de Salette ; she is also
clever, and lets you know it. I enjoyed my visit ; they both
have heaps to say, and not a word of gossip. The rooms are
very comfortable, and just like English rooms in a really
good house belonging to well-born and well-bred people, and
the tea was just like an English tea. Mme. Guyon has beauti-
ful things — miniatures, furniture, china, old fans, etc., and
Mme. de Salette paints in oils extremely well — portraits
chiefly.
I am reading a very good (new) " Life of Lord Lyons,"
whom I used to know well; he was the brother of my old
Duchess of Norfolk, and was our Ambassador in Washington,
Paris, etc.
The book interests me immensely, and, as it is my own, I
will send it to you as soon as I have finished it. ...
LETTER No. 243.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 22, 1915 (Monday}.
. . . To-day is the least gloomy-looking we have had for
quite a long time : there is actually a pallid attempt at sun-
shine; whereas yesterday was black and bitter, a most fero-
cious east wind that seemed to search for one's bones; it did
not find mine, owing to my " British warm," and a thick woolly
waistcoat I wear under my tunic. The knitted comforter to
go under the collar of the coat that you made me has arrived,
and I will wear it if I can, but there is not much room under
my collar ; what with cross-belt, " British warm," etc., I have
so much on.
I went to see F yesterday after a hurried luncheon, and
found him really much better; he had got up at II, and
remained up till 1.30 (after his luncheon), but was then tired
and glad enough to go back to bed. They are going to
operate on him again! Though it is only a slight operation,
I think it lamentable; certain nerves have to be operated
upon in his legs.
I cannot tell you how cold it was waiting at Chaville Station
for my train home after leaving him; I never felt a worse east
wind. However, I was thoroughly warmly clad, and the train
as- warm as toast when it arrived. Chaville is two stations
from here on the road to Paris ; the forest (largely birch) is very
2;o JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
pretty there. After my evening service at the hospital I came
home and sat by my cosy fire reading Lord Newton's " Life of
Lord Lyons" — very comfortable, and I thoroughly enjoyed
it. The only interruption was letting Wilcox read aloud to
me for half an hour; this he does for his stammering, and it
makes a wonderful difference. What do you think he reads
aloud ? — Mrs. Markham's " History of England " : it carries
me back nearly fifty years, to when you used to read it aloud
to Pierce and me when we lived in Scotland Street at Elles-
mere. I remember the pictures so well, and love to look at
them. This morning I got two letters from you, one written
on Thursday afternoon and one on Friday morning, enclosing
one from Aunt Agnes. . . . Most of all I am glad that you
are not fretting about my absence at Christmas. I would
-much rather not go home on leave. To go home for Christmas
only would only upset us both, and would almost certainly
lead to my losing Versailles, which certainly suits me in many
ways. I must dry up, so good-bye for the moment. My
Christmas dinner shall come from you — duck and plum-
pudding.
LETTER No. 244.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 23, 1915 {^Tuesday*}.
. . . We live in the clouds here ; for quite a long time it has
been unbroken fog, and a very cold fog, penetrating to the
bones, and the marrow of the bones. I lived six years in
London, and never experienced so much fog during all that
time as I have already seen this winter at Versailles. How-
ever, you need not pity me, for I keep up an excellent fire in
my room from 6.30 a.m. to 1 1 p.m., and I am warmly clad and
well fed. Last night there was a hard frost with the fog, and
the combination was pretty stiff.
Yesterday afternoon I went to Paris to pay a round of
visits ; and, as everyone was out, I got through a good many.
While I was there the Annexe to the Bon Marche was on fire,
and if I had known it I should have gone to see it; but only
learned it from the N.Y. Herald this morning. A million
francs' worth of damage was done, and, as the Annexe was
used as a military hospital, I wonder if it was set on fire by
Germans. Within the last few days the following notice
has made its appearance everywhere, in railway -carriages,
trams, libraries, cafes, etc. (emanating from the Government) :
" Taisez-vous ! Oreilles ennemies vous ecoutent : des
espions partout."
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 271
When I got back I cozed up to my fire, and finished the
first volume of the " Life of Lord Lyons," which now I send
on to you. I dare say it will not interest you as much as it
does me, for you did not know Lord Lyons, and you are not
so much interested in this sort of diplomatic history, or history
from the inside ; and the book is quite empty of anecdotes and
social sidelights : Lord L. was, like the Duchess, physically
incapable of either gossiping or listening to gossip. Still,
the period is absorbingly interesting (the American War of
North and South was while Lord L. was Ambassador at
Washington, and the Franco-Prussian War while he was
Ambassador here).
Your letter of Saturday arrived this morning. I will cer-
tainly order the turkey, and tell Hart to be sure and send a
nice young bird. I shall order sausages to go with it. And,
as I have for years sent the same to Aunt Agnes, I will not
fail this year. I think I should like Mrs. K to send her
a plum-pudding too. If you do make me any crochet, let
it be narrow, not too fine, not too minute, or niggly a pattern,
about 7 feet long, for the altar-cloth in my chapel here.
There is a small short alb in one of the drawers in my
bedroom with heavy, thick Venetian point lace (made for me
long ago by old Mrs. Huthwaite), a lace rather like seaweed.
The alb is not resplendent, but I should like it to use while the
one I wear here every day is being washed for Christmas. Tell
Mary, please, and don't send anything else with it; it will
travel much better for being light and having nothing else in
the parcel. Oh, by the way, she may send with it three silk
girdles (green, red, and purplish) that are in the same place :
they weigh almost nothing. . . .
LETTER No. 245.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F.
November 24, 1915 (Wednesday}.
. . . For days we have had nothing but hard frost, fog, and
east wind ; to-day the wind has gone south, the frost has dis-
appeared, it is almost warm; and the morning began soft
and wet, a mild rain that soon stopped; and now, though
the sun is not shining, it is light and almost cheerful. Till
to-day twilight has been the most brilliant light we have had
even at noon.
I went to Chaville again yesterday to see F and found
him up, and hobbling about, and in very good spirits, though
tired and weak. I stayed till 4, then had to fly off to catch my
272 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
train back to Versailles. On the way I met Mme. M , who
was (as she always is) very pessimistic about his health. He
had been talking to me as to how he would earn his living
after leaving the Army. "Poor boy!" she said; "there will
never be any need."
She thinks his days will be very few, but I do not. He
has an amazing vitality, and that, with his pluck and the
desire to live will carry him far.
She does not talk in this lachrymose way to him: only to
me. I came in and read "Lord Lyons" all evening, and
Land and Water, which you will receive on Sunday
morning.
I send you to-day's N.Y. Herald; in the back page is an
account by Camille Flammarion, the veteran astronomer, of
a wonderful meteorite that is supposed to have fallen near
Rambouillet, the light of which was visible here (and it was
audible here). Flammarion says it came from so distant a
star that it must have taken at least seven million years on its
way ! No wonder it burst. / should if I had to go on a
journey of that length.
Reading the life of Lord Lyons one realizes that without
a shadow of doubt Germany began getting ready for this war
the moment the Franco-Prussian War was over, and to me it
seems lamentable that we did not help France then, in 1870;
if we had, this war would never have been, and the German
Empire would probably have never been. But the English
always had an idea that there was a natural friendship
between us and the Germans, and that the Germans were good
moral people, who read the Bible and went to Sunday-school,
whereas the French were naughty, fond of flirting, and not
to be encouraged ; I'm sure that was Queen Victoria's view too.
I have made a little discovery on my own hook : If water
is very hard (it is terribly so here) you can soften it and
prevent the soap curdling in it by putting a pinch of carbonate
of soda into it before washing in it; and this also prevents
one's skin chapping, quite wonderfully. . . .
LETTER No. 246.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F.
"November 27, 1915 (Saturday).
... It is Christmas-card sort of weather, very cold, very
dry, very frosty, with glittering white bushes catching the
sunlight, but very snowy-looking clouds almost hiding the
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 273
sun ; what is called very healthy weather. It was extraordin-
arily warm yesterday, and as I walked from Chaville Station
to F 's hospital the forest looked lovely — a wintry sun-
shine was shining through it, undergrowth and atmosphere
had the same purple-rose tint, the birch-trees were like rods
of polished silver, and one could see through the tree-tops pale
forget-me-not peeps of sky. The odd thing was that at 4
o'clock, in spite of its having been so warm all day, it began
snowing, and down it came, a fierce, thick snow-storm. I
walked to the station through snow, and soon one could see
nothing but snow out of the carriage windows, all else blotted
out. The cold to-day is piercing, and if it is like this with
you I hope you are stopping in bed. I shouldn't at all object
to stopping there myself.
I wrote to Miss Maria Pringle last night, and repeated all
you said about the mantilla, which will please her.
As to young , I am not on your side : I think he is
just the sort of young man who should enlist. He has three
or four brothers, his mother is in no way dependent on him —
exactly the contrary — and though he is quite strong enough
to go and fight, he is not the sort of man whose children
England particularly wants! And then his life in civilian
occupation is a perpetual anxiety and struggle. It is sheer
sluggishness that keeps him back. . . .
LETTER No. 247.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 28, 1915 (Sunday}.
. . . When I wrote to you yesterday morning the English
mail had not come in ; when it did, it brought me two letters
from you, one written on Wednesday and one on Thursday —
so the latter only took forty-eight hours to come.
It is terribly cold still, hard, bitter frost, but not gloomy;
there is blue sky and sunshine, and at night brilliant moon-
light. I keep up a fine fire in my room, and am uncommonly
comfortable by it. There I finished the Lord Lyons book
last night, and was very sorry to do so. It is not so much
Lord Lyons that interests me, but all the diplomatic history.
The book is like himself, solid, excellent, without anecdote
or meanderings; but I doubt if you will care much for it.
Though Lord L. knew every important personage of his time,
there is scarcely an anecdote about any one of them, and so
the book has not what is generally the special attraction of
18
274 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
such memoirs. And it stops abruptly with Lord L.'s death,
just as England is about to make her occupation of Egypt
permanent. At the end is a short "Lord Lyons in Private
Life," by Mrs. Wilfrid Ward, Lady O'Conor's sister, and
Herbert's mother, who, of course, was Lord Lyons's grand-
niece : more interesting than the book itself.
I cannot thank you enough for your daily letter, no matter
if it were only half a page. It is just to know that you are
well and comfortable — that makes all the difference to me.
Winifred wrote also, saying I might like to hear from an
outside source how well she thought you, but begging me not
to let you go out in the bitter winds you have been having.
Excuse this short scribble. I've no time for more.
LETTER No. 248.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F.
November 29, 1915 (Monday}.
... I am taking a leaf out of your book and having a day's
rest cure in bed ! It is a beastly day, and I began with an
attack of neuralgia : so I am doing the lazy. The neuralgia,
however, has departed, unlamented. I send you a Pearson's
Weekly, not because it is your line, but because of a rather
remarkable article on the Kaiser's madness.
The hard frost and bright sun have disappeared, and it is
muggy, and pouring rain, and very dark and very gloomy.
But I am uncommonly cosy in my room here, and thoroughly
enjoying my " off " day, which I am the better enabled to take
now that the hospital is nearly empty.
Every night when I undress and go to bed in this excellent
room by an excellent fire I think of the millions of poor lads
freezing in the trenches, and ask God to forgive me for any
spirit of grumbling. . . .
Have no post-cards about deceased priests come within
the last few months ? I am bound to say Mass for each under
pain of mortal sin, and I have had none for ages — surely some
priests must have died ! Please see that these cards are
forwarded at once. If any have not been, but are still in the
house, send me the names on them. ... If not, I shall have
to write to the Cardinal about it, and ask him for a list of all
priests deceased in England since I left home.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 275
LETTER No. 249.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F.
November 30, 1915 (Tuesday].
. . . Again no mail from England to-day, though I dare
say they will crop up before evening : so I have no letter of
yours to acknowledge.
To-day is very fine, blue sky, soft air, and sunshine — cer-
tainly the climate of Northern France is as versatile as that
of England. I feel very lively to-day after my rest cure
yesterday. Of course I did not sleep, though I stayed in bed,
but read all day : a " Life " of Sir Robert Morier, who was,
like Lord Lyons, a British Ambassador, but like him in
nothing else. The book, I think, may turn out more amusing
than Lord L.'s life, because it is gossipy and deals with all
sorts of people in a light and rather flippant fashion; but so
far I do not think Sir Robert Morier compares particularly
well with Lord Lyons, the former full of himself, flighty, full
of moods and ups and downs, and, as it seems to me, feather-
headed. Still, one learns a lot from both of these books. I
send you a New H ork Herald with a very scathing but very
tragic cartoon in it, representing the Lusitania children's
shades saying to the shades of Ancona children: "Never
mind ; you'll soon be forgotten."
As no mails have come to-day, I have not yet received either
the alb or the pretty thing you made for Miss Pringle, which
I will send on directly it arrives.
Don't be excited if a large parcel arrives from me; it is
only my big motor-coat, which I cannot use here, it not being
uniform ; in one of the pockets I shall stuff eucalyptus-leaves.
I must dry up and go to hospital.
LETTER No. 250.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
November 30, 1915 (Tuesday evening}.
. . . When I wrote to you this morning no English mail
had come in, but since then one has arrived, bringing me
two letters from you for me and one for Francois, which I
will take him to-morrow. I went to see him this afternoon,
and found him well and very cheerful. He was in uniform,
the first time since he was op6r6, and we went out for a little
276 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
walk in the forest. How I wished you were there, it was so
lovely, and you could have made exquisite sketches of it —
like two we have framed in the drawing-room, leafless woods
with wonderful lights among the trees. I had no idea at all
till I came to live at Versailles how beautiful the near neigh-
bourhood of Paris was; the forests run quite close up to it
on this, the western side: and it is not -flat forest, but a
country of narrow valleys between ridges of hill, all clothed
in woodland. The road to Versailles from Paris twists along
one of these valleys, and there are houses the whole way, so
that going by tram it is like one long, interminable street,
but at the back of the houses the forest runs close down to
their gardens. Even in Louis XIV.'s time the forest between
Versailles and Paris was so wild and untrodden that it was
full of game and the fiercer animals of the chase — wolves,
wild-boars, and, they say, even bears.
We climbed by a woodland road up to the flat top of one
of the narrow ridges, and through the trees got a brief view,
across one valley, across the corner of another to Sevres, and
beyond, about five miles away, lay Paris, pearly-white, shining
through a sunny haze. One could plainly see the huge tall
dome of the Pantheon. On the other side was another deep
valley, all filled with leafless trees, and in the bottom the
etangs, or pools, of Ville d'Avrage, like immense pearls
caught in an opal net. Where we were the trees were all
birches, and their leafless tops, all pinky rose, were lovelier
than if they were covered with foliage. Their boles, smooth
and shining, were like rods of polished silver. On a tree-
trunk I was interested to see a little board on which was
painted " To Morte Fontaine," which was the country home
of Joseph, the eldest of Napoleon's brothers, King of Spain
and husband of Queen Julie Clary, my old friend's Aunt
Julie; she wa« much fonder of her quiet life there than of
Court life, and hated leaving it, which she only did for a
very short time.
Reading Lord Lyons's life makes me more than ever
ashamed of our monstrous disregard of propriety in letting
the Prince Imperial go to Zululand, and our letting him go
with such carelessness as to the conditions of his safety that
he was killed for nothing — not in battle, but by sheer dis-
regard of the precautions we ought to have insisted upon.
Even the Republicans here were scandalized and indignant
when the news of his being killed thus arrived, and there is
hardly any doubt he would have been Emperor had we taken
proper care of him ; and if he had, many things would have
followed a different course here.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 277
When we were in the woods, F said : " Oh, Francois,
I have something to tell you. They are going to operate on
me again." Poor boy ! I wonder there is any of him left !
However, he takes it all with his unfailing cheerfulness and
courage.
I enjoyed our little stroll. I always feel tons better for a
walk in fields or woods ; the town cobwebs clear away, and
I feel more manly and cheerful. You do not know how hard
it is to keep my temper, so to speak, and I often rail against
" destiny," which is all very rotten, for there is no such thing,
only the great Will of God, Who is kinder than any plan of
our own, and Who has done so much for me, and for you too.
Certainly for a man on active service I have nothing to
grumble at ; and if I am parted from you, alas ! how many
of my friends have had to make the great parting of all. . . .
LETTER No. 251.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December I, 1915 (Ttiesday evening}.
. . . This morning when I opened the windows there was
the soft smell of the south wind, really sweet, as if blowing
from scented woods and flowered fields; it was quite warm,
and the sky was almost without clouds, but I said, "just the
sort of day that turns to rain " — and so it did. When I went
to Chaville to see F , the rain was pelting down, and
there was no walk in the forest for us to-day ; and it was still
pouring when I came back to Versailles.
I found F not quite so well, but I think it was only
the influence of the (to him) melancholy weather. I, who
must have some wild-duck's blood in my veins (not a
monkey's, I'm sure), am never depressed by rain, but quite
the reverse. This morning when I went round to hospital I
found all the men drawn up in a double line, and thought
Lord Kitchener must have dropped down upon us. But it
was the young King Manuel of Portugal, and the Colonel
immediately sent for me to be introduced to him. He was
very civil and very simple, and looks almost a boy still.
- will tell you he is an awful person, but the real truth
is that Portuguese anarchists conducted a villainous cam-
paign of slander against him, and their horrible slanders
were eagerly snapped up by the gossip-mongers. As a
matter of fact, he was less than eighteen at the time he was
supposed to be so " awful," and he had only been a King in
278 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
any sense his own master for about a year and five months.
He has very far from a bad countenance; he is pale, like all
Portuguese, and will be stout like his father, but he is not
yet by any means fat. His manner is good and quiet, with-
out pretensions or pose, simply like a well-bred, simple
gentleman who does not want to " figure." He spoke to each
of the wounded men, not " condescendingly " at all, but with
a gentle, unassuming sympathy ; and I noticed that they did
not feel shy or embarrassed with him, as they would have
done had he been patronizing. When he talked to them it
was in a low voice to them only. When he smiles his face is
very pleasant and kindly, and, indeed, I should say that
kindness was the most noticeable trait in him. . . .
During such a war there should be no such names as
Liberal and Conservative : it should be " Englishmen " only ;
and he is a poor Englishman who helps foreign countries to
believe that the English Government is rotten. The simple
question every Englishman should ask himself is, "Whom
does this agitation against our rulers serve ? If it tends to
strengthen our enemy and to divide ourselves, can it be
English policy?"
Now I will dry up. ...
Don't let down you with waggings of the head about
poor King Manuel. He is the victim of a very mean and
dastardly series of libels, which he had no means of disprov-
ing, since the anarchist Press of Portugal was beyond the
reach of anyone.
LETTER No. 252.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 3, 1915 (Friday morning).
... I wrote you a long letter the night before last to post
yesterday, and to-day shall not be able to write you another
long one — (i) because I have nothing to say, and (2) because
I have not much time. This morning and yesterday morning
began like Wednesday, fine, very warm, with a sort of clear
darkness, and a wonderful, indefinably sweet air : and both
days turned to rain almost as soon as it was really light.
To-day it is pouring, but still extraordinarily warm.
The alb arrived from Mary this morning ; she was so stingy
over brown paper that it got wet and grubby on the way.
It is always hard to induce servants to use enough packing
paper, and our house is crammed with it, kept precisely to
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 279
be used on these occasions. Fortunately, the silk girdles
were rolled up inside the alb, and so they were not wet or
injured. I dare say she thought that by using a very little
paper she would save postage, but it only causes me to have
to spend 1.50 fr. to get the alb washed, which it need not
have been if it had not got dirty on the way.
I got one letter from you yesterday and to-day two letters,
very chatty, cheery, and pleasant, and I thank you heartily
for them. I send you a N.Y. Herald with an excellent letter
from Roosevelt in which he kicks his compatriots behind.
To-morrow I am going to Paris to luncheon with the
Marquise de Montebello, and I know I shall enjoy it: she is
so pleasant, such excellent company, and cheery and amusing.
I shall go to one of the big shops and get you some more
Christmas-cards; there is no choice here at Versailles, and
everything here costs more than in Paris. I must dry up,
though the day won't hear of it. ...
LETTER No. 253.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 3, 1915 (Friday nighf}.
... It is rather late, and the heavy, almost hot weather
makes me feel sleepy, so I shall not write either a long or a
brilliant letter, but I want to get one ready for to-morrow's
mail, because I go in to Paris early to-morrow, as Mme. de
Montebello's luncheon is at 12, and from door to door (from
mine to hers) takes over an hour, and I have several things
to do first.
Your parcel containing the kettle-holder for me and the
very pretty gift for Miss Maria Pr ingle came this evening.
I will send it on to her on Sunday, and I am sure she will be
delighted ; it is really pretty and artistic and extremely well
made, and, as made by you, she will value it much more.
The kettle-holder is just what I wanted, and will be very
useful. The little razor-pad is not nearly worn out yet, and
will last for a long while still. I sent off the second volume
of Lord Lyons to-day, and I hope it will interest you. As I
have said before, it lacks the sort of entertaining chit-chat
that is often the particular attraction of reminiscences, but it
is exactly characteristic of the man, truthful, thorough, and
giving an exact idea of the work and difficulties a great
diplomatist has to do and struggle against. He did not
28o JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
know the meaning of intrigue, and he was a standing contra-
diction of the witty saying that a great diplomatist is a man
who "lies abroad for the good of his country." He was the
incarnation of discretion, and that is why there is so little
tittle-tattle in the book. Lord Newton is the head of the
very ancient family of Legh of Lyme Hall (they were not
peers when you and I visited Lyme nearly, if not quite, fifty
years ago). He earned his peerage by being a very good
diplomatist himself. Mrs. Wilfrid Ward's short account of her
great-uncle in private life is excellent; it was impossible to
give an "intimate" picture of him, because even in private
life he was not intimate; his shyness was more noticeable in
private than in public, and I think he used it as a weapon
against possible indiscretions of people who might think
they knew him well enough to ask questions. She speaks
of his extraordinary habit of talking sheer nonsense in private
life — another trick to avoid the traps and pitfalls of " serious "
conversations. As the book has to end with his death, it
leaves one rather tantalized as to the final occupation of
Egypt by ourselves, and the good relations that grew up at
last between us and France after that occupation, which the
French had been so long fearing, had become a fait accompli
that they had to make the best of. Lord Lyons was shrewdly
alive to French faults, and especially to the faults of the
French politicians (always the worst class in France), with
whom he had most to do; and he was always the reverse of
gushing, and always utterly British. But it is evident that
he liked France and the French all the same, and sincerely
wished England and her nearest neighbour to pull together ;
also it is perfectly plain that he understood, as few English
politicians did, how persistently Bismarck worked to breed
bad blood between the English and the French, and that he
fully understood why — mainly because he fathomed from the
start the whole Prussian programme of universal mastery
in Europe and the world. Also, Lord Lyons does justice to
the Empress Eugenie, and shows the injustice of the fable
that the war of 1870 was forced by her. On the whole, the
book is much better than amusing; a worthy monument to a
simple and great man, of a sort that hardly exists now, whose
whole idea was silent service and duty, efficiency, and the
sinking of himself in the interests of England : he had no
axe of his own to grind, and was not "out for" his own
name and fame.
After this long essay I will go to bed.
So good-night, and may only happy dreams visit you.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 281
LETTER No. 254.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 5, 1915 (Sunday).
... I dare say you are getting my letters rather irregularly
just now, and so, on some days, none. I have written each
day, but the boats often do not cross now. To-day I had
a double mail with two letters from you, written on Wednes-
day and Thursday. I will get the drinking-chocolate and
send it you to-morrow : I am so glad you like it. Why not
let Kearny make your cocoa of this only, and not use the
Salisbury stuff at all ? It is quite cheap, and I could easily
send you two or three dozen of the small packets at a time ;
it comes from the French colonies, and they prepare every-
thing so carefully and well.
Yesterday I went to luncheon with the Marquise de Monte-
bello, and had a very nice time. We were six : herself, my-
self, her husband's eldest brother, the Duke de Montebello;
and his younger brother, the Count ; her sister, Mrs. Hope Vere ;
and Mme. Beyens, the wife of the Belgian Minister for Foreign
Affairs : all interesting, clever people, and very pleasant
indeed. The house is charming too, and the luncheon was
excellent. Mrs. Hope Vere wants to go to England, but
though she has her passports, etc., she can't get across ; they
warn her that the boats are running very irregularly, and
often are not able to run at all, because the storms have filled
the Channel with drifting mines that have broken loose and
are wandering about vaguely. So you see that if I were
going over I should have a certain amount of difficulty, and
now you need not picture me being sent to the bottom by a
wandering mine. The Duke de Montebello is very nice, but
he has just lost his wife, and he looks very sad. The Count
is a great joker and excellent company. Of course, one had
heard plenty of M. Beyens, the Belgian Foreign Secretary,
and I found his wife very interesting, cordial, and agreeable.
She is young, about eight-and-twenty, I should say. It was
quite hot yesterday, and so it is to-day, but not a bit healthy.
I must dash off to hospital.
282 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 255.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F.
December 6, 1915 (Monday evening}.
. . . The weather is still the same : wild, windy, ever
raining, and still warm. But to-day we had a mail, and got
your letter of Friday, not at all delayed even.
I enclose now the stuff I bought you for putting on the
pretty things you make : this sort of galon adds a wonderful
finish and cachet to them. I also enclose eighteen more
Christmas-cards for you to send off to whomsoever you will :
some rather pretty, but nothing wonderful ; the truth is, there
was not much choice even in Paris, for the Christmas-card
custom has not, I suppose, caught on here very much. Even
in the enormous Louvre, where there were thousands of people
buying things, there was no large assortment of Christmas-
cards (of picture post-cards, millions). Also, I send the
various short lengths of passementerie meant to make belts
of, or to trim hats with, or to trim the decollage of evening
gowns with. I have put the names of the people I meant
them for, but, if you think well, these names may be shuffled.
I told you I was reading another Ambassador's life (Sir
Robert Morier's), but I don't think I shall send it on to
you; it is instructive, but he was a specialist on Germany,
and the book is. stuffed with regular essays on German
politics and developments, and it wants a very detached
mind to be able to enter into that just now: 7 can't enter
into it sympathetically. It is true that Morier loathed
Bismarck, and was loathed by him, and that Morier hated the
Bismarckian policy of iron and blood; but he was hand in
glove with Baron Stockmar and the Prince Consort, and
earnestly desired the unification of Germany, out of the hotch-
potch of independent States of which it consisted before 1870
and the Franco-Prussian War; he hated Napoleon III., and
was above all things eager to keep England apart from
France: whereas it was the policy of Russia to prevent
German unification, as Russia all along had the sense to see
that a militant German Empire would be the greatest menace
to Europe, and that a Germany united under Prussian
Emperors would inevitably be militant. Our desire to see
France terrorized by a very strong German neighbour was,
as I have thought since boyhood (since 1870), our terrible
mistake, and it is the mistake we are paying for now. Thus,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 283
it seems to me, all the while I am reading of Morier's ener-
getic efforts to make England sympathize with and help the
efforts for German unity, that he was simply mistaken, and
that we ought to have been helping France and Russia in-
stead. The other States of Germany, except Baden, by no
means wanted to range themselves under Prussia; and as
long as they remained separate, and half of them looked to
Austria as their chieftain, there was no chance of a European
menace from Germany. But Morier was besotted with the
idea that the Germans and English were cousins and should
be dear friends, and for that friendship he worked tooth and
nail. Queen Victoria herself was much less Germanophile
than Morier, and it was from him she received instruction as
to Germany and its politics. So far as I have got (before
1870), it does not seem to occur to him that in Germany was
to arise the implacable rival of England. It is fair to say
that even already I can see how he hated and feared
Bismarck, and how he built everything on the chance of
what would happen when the Crown Prince (the Emperor
Frederick) should succeed; whereas the Emperor Frederick
only assumed the Crown to die, and his son, the present
Emperor, was a worse Bismarck than B. himself. I thought
that lurid article on his madness would interest you. His
son, the Crown Prince, is still madder, and a hopeless
degenerate.
Now I must stop and pack up my parcel.
LETTER No. 256.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 9, 1915 (Thursday evening].
. . . This morning I received your two letters, one of which
enclosed a letter for Miss Maria Pringle, that I posted at
once: she will receive it to-morrow. Also, I received the
parcel containing the foot-warmer, which is splendid, just
what I shall find delightfully comfortable when this spell of
warm weather is past.
I fired off the Joan of Arc to Winifred Gater, and a large
bottle of eau-de-Cologne to Mrs. Gater. I duly received the
eighteen mortuary cards a few days ago, and have started
saying the Masses. F came this morning, and I took him
to luncheon at the Hotel des Reservoirs ; it joins the chateau
and is a palace itself, the quasi-royal abode of Mme. de Pompa-
284 J°HN AYSCOUGH'S
dour, with her arms still on the front of it, carved in stone.
It stands in such a striking position, and in such an intimate
neighbourhood to the chateau, that it seems to challenge
remark and comment. To have had, as Mme. du Barry had
afterwards, her own suite of apartments in the chateau would
have been far less so. The interior is fine, and the rooms
quite palatial. While we were at luncheon I said to F :
" There is a party of ladies in the corner there whom I can't
quite make out : one looks quite a lady, the other four very
'ordinary,' and I'm wondering if they are English." A few
minutes afterwards one of the ladies got up and came over to
me, saying : " The Duchess of Vendome hopes you will come
and talk to her as soon as you have finished your luncheon."
Well, we went to her table, and she was most friendly — made
me sit down, offered us coffee and cigarettes, and kept us
talking for over a quarter of an hour. She talks a little
English, is tall, fair, with blue eyes, light hair, and a very
aquiline nose, rather like her brother, King Albert. She has
very small and pretty hands, and such rings ! Her manners
are very simple and nice (not nearly so Royal as our own
royalties), and she seems an excellent woman, much given
to good works. I don't know the names of any of her ladies.
Then we went (in the rain) to look at the Salle de Menus
Plaisirs, where the National Assembly sat which inaugurated
the Revolution. Finally I splashed home through the wind
and rain, and that is the end of my day's doings.
I am always delighted if I have anything to put into a
letter, and I dare say the Princess would be surprised if she
knew that all the time I was saying, to myself, "You'll go
well into my letter to-night."
LETTER No. 257.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December, 1915.
... I have been toiling through letters till I'm dizzy, and
now I am too stupid, and too hurried, to write you more than
a " bulletin."
It is now bitterly cold again, and I am taking great comfort
out of the "foot-muff," as Wilcox calls it, which you
made me. I had not intended to begin using it till Christmas ;
but perhaps it will be ever so warm then, and it is certainly
cold enough now. So I thought it more sensible to take
advantage of it. It really is an immense comfort, and you
could not have made or bought me anything which would
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 285
have given me so many hours of comfort. Last Christmas
you gave me a pair of wool-lined gloves (I'm wearing them
now every day), and I should like a new pair for New Year's
Day, but not before.
I had a nice letter from Bessie in which she says your
courage and cheerfulness make her ashamed. I do think you
are splendid, and it just prevents my heart breaking.
Yesterday our mail only came in about 2 in the afternoon,
and to-day it has not come in at all — not yet, at least.
Your letter dated Saturday came yesterday, acknowledging
my parcel of parcels. I'm so glad you think the gold galloon
pretty — 7 did !
F , after lunching with the Duke and Duchess of
Trevise, came here, and was very nice; then we sallied forth
to give tea to Lady Austin-Lee. F and I are lunching
with her on Saturday. She evidently likes her little tea-
parties with us, and certainly we owe her them.
LETTER No. 258.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 13, 1915 (Monday night}.
... I told you we had no mails this morning, but one
cropped up to-night. It brought your letter of Friday saying
you had heard of Mary's safe arrival at Hereford. I think
Hill is a good sort, a solid, faithful sort of fellow.
F came after luncheon to-day, and we went to tea with
his nuns — i.e., those who soigner his hospital : they are very
nice and simple, warm-hearted creatures, like Irish nuns.
There were some other nuns there of another Order, who had
just arrived, after twenty-four years in Turkey, whence they
have been kicked out. They looked rather cowed, and as if
they had seen ghosts: but gentle, amiable creatures. Any-
way, they're in uncommonly good quarters now. I met a
young soldier (French) yesterday who was reported dead for
eight months; he said: "After being dead officially for so
long it was rather hard to persuade the authorities I was,
alive. 'We shall have to inform your parents,' they said.
'Oh, they won't mind. I've been corresponding with them
since three days after I was wounded !'"
286 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 259.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 15, 1915 (Wednesday night}.
... I had your letter of Sunday last this evening, and I am
glad to hear poor Mary got safe back to you. Her long
journey in such weather could have been no catch. Also, I
am glad you liked the things I sent for you to see and send on.
I went to call on the Marquise de Montebello to-day, but
she was out, and I found a letter from her when I got back
saying she is coming on Friday and wants me to give her tea.
F — — takes very kindly to our English tea, and makes a
square meal of it.
I enclose another* letter from D. R , with some very odd
spelling mistakes; he "new" Aunt Matilda, who lived
"alonside" him. Grandpapa's testimonial would have been
rather inflated for the Admirable Crichton. No wonder he
(the doctor) thinks highly of his judgment, etc.
I sent Christie the dasseur, as they call the thing for letter-
paper. If I see any other pretty thing for her I will send
it, as she does not want the black lace veil.
Miss Stewart in her letter told me this yarn :
Two men went into a restaurant —
Mr. A. I want Turkey — without Greece.
Waitress. Oh dear ! I suppose you're Germany ?
Mr. A. No, I'm only Hungary.
Mr. B. Don't Russia (rush her) or she won't Servia (serve
yer).
Mr. A. If she won't, I shan't Roumania (remain 'ere).
It is now Thursday morning (I don't mean to imply that
I've been writing all night), and a very disagreeable, slushy,
dirty-looking morning too. I've seen more weather at Ver-
sailles than during all the rest of my life, I think.
I am sorry this is such a rotten letter, but I have 0 to tell
you except that I wish I could come and give you a little
hug and see how you were looking.
I was quite defeated by the "Life of Sir Robert Morier,"
and really had to give it up. He belauds and glorifies the
Germans chapter after chapter, and spends his life working
for an alliance between us and Prussia, and I can only regret
that he succeeded even to the extent he did ; and his raptures
at the defeat of France by Prussia in 1870 are very little
to my taste, as you can imagine.
I must dry up, so with best love to Christie . . .
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 287
LETTER No. 260.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 18, 1915 (Saturday evening}.
. . . To-day I had your dear little letter of Wednesday and
one from Christie too, full of affection.
Mrs. Gater wrote and announced the despatch of a brace
of pheasants: they also have not yet arrived — if the Post
Office delays them very long I should think they would get
out and walk and arrive in a long procession ! It was very
good of her to send so nice a present, and pheasants will be
a treat. One never sees game here even in the shops.
Though the Manor House Plum-Pudding has not yet
cropped up, a plum-pudding has arrived from the Prioress of
the Atherstone Benedictine Nuns, whose name in the world
was Drew. It is a chumping big one, and even Wilcox could
not eat it at one go. Bessie sent to-day two very nice silk
handkerchiefs, but they do not clash with Christie's, for hers
are white and these are khaki-green, so now I am at liberty to
have a cold in my head.
This morning F and I went to luncheon with the
Austin-Lees, and they were both most amiable. F finds
his godmamma more and more trying at close quarters, and
she is evidently not in the sweetest of tempers. She lectures
him on manners and social ways, of which she knows no more
than a kangaroo. I believe if they go on together much longer
they will come to blows ! She is sugary outside, but so are
pills.
Sunday. — I have just received two very nice silk handker-
chiefs from Alice, and a very affectionate letter with them. I
also received your cheery little letter of Thursday. But I
must dry up, and can write no more till this evening.
LETTER No. 261.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F.
December 22, 1915 (Wednesday morning}.
... I begin with wishing you a Happy Christmas, for this
letter can't reach you before Christmas Eve, and perhaps will
only reach you on Christmas Day. So I do wish it you : that
we cannot be together is the great blot on our Christmas, but
it is not our fault, and, as it is a sacrifice to duty, it ought to
288 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
bring a recompense and blessing. I confess that 7 shall be ten
times lighter-hearted when Christmas is past, and especially
when 1916 has arrived.
To-day is a day of ghastly weather; through a sky like
skim milk and warm water a drizzling rain oozes down.
It is muggy, warm, mild and reeky ; the walls are sweating
like Malta in a sirocco — I don't mean the walls of my rooms,
for a good fire keeps them dry. It is so dark in the chapel
of the convent while I say Mass that my eyes get quite strained
reading; though they have gas-lighting, it seems as if the rain
got into the gas-pipes. Yesterday was just the same, and
though Lady Austin-Lee and the Marquise de Montebello
were engaged to come to tea, I did not expect them to turn
up; however, they did, and it was very good fun. I must
say that I think it was very nice of them to come all the way
from Paris in pouring rain for a cup of tea in a tea-shop. No
mail has arrived from England to-day, as yet at all events, and
I am trembling for the fate of the Gaterian pheasants.
. . . For the last hour and a half I have been writing letters
in French to a number of rather neglected correspondents,
who have all reminded me of their existence by writing to me
very kindly letters full of Christmas wishes. If I spent the
whole twenty-four hours of each day letter-writing I could not
do more than keep abreast of my enormous correspondence,
and you know how far I am from being able to do this, so that
I never can keep abreast of it. I can write in French quite as
quickly as in English, and perhaps nearly as correctly. In
English, I fear, my spelling is rather running to seed, because
so many words are nearly the same in both languages, but in
one with two f's or 1's or s's, and in the other with only one.
Talking French is very different, and I cannot talk it so
quickly as English nor nearly so correctly.
LETTER No. 262.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
» Christmas Eve, 1915.
... I wish I was able to go and sit by your side and tell
you how happy a day I wish to-morrow may be for you. As
it is, I can only pray for you, and ask Our Lord Himself to
be close to you.
By the time you get this, which will be Monday or Tuesday,
Christmas Day will have passed, and I confess I shall be glad.
I don't think you quite understand my feeling, and perhaps
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 289
I cannot explain it very intelligently; but it comes from the
contrast between the sense that Christmas should be a time of
such immense joy and the unutterable suffering in which all
Europe lies bleeding. To simply ignore all that pain and
anguish is beyond me, and so there is a sort of horror in the
background of any Christmas thought I try to house in my
mind.
I have suddenly developed another abscess at the root of
one of my teeth. It is very worrying and painful, and has
made the cheek swell, and I cannot bite even bread. I was
to have gone to a concert for the patients this afternoon, but
my face is too swollen to display in public. The Gaterian
pheasants have still not turned up, and I now look forward
to their arrival with dread !
Excuse a very short scrap of a letter.
F and I went to Mme. de Montebello's Christmas-tree
yesterday, and I think he expected it to be quite exciting, and
it certainly was not! I don't think a French Christmas-tree
is half so jolly as an English one. The tree, very pretty, was
cocked up on a stage, and the hall was entirely filled with
chairs, on which the guests sat as if for a concert. So there
was no moving about and chatting. There were songs, and
finally each soldier received one prize duly numbered — all
very proper and dull. Then F and I went to do some
shopping, and I bought a souvenir for Mrs. Kearney and
another for Bert; and I also bought some bits of stuff for
wristbands, collar, etc., for you, which I put in a general parcel
containing things for Bert, Mary, and Kearney.
LETTER No. 263.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
Christmas Day.
. . . Though the abscess in my jaw is not gone, nor the out-
ward swelling disappeared, both are distinctly better, and
I am by no means in the extreme discomfort of yesterday
morning and Thursday night. I slept well last night, where-
as the previous night I did not sleep at all.
It is what is called an open Christmas, mild, soft, warm —
quite warm, but dark and still, with a sort of brooding quiet-
ness. I said my three Masses all in a row at the hospital,
beginning at 7.30.
Our post has not come in yet : it was sure to be late on
Christmas Day.
19
290 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
F came round to see me yesterday and had tea; he
gave me a very pretty little card-case with the Count's
coronet on it in silver. 1'wo Pringles sent me a very pretty
match-box to wear on the chain, made of Spanish black and
gold inlay work — really charming.
As I am better, I shall go and lunch with the Austin-
Lees, and give F dinner in the evening at the Hotel
Edouard VI. Wilcox is dining with friends, and it would be
a little gloomy all alone in this spy house ! (Not that I really
think so. It was my idea, if I were not better, to go to bed
about 2 in the afternoon and read there in great comfort !)
I hope that you received my humble offerings this morn-
ing, and that they will have amused and interested you.
And I hope very, very earnestly that this day may pass
not uncheerfully with you, and that you may have happy
thoughts for company.
Don't be discouraged because public men like Asquith talk
of the war lasting two years more — all that is said to make
Germany understand that the Allies are ready to fight on,
and so to make her collapse the sooner. The more she thinks
the Allies are ready for a twenty years' war if necessary, the
less heart will she have to go on : for she knows she cannot
face a long war. Her men are nearly used up and her money
is all gone.
I must stop now. God bless you, dearest darling, to-day,
and all days, and send you 366 happy days in 1916.
Ever, with best love to Christie . . .
LETTER No. 264.
H6TEL EDOUARD VII.,
PARIS.
Christmas Day (evening}.
... 1 am giving F dinner here to-night, and he has
not yet turned up, so I am beginning a letter to you, though
I dare say I shall not get very far with it.
I wrote you a scrubby letter, just before leaving Versailles
this morning, and then was off to catch the train. I was
rather lucky, for though it poured in torrents while I was in
the train, it was only trying to rain as I went to the station,
and had given up trying as I walked from the Invalides
Station, here, to the Austin-Lees'. Then, again, it poured in
tropical torrents while we were at luncheon, and grew beauti-
fully fine and bright just as I left. The party consisted of
themselves, myself, a pretty little Miss Wood, who does some-
thing1 at the Embassy, and a young Mr. G"wynnes, I think :
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 291
I know it isn't either Grimm or Gwynn : Irish, of good family,
and a grandson of Lord Fitzgerald — and of such is the
kingdom of heaven. I have met him there before, and never
mastered his name.
Lady Austin-Lee was delighted with a tiny Venetian glass
vase I found for her Christmas present at Versailles; I got
another for Mme. de Montebello, and a third for the Duchess
of Wellington ; they are real Venice glass, of exquisite colour.
She had tons of glorious flowers from various friends; her
drawing-room was crammed with them. She was very amiable,
and invited me to luncheon again on Wednesday to meet our
friend Vicomtesse D'Osmoy (pronounced " Daumois "), who is
coming up from her chateau for two or three days. I am also
lunching with the Austin-Lees on the following Wednesday.
Are they not hospitable ?
On Monday I am lunching with Mme. de Montebello, and
giving tea here to Lady Austin-Lee and Mme. D'Osmoy.
. . . When I got back from Paris I found my table covered
with letters — two days' mails : two from you, one from Helen,
one from Lady Glenconner, one from Lord G., both very
affectionate and friendly, and a dozen others; also a stack
of parcels :
1. The PHEASANTS : high, but not impossible.
2. A plum-pudding from the Darlington nuns.
3. A box of Bayonne sweetmeats from Miss Pringle.
4. A box of excellent chocolates, made by herself, from
Dora Hardy.
5. A large and excellent plum-cake from the same, about
5 pounds weight !
6. A box of cigarettes from Helen.
7. A calendar and engagement tablets from young
Prideaux, of Lichneld School.
All these Mr. Wilcox had had to carry round from hospital
under his arm ! It took me till midnight to read my letters :
and then I went to bed.
LETTER No. 265.
No. 4 GENERAL HOSPITAL,
B.E.F., FRANCE.
December 28, 1915 (Tuesday).
. . . No mails yet to-day, but one expected in the course of
the day. Meanwhile I have only time to say "How do you
do ?" as, being away so long yesterday, I must go early to
hospital and get through some work.
2Q2 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Yesterday I lunched with Mme. de Montebello. Her cook
is a genius, and the company was charming; besides our-
selves, the Duke (of Montebello) and a Count and Countess
and Mile, de Cernay — all really nice people, "top hole !"
I enclose a very nice letter from the Duchess de San Carlos,
who, as you see, is a great admirer of my books. I do not
want her letter back. I had a nice letter from Helen to-day—
rather hard to read — thanking me for my Christmas gifts.
Also, I had your own letter of Monday and an excellent one
from Mary, thanking me for her presents. She really writes
a first-rate letter, full of devotion to you, and of heart. She
speaks so heartily and nicely of her wish for my return, and
her regret for your having to be so long without me. I like
her way of speaking of it — worth a hundred stilted phrases.
... It is quite true. Colonel S is off to-night — to be
A.D.M.S. to the 2/th Division, and our unit moves to
Boulogne in February. Of course, I regret leaving my very
kind friends in Paris, but I am glad otherwise : I have had
enough of Versailles, and Boulogne is so very near England.
Possibly, too, the move may make the further move to
England a little easier.
We are to have a fine Jesuit college outside the town, on
high ground, where there is good air and drainage, and
where England can be seen !
... I only wrote so far and then stopped. I had had to
write a lot of other letters, intending to write yours last, when
the others should have been polished off, but I suddenly felt
too tired to write more and had a sort of palpitation. The
queer muggy weather before Christmas didn't suit me (it was
heavy and hot), and my liver suffered. And also some stuff
one of our doctors gave me for a cough has upset my stomach
rather. We have not yet received our English mail, and I
had none yesterday : so I do not yet know how you got
through Christmas.
Yesterday afternoon I gave tea (always at my little
"Ceylon Tea Rooms") to Lady Austin-Lee, Vicomtesse
d'Osmoy, and F : the last still in the grip, the other two
very amiable and nice.
I am going to luncheon with Lady Austin-Lee to-morrow,
where Mme. d'Osmoy will be again, and also a Miss Tenny-
son : niece or great-niece of the poet, who writes a lot and is
an industrious reader of John Ayscough.
I am getting very anxious about ; he has been so
amiable lately to me that I find it hard not to say, " Take
care; you'll overstrain yourself."
I have just received a New Year's visit of compliment from
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 293
the Mother Superior of the Auxiliatrices 'the nuns at whose
convent I say Mass daily) and one of the Sisters : I was very
busy and wished them at Jericho, but they were very cordial
and pleasant. I presented them with a magnificent box of
Spanish sweets just received from Miss Susan Pringle, and
they seemed quite enchanted with them, though I have no
doubt they will only give them away again. The Rev.
Mother is a clever, very capable woman, who was a Mile, de
Samale, one of the most aristocratic of French names. The
convent, with its beautiful park, was her inheritance, and she
(having no brothers) became a nun, and changed her old home
into a convent. Her mother lives in a nice house just out-
side the convent boundaries. Vicomtesse de Samale is a dear
old lady (eighty-two), and comes to my Mass every day.
She and the nuns are always praying for you. I must stop
now. So with best love to Christie and every good wish for
your Happy New Year. . . .
LETTER No. 266.
B.E.F., January i, 1916 (New Year's Day, 10 a.m.}.
Though I wrote you a very long letter last night — the last
letter I wrote in 1915 — which has not yet left Versailles, I
must first write a few words to wish you every blessing and
every happiness in the new-born year, so that my first letter
of 1916 may be to you.
Please wish Christie all possible good luck from me too.
LETTER No. 267.
B.E.F., January I, 1916 (Saturday evening, 6 p.m.}.
I have just come in after Benediction, before which I had
been giving Lady Austin-Lee tea in the usual tea-rooms of the
Rue Hoche. Someone had told her that our move to
Boulogne is coming off sooner than I was told the day before
yesterday ; if her informant is correct, we shall move there in
about a fortnight. I shall not be sorry to go, earlier than I
expected, so much nearer England. It will make no differ-
ence to the addressing of your letters to me, as the address
will still be " No. 4 General Hospital, British Expeditionary
Force."
At 7 o'clock we (i.e., all the officers) are giving a dinner-
party at the Hotel de France here to the nursing staff, and I
294 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
shall then be able to find out if Lady Austin-Lee was right
about our move being so soon.
She (Lady Austin-Lee), will miss our hospital ; twice every
week for fourteen months she has visited it, and the work has
interested her very much. She spoke most regretfully of how
much she will miss me: and I think she really will. I
certainly shall also miss her and all her very kind hospitality.
Still, I can't help looking upon the move to Boulogne as a
very long stride on the way home. No place in France is
nearer England than Boulogne — Calais, perhaps?
To-day, New Year's Day, is the great day for calling in
France, and I have paid duty visits to Mme. Muttin, in;
Mme. Galloo Feron, out; the Bishop of Versailles, in; the
Huntington family, in, but not visible : it seems that Mrs. H.'s
son-in-law, Mr. Wilson, died the night before last ; he has been
very ill a long time. I had not met him, though I knew his
wife.
Mme. Muttin amused me by begging me to apologize to
Lady Austin-Lee, Mme. de Montebello, and the Pringles, for
not having called upon them — she being in mourning (her
last husband only died ten years ago !).
F telegraphed to tell me he had arrived safely after a
good journey, and the telegram arrived just as I was going
to bed last night : it rather frightened me for a moment (for
I have received -hardly any telegrams here), as I dreaded lest
it might be to say you were ill.
New Year's Day has been slushy and dismal here : rather
sad for all the holiday-makers. I must get ready to go out
to my dinner-party ; I sincerely hope I shall not have to make
a speech !
May this year bring you all happiness, and may it see you
at its end in as good health as now, and while it is still young
may it see us together in our quiet home.
LETTER No. 268.
B.E.F., January 5, 1916 (Wednesday}.
I had no English mail yesterday, but your letter of Sunday
has just come. You seem to think I shall not like going to
Boulogne, but I do. It has always been "on my chest" how
far from you Versailles is, and no place in France is so near to
you, or so accessible, as Boulogne. Whenever I do get home
you need not fear my finding it dull : the less society, the
more and the better I can write. I would fifty times rather be
sitting at my writing-table working than sitting in a drawing-
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 295
room hearing society people talk. It is true that we have
very few neighbours, but it is my home I care for, not
neighbours.
I have to go in to Paris early, as I am lunching with Lady
Austin-Lee at 12 (it takes quite an hour and a half to get
from door to door). We lunch early to suit Abbe Dimnet,
who is coming in from the country on purpose to meet J. A.
I really must dash off, or I shall miss the only train that
will get me in in time.
With best love to Christie.
The sun is shining and the sky is nearly as blue as we
have been for the last month ; I must say I should be glad if
our last days at Versailles could be bright and cheery.
LETTER No. 269.
B.E.F., January 6, 1916 (Thursday, Epiphany Day}.
It is an A i wet day ! Being Epiphany, I said my Mass
at the hospital, jpstead of at the convent, and on the way
back the rain was so fierce that I got quite wet — in twelve
minutes or so. However, it is not like being at the front : I
came in, changed into dry clothes, and put the wet ones to
the fire to dry.
Then I had breakfast, then sat by the same fire reading
your letter written on New Year's Day.
Yesterday I lunched with the Austin-Lees, and stayed a
long time. The only other guest was Abbe Dimnet, the writer,
a very nice as well as clever man. He is forty-nine and looks
about thirty-two, and he is very cheerful and bright, though
he has plenty to make him depressed ; he comes from the
North (of France, I mean), and the Germans not only occupy
his town, but they have taken everything he possessed, his
money, clothes, books, furniture, everything. He and his
mother escaped with a small hand-bag between them, but
the German scouts took that also, and almost all his family
are prisoners. After Sir Henry had gone back to his work
at the Embassy, and Abbe Dimnet had gone too, I stayed on
nearly two hours chatting.
Looking up from my writing, I just saw a sea-gull in the
garden, a rare sight here : Paris is very far from the sea, and
at Versailles we are four miles from the Seine.
... I have no patients in hospital; there are only twenty
patients altogether, as we are in the thick of packing up.
Lots of doctors and nurses are gone on leave, and of course
it would be a good opportunity for me to go ; but I think it
296 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
much safer to stick where I am. I want to go to Boulogne
with the unit, and feel sure that it will be much easier to get home
altogether then; whereas if I applied for leave they would
very likely send me to some other place altogether, far from
the coast, and, beginning again there (at, perhaps, Mar-
seilles !), they would not let me go again soon.
Sir Henry Austin-Lee was telling me yesterday of some
"neutral" friend of his who had just come from Berlin, where
he also was this time last year. lie said everything is
changed : the Germans were then cock-a-whoop, now in the
deepest depression ; a universal gloom everywhere, and in all
the towns, except Berlin, downright want and famine : ' every-
body with only one thought — to end the war.
You seem to be having as bad (though certainly not worse)
weather with you as we are getting here. How ghastly it
must be in the trenches ! Are you not glad I am not now
at the front ? I must set the weather a good example, and
dry up.
LETTER No. 270.
B.E.F., January 6, 1916 (Thursday evening).
Just now Wilcox came in and brought me a sort of supple-
mentary mail, for one came this morning : a letter wishing me
a Happy New Year from the Duchess of Wellington ; a parcel
containing a present of envelopes from the two Agneses ; and
your own letter of Monday — the one this morning was dated
New Year's Day, last Saturday. The Duchess of Wellington
says, " I hope you won't be shocked at this riddle : Why
were the nurses bundled out of Egypt ? For fear they should
become mummies?
She says her husband, Colonel Wellesley, is exactly of my
opinion, that the German collapse is nearer than most people
fancy.
I must tell you that the instant the Gaterian pheasants
arrived I carted them in to Paris, and gave one to the Austin-
Lees and one to Mme. de Montebello. Wilcox could neither
have plucked or trussed them, and as it was 1 ate them beauti-
fully cooked ! And my friends were delighted, as no shoot-
ing, except of Germans, is allowed in France during the war.
Mme. de Montebello served hers cold, surrounded with pdte
de foie gras, and it was scrumptious. She is, as I told you,
at present at Biarritz : that was the day before she started.
The Marquesa de San Carlos de Pedroso, whose letter I
sent you (she is not the Duchess, that is her husband's sister-
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 297
in-law), sent me a very pretty book of lyrics in Spanish,
illuminated, in a vellum cover.
Yes, Cardinal Merry del Val is Spanish — at least, half so.
His father was Spanish Ambassador to the Holy See, his
mother was half French, half English, and he speaks four
languages as if they were his mother-tongue — English (for
he was educated in England), Spanish, French, and Italian.
When he was Secretary of State to the late Pope, he was
always very civil and kind to me.
After Mass yesterday the Rev. Mother's mother, Vicomtesse
de Samale, came to thank me for a little New Year's gift I
had sent her. She is a dear old lady, of eighty-two, very
pretty, and with sweet, gracious, old-lady manners. We
talked much of you, and she says she is often praying for you.
She is terribly grieved at all our soldiers leaving Versailles,
and says, " I do love them " ; and then, with a funny little
face : "Before the war I couldn't bear them !"
Of course I laughed, and she said : " That comes of not
knowing people. We had never seen the good English then,
and only had an old tradition of their enmity to us."
The little present I gave pleased her so much. It was a
very little vase of real Venetian glass I had picked up, of
brilliant and exquisite colours, laced with gold. I found
four, all different, and all four have been immensely appre-
ciated. One I gave to the Marquis de Montebello, one I
gave to Lady Austin-Lee, one I gave to Mme. de Samale, and
the fourth I sent to the Duchess of Wellington ; it arrived quite
safely, and she thinks it lovely — as it was ! I showed them
to F , but he had not enough taste in such things to
admire them, or to know how good they were. . . .
What matches all those Tennants make ! The fact is, they
are all very good-looking and all clever. . . . Lord Glen-
conner's own children are naturally both clever and hand-
some, for he is a handsome and clever man, and they have
also the Wyndham beauty and extraordinary cleverness and
brilliancy to draw upon. The only Wyndham I ever met
who was less than brilliant was poor young Percy who was
killed at the beginning of this war, and he was wonderfully
handsome. Lady Glenconner's parents were both brilliantly
clever and singularly good-looking. Old Mrs. Percy Wynd-
ham inherited the good looks of her grandmother " Pamela, "
(Lady Edward Fitzgerald, daughter of the Due d'Orleans, or
else not, as the Scotch say).
298 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 271.
B.E.F., January 8, 1916 (Saturday}.
My last two letters have been long, so you must not mind
if this is a short one.
The latest news I have heard about our move is that we
leave here on Monday week or Tuesday week — i.e., the i^th
or i 8th.
And, further, that we do not go to Boulogne itself, but to a
place called Dannes-Camier, near Boulogne, which, being
quite in the country, fifteen or eighteen miles from B., is sup-
posed to be more suitable for a hospital. It is on the sea
and very healthy, whereas B. is supposed to be rather drainy —
i.e., undrainedy.
... I like the idea of this quiet secluded spot on the sea,
and do not regret not going to B. itself. I have been there
several times, and have seen all there is to be seen.
I overslept this morning, and instead of getting up at 5.30
only got up at 7.15. So I am behindhand with everything.
This afternoon I am to give tea to Lady Austin-Lee.
I am feeling better. Just before and after Christmas I was
out of sorts; the truth is that that season always makes me
melancholy : it is all wrong, I know, but it is so.
LETTER No. 272.
B.E.F., January 11, 1916 (Tuesday}.
No letter from you by to-day's mail, but I think it is only
a Aa//-m?ul, for there were no letters from anyone in England,
only newspapers and some letters from France : so very
likely I shall have a letter from you later in the day.
Yesterday I was not well, and I stayed in bed all day. The
malady I told you of is really bothering me and very painful.
In bed I was very comfortable, but I got up at 5.30 to-day
and said Mass as usual.
F turned up yesterday, and came round here at once
on arrival from home. He had been travelling the whole
night and looked quite worn out ; and, poor boy, he was terribly
sad : he tried to speak of what he should lose by my going,
but could not, and could only cry. I do feel very much for
him, for really there is no one here whom he cares for except
me, and no one of his own sort whom he knows except the
Duke and Duchess of TreVise, who are quite new friends. I
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 299
fancy his visit home was very dismal : his father kind, but
sad and aloof, and his poor old grandmother dying and
childish; quite cheerful and quite unconscious of her state,
singing nursery songs, laughing much, and altogether in a
state in which it pained him to see her, for he has always been
devoted to her. He is sure he will never see her again, and
he said it pained him so much that when he went to say good-
bye, before going to the station, she would only laugh and
sing. However, I think laughing imbecility rather less dismal
than weeping imbecility.
I must now go round to hospital and dismantle my chapel
there, and pack up the things that are my own and send back
those I borrowed nine months ago from the nuns. I am glad
to go nearer to England; but the actual packing up is rather
melancholy. I am sure I shall feel much more cheerful myself
once the move is over and done. I dare say you can find the
place we are going to on the map of France in the big green
atlas : Dannes-Camier, near Eta-pies (between Etaples and
Boulogne). It will (I believe) prove to consist chiefly of a big
hotel, turned into a hospital, with scarcely any town or village.
However, we shalf see.
Wilcox is really very philosophical : he loses a tremendous
lot by going, but he takes it very resignedly, saying : " Well,
I've had a grand time, and I shall always have it to look back
on all my days. It couldn't last for always."
It really shows a good as well as a sensible mind to be so
much more alive to having had many comforts than to the
grievance of having them no longer.
I must stop now.
LETTER No. 273.
B.E.F., January 12, 1916 (Wednesday}.
No mail to-day, and none yesterday ! I hate these irregu-
larities, because I always think that in the course of them some
letters are lost altogether. But I have no doubt it is no one's
fault (except the Germans') and on the whole our war-post is
wonderful, and an immense boon and comfort, never known
in any previous war.
The result of no mail yesterday or to-day is that I have
nothing, literally nothing to tell you; the hospital has dis-
charged all its patients, and will take in no new ones till we
are installed in our new quarters.
The sun is feebly trying to push his frosty nose through a
curtain ^of clouds, and I must say I hope he will succeed ; but
he hasn't succeeded yet. I am going in to Paris to lunch with
3oo JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
the Austin-Lees, and I think it will be my last trip here. It
will be odd being out of reach of it : I have got to know it far
better than I know London.
Lady Austin-Lee is really sorry at my departure. . . .
Even the Pringles write in desolation from Biarritz, though I
can't see that it can make much difference to them whether I
am in Versailles or the Pas de Calais.
I am sending you a Neiv York Herald — is not the cheek of
the Austrian Government sublime ? It seems that a party of
Austrians interned in India are being sent back to Europe
in a ship called the Golconda, and the Austrian Foreign Office
demands the most precise information as to the ship's appear-
ance, date of sailing, etc., lest her submarines should torpedo
it in mistake for an ordinary English ship with only English
passengers !
Now I must get ready for Paris.
LETTER No. 274.
B.E.F., January 13, 1916.
Last evening, when I came in from Paris, I found two
letters from you dated Saturday and Sunday, but to-day there
is again no mail up to now. In one of the two letters received
yesterday you announce the departure out of this life of poor
old Togo.
Our days at Versailles are drawing rapidly to a close ; this
is Thursday, and on Sunday morning we depart — in fact, the
advance party left yesterday.
I lunched with the Austin-Lees yesterday, en petite comite,
only themselves, myself, and the Abbe Dimnet, of whom I told
you last week. Lady Austin-Lee was quite depressed at its
being my last visit, and Sir Henry was very cordial and nice.
We hear that the new place is very muddy; if so, I shall
send for my gum-boots again, but don't send them till I write
and ask for them.
It is another of the sour, dismal days we have had so many
of, and really they depress me. My present malady is also
depressing ; the loss of blood, of course, weakens one, though
I have plenty to spare ! If I were at home I would try a week's
complete rest in bed, but it is not possible here, just as we are
on the move. After walking even a little I am so much worse
that I am sure a week's rest in bed would, on the contrary, do
wonders, and when we get to Dannes-Camier perhaps I shall
try it. The hospital won't be organized again for a week
or two.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 301
LETTER No. 275.
B.E.F., January 14, 1916 (Thursday}.
No mail again today either ! It came late yesterday, and
perhaps will come late to-day, but it is a nuisance its being
so irregular of late. It was your letter of Monday that I
received yesterday afternoon, the letter in which you announce
poor Togo's funeral. One thing which always strikes me
about your letters during many months now is the excellence,
clearness, and firmness of the handwriting. Your writing is
younger than it was seven years ago, distinctly so, both as to
its vigorous firmness and as to the shaping of the letters;
there is not a shaky line or stroke in it, and one would say,
now, it was the writing of a woman of forty. This was not so
ten, or even six, years ago, and it was not so even at the begin-
ning of the war. I do believe that God, to make up for all
that you have had to lose since the war began, has given you a
new lease of life.
You say the morning was fine and bright, and so is this
morning here. There is plenty of sun and a clear sky, though
it is cold.
To-day I read a very interesting short book (about 65 pages)
by Balzac, called the " Cure of Tours " — extraordinarily grim,
bitterly clever, and morosely sad.
I must stop and go and finish the packing of the things at
the " church " (I mean the little chapel in the hospital).
LETTER No. 276.
B.E.F., January 14, 1916 (Friday night, / p.m.}.
On Sunday we push off. I don't know, no one knows, at
what hour; nor, of course, do we know in the least when we
reach our journey's end, but not, I suppose, till Monday
morning. All trains go very slowly in France during the war,
though we shall not have the worry of changing, even at
Paris, as our train is for ourselves only: for ourselves, the
officers, nurses, men; and all the enormous baggage of our
enormous hospital; many hundreds of beds and their bed-
ding; tables, cupboards, crockery, and all the medical and
surgical equipment; besides the immense store of linen,
hospital clothing, etc., scores and scores of tons of stores,
cooking ranges, and a countless list of things. . . .
You may be a day or two without letters from me. I can
302 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
post this to-morrow (Saturday), but whether I can post another
on Sunday, or one on Monday, 1 don't yet know, only too
probably not.
You seem to think that at Dannes-Camier I shall be able to
walk into the German lines'— it would be rather a long walk.
We are sixteen miles from Boulogne there (on the side away
from the front), and of course Boulogne is far behind St. Omer,
which is itself a good way back from the front.
Nor am I likely even to walk into the sea! because it is not
like Dieppe, with high, precipitous cliffs, but a low, flat shore
with sand-dunes, a sort of place where I shall like walking,
and which fascinates me. It is only three miles from Etaples,
where I believe there are decent shops, so I can still buy a
boot-lace or a piece of notepaper.
I am not well yet, but better to-day and suffering less.
The German Emperor seems to be dying. Wretched man !
if he is really dying, what a miserable end, to die with all the
world in anguish caused by himself, with the spectres of
millions of slain men accusing him. Alas ! an Emperor even
in death has so many flatterers; they will do their best to
prevent his repentance ; they will repeat the old lie of its being
his enemies who forced the war on him. I can only pray that
God may show him the stern and naked truth, so that his
death may tend to end the miseries he has caused : I mean
that he may not die encouraging those who will fill his vacant
place, but warning them. If he should indeed die — how
terribly it must affect that other Emperor, himself so feeble,
Francis Joseph of Austria ! For a long time the younger,
more forceful man has been his evil genius, and he has all
these months been reaping the whirlwind his tempter made
him sow.
Of course, the German Crown Prince is as war-like, or more
so, than the present Emperor, and the rest of the war party
will be as bellicose as ever; but the Crown Prince has none
of his father's power, or force of character, or capacity for
insisting on his will. // the Emperor dies, things in Germany
will soon be at sixes and sevens, and the people will probably
be no longer kept in order. All this calculation about a man's
death is rather macabre, but it is inevitable.
I received the gloves yesterday, and they are uncommonly
warm and comfortable, and will no doubt keep my hands nice
and warm where we are going. Ever so many thanks, dear,
for them.
I must dry up.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 303
LETTER No. 277.
B.E.F., January 17, 1916 (Monday).
We left Versailles yesterday at 2 o'clock, and at I this
morning — i.e., in the middle of the night — arrived here. They
did not drag us out of the train, but left us in peace in a
siding till 8 o'clock.
The journey was, of course, slowish, but quite comfortable.
I had half a railway carriage to myself — i.e., there were two
officers to each carriage — so I had all one side to lie down on.
About 4 o'clock we stopped in a siding, and the Sisters
made tea and treated us all to it. At 9 we stopped for half an
hour at Amiens, and I got some dinner or supper. I slept
quite well, though it was terribly cold.
This is a big camp, consisting of several hospitals (field
hospitals, only tents), situated in a queer sort of natural
amphitheatre formed by a semicircle of low clay hills, then the
sand-dunes, then the sea.
(I have a diabolical pen, and can hardly make it write.)
There are big Portland cement works here and there, which
do not improve the landscape. As soon as I arrived a mail
was put into my hands, which was a very pleasant surprise,
for usually after a change of quarters it is some time before one
begins to get letters again.
LETTER No. 278.
B.E.F., January 20, 1916 (Thursday}.
Strange to say, the sun is shining, and it is cold and bright.
Yesterday afternoon a violent wind arose and blew all night,
so fiercely that I thought my tent would blow away to Eng-
land. It flapped, and banged, and rattled, like an angry
virago. And the rain smacked at it, and it was as wild as
you like.
I got quite a fat mail at 4.30 in the afternoon, which is
when the English post comes in.
Wilcox has been invaluable, both on the journey and since
I arrived. When I got here on Monday in the bitter cold
there was not a place for the sole of my foot to rest on and be
dry, out of the universal mud. Wilcox bit by bit has rigged
me up quite a little home in the following order : (i) A tent :
at first this and three rugs, were all my furniture and housing.
And I had neither bed, bedstead, mattress, chair, table, basin,
304 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
anything. (2) He found me two half -mattresses, so that I did
not have to lie flat on the ground. (3) He found me on the
third day an oil-stove which warms the tent thoroughly. (4)
Last night he found me a camp bedstead, so that now I am
raised from the ground. (5) He found me a bucket to wash in.
(6) He got for me three blankets, so that I am very warm in
bed now, and don't get chilled : before it was miserable.
I don't think I should dislike this place if I were well, but
the truth is I can hardly walk at all, cannot walk at all without
great pain, and the camp is scattered about ; it is quite a long
way to the " church tent " where I say Mass, and by the time
I get there I am scarcely able to say Mass, because every move-
ment hurts, especially genuflexion. And you see I am not
keen to " go sick," because I don't want to be invalided home,
but to obtain reappointment to Salisbury Plain; if I were
simply invalided home, I should not be reappointed anywhere.
So, you see, I have to proceed very cautiously.
I am sending home some parcels of things addressed to
" John Ayscough." They are all useless here, and only in my
way ; but tell Mary to throw none of them away, as she loves
to do. There are some old clothes, boots, slippers, etc., really
deserving throwing away, but I want them kept because I used
them at the front.
One of the parcels to be opened contains a small brown-
paper parcel addressed to me in Italian ; it comes from Rome,
and contains some silk for making stocks with, so you can
take possession of that.
I must stop now.
LETTER No. 279.
B.E.F., January 20, 1916 (Thursday evening}.
I wrote to you this morning, and instead of writing again
to-morrow morning I am doing so now. It was sunshiny
when I wrote, then it turned to sleet ; it is now a cold bright
moonlight, with a strong and very sharp wind, but quite fine,
and the wind, I hope, will dry up some of our mud.
I wanted to buy some necessaries for my tent — an enamel
washing-basin, tooth-mug, jug for water, etc., and went to
Etaples to buy them. A young fellow called Considine took
me in in a motor-car, and it took very little time that way.
He is a gentleman, of good Catholic family, very lame, and so
unable to be a soldier, but he is out here with his car to make
himself useful, and so help. There is an excellent huge hut
here, run by some Catholic ladies, of the Catholic Women's
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 305
League, as a sort of club for the men, and it is immensely
appreciated. Mr. Considine helps them, and he had to go to
Etaples to bring out the day's stock of cakes, buns, bread, etc.,
for the men.
The short drive in is pretty : on one side the Downs, exactly
like our Wiltshire Downs, so like as to make me very home-
sick. Then a belt of low dunes covered with stunted Scotch
firs, then the open dunes, behind which is the sea.
Etaples is a spread-out sort of little town of endless mean
streets, all slums, no good houses, and nothing old or pic-
turesque. I suppose the inhabitants are fisher-folk.
I made my purchases, and then took shelter from the sleet
in the small shop where Mr. Considine's cakes were being
baked. There were the baker, his wife, and two mothers-in-
law : his own and his wife's. And of course I talked to them
all. They seemed much impressed by my French, whence I
conclude that most of the English they have seen talk it very
badly indeed. It was my first occasion of talking French
since I came here, except to a few wounded Canadians in the
hospital. But I am reading plenty of it, especially the
" Memorial de Ste. Helene," which is intensely interesting. It
is the journal of Count de Las Cases, who accompanied the
Emperor to St. Helena, and was his Boswell. It notes down
the Emperor's talk each day ; and Napoleon talked very well,
ranging in his subjects all over his life, his various campaigns,
his domestic life, his Imperial life, and so on. I am never
uncomfortable* when I have books to read, and am thankful
I brought some here. But also I get much more talk here
than I used to get at Versailles. I told you that the officers
whose Mess we're using for meals are more " conversible " than
our own lot, and they seem to like to talk about books, places,
history, etc.
One of the most friendly and most clever is a Jew called
Green ; his father was an English Jew, his mother an Italian,
and he was brought up in Italy, and talks beautiful Italian.
There are some nice Scotsmen (Highlanders), and I
generally get on well with Scotch people; there is a very
rough Belfast man, with an appalling accent, who is, however,
both friendly and intelligent. He himself is an Orangeman
by birth and breeding, but he admires Mr. Redmond much
more than he does Sir E. Carson. Of course, all these people
are doctors, and mostly not really Army doctors, but volun-
teers serving during the war.
* At this time, and for many weeks before, he was and had been very
ill, suffering tortures of pain.— EDITOR.
20
306 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
. . . There is one young Indian doctor, a native; not, I
should say, of at all high caste, but very meek and inoffensive.
So, you see, we are rather a menagerie. So far as I have
discovered, none of them are Catholics, except Father Ryan,
whom I am relieving, very nice and friendly. He knows heaps
of people I know, especially a whole lot of Galway folk whom
I used to meet long ago when I stayed with the Redingtons
at Kilcornan.
The Church of England Chaplain, called Symons (or
Simmons), is a man about thirty-three, a gentleman, and very
amiable. He comes from Bristol, and knows people I know
there. I don't think I've much more to tell you, and it's
rather clever of me to have found even so much ; for, I think,
if you were shot down among all these men you would say
they were all the same, and that one name would do for the lot.
The Colonel of this lot is called Hassard, an Irishman;
he called out to me the first day : " Hi ! Come here ! " and
asked if I had not gone to India in the Euphrates in 1888 ; and
I said " Yes," and that I remembered him. He said : " No,
you can't." " Oh yes, I can ; and you are one of the Hassards
of whom there is a whole clan round Waterford and Kil-
kenny." He soon found I knew all about his people, and was
convinced. Whereupon he gave a grunt, and there our inter-
course began and ended.
I must shut up.
LETTER No. 280.
B.E.F., January 21, 1916 (Friday, midday}.
I can only write you a very short note, because in a few
minutes I am starting for Etaples, where I am going into the
officers' hospital. I did not " go sick," but was sent sick ; one
of our Majors came into my tent and asked all about my
malady, and then said: "We are going to send you to
hospital to-day, and no doubt from there they will send you
home." I tried not to go sick, but I am glad, now all is
settled, that I am to have the rest. Of course I do not know
when I shall be sent home, but certainly not before ten days
or so.
You can address your next letter " No. 4 General Hospital,"
and Wilcox will bring it over; as soon as I know the correct
hospital address I will let you know. Major Rahilly said
that he thinks it certain I shall be sent home, and very un-
likely that I shall be sent out again. I am very sorry for
Wilcox, for he is truly devoted, and will miss me. Of course,
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 307
an officer's servant has many little exemptions and privileges.
But the poor fellow is only unfeignedly glad, for my sake,
because he knows how out of sorts I have been.
The motor is there to take me to Etaples, so I must stop.
I cannot at all realize that probably I shall soon be in
England, though not at once at home, as I should first go to
some hospital there, and then be "boarded" — i.e., be examined
by a board as to fitness for service out here.
I'm sorry I can't tell you anything more definite, but I
cannot.
LETTER No. 281.
LIVERPOOL MERCHANTS' HOSPITAL,
B.E.F.
January 21, 1916 (Friday afternoon,
about 3 o'clock}.
I wrote to you about two and a half hours ago, just as I
was leaving the camp at Dannes-Camier to come here, and I
told you I would send you my new address as soon as I
could.
At 1.15 a car drew up at my tent door, and into it I got,
with my baggage and the ever-faithful Wilcox, who was deter-
mined to stick to me to the last moment to save me all possible
trouble.
It is no distance in to Etaples, and only took about quarter
of an hour. I was instantly allotted my bed (14 B Ward),
and, then / instantly demanded a bath. It was the first of
any sort for a long time, the first hot lie-down bath for ages :
so I enjoyed it, I can tell you.
My bed is very comfortable, and the Sister in charge a very
attentive, kindly person, but of course I have hardly ex-
changed half a dozen words with her yet.
There are about fifteen beds in the ward, and about ten of
them are occupied, I don't know how many other wards there
are. I have just been given a thumping dose of castor oil
in brandy, so strong of brandy I could hardly taste the oil.
I imagine this is called Liverpool Merchants' Hospital
because the money for it is found by the merchant princes of
Liverpool, but I don't know.
The address is as I put it at the head of this letter — i.e.,
the name of the hospital and A.P.O., S.ii. (S. eleven). I
don't know how long I shall be here. Perhaps two weeks,
perhaps a good deal less. If they discover that I require an
operation I may go to England for it; if they cure me here,
3o8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I don't know at all what they will do. So I hope they ivorit!
I should certainly be glad to suffer less, but I would rather be
cured at home.
I must stop. It is a great treat to be so comfortable, and I
can tell you I appreciate it.
With best love to Christie.
You can tell Christie or anyone that I am in hospital, and
may very likely be sent home, but you don't know yet, nor
do I ; and that if I have to be operated, I shall be sent home
certainly, before or after.
LETTER No. 282.
B.E.F., Friday evening, 7.30 p.m.
Poor old Wilcox has just walked down from our camp at
Dannes-Camier (four miles each way) to bring me down my
mail. Poor man, he could only look at me like a devoted
dog; he could not speak, his eyes were pouring down tears,
I think he is quite broken-hearted at losing me, and he suffers
the more for being so silent.*
The doctor had just examined me (the doctors here are
charming), and he said, " What horrors of pain you must have
suffered for weeks ! " and it is true. He said : " Tons of
young officers come down from the front who have not
suffered a hundredth part of what you must. . . ."
To-morrow they are going to put me under an anaesthetic,
and examine more fully.
The hospital is very comfortable, and I do appreciate it
after Dannes-Camier.
I am so glad to know that they are working away well at
the well.
Christie writes in high feather, and says Alice is coming
to see her on Monday, and so I hope she will be well cheered
up. There is no such person as "Lord de Courcy." The
de Courcy title is Kinsale, and Lord Kinsale is premier Baron
of Ireland, and has the odd privilege of being able to "re-
main covered" (keep his hat on) in the presence of the
Sovereign.
The man who came to Malta and dined with us, and told
flaring stories, was Lord Muskerry, not de Courcy.
I hope you won't build too much on my getting home; I
hope to, but it is all "in the lap of the gods," and the gods
* He was fully aware of his master's dangerous condition. — EDIK i<
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 309
won't let on at once what they are going to do. I feel easier
in mind and body since I came into hospital. For weeks and
weeks I knew I should be in hospital, and that lots of the
patients I visited in our own hospital were not nearly so ill
as I was myself, but I tried to "stick it," and did. The
journey to Dannes-Camier was a trial, and the rough con-
ditions there. Now it is all settled, and I am comfortable
in mind and body. The struggle is over, and it is not a
defeat, as I did not "go sick," but was sent.
I will shut up.*
LETTER No. 283.
B.E.F., January 24, 1916 (Monday].
I have had a very good night, and am doing very well. I
had some food this morning, for the first time since Friday :
I mean solid food — i.e., an egg and a piece of toast. Before
that only tea and (yesterday night) custard. They seem to
think I have picked up very promptly, for I don't really feel
very weak. I suffer still, of course, and must till the wounds
are healed, but I surfer less than I expected.
Still, I can't sit up much, and you must excuse this short
scribble.
I received your letter of Thursday last night — Alice will
be going to you to-day. I think it will do you good. . . .
LETTER No. 284.
B.E.F., January 25, 1916 (Tuesday morning}.
I can only write you a line or two to tell you I'm getting
on all right. Yesterday I wrote too many notes and knocked
myself up. I am getting on all right, but I suffer a good deal
still, and I didn't have a very good night last night. Father
Ryan came down from Dannes-Camier to see me yesterday
morning, and one of the Sisters in the afternoon. Of course
Wilcox came. His grief over my illness is quite pathetic.
I had your letter written o« Saturday last night. I can't
write more because I am lying down : yesterday I sat up and
tired myself out. With best love to Christie and Alice.
* Next morning Ayscough was " operated " ; he felt so nearly sure of
dying that from daylight he was writing letters of farewell and business
letters concerning his affairs, to be posted after his death. I have con-
stantly heard him laugh at himself for this, and say, " So much for the
value of presentiments."— EDITOR.
3io JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 285.
B.E.F., January 26, 1916 (Wednesday).
I had a very good night, and feel much more comfortable.
Of course I still suffer a good bit, sometimes miserably, but
they say that, after the first week, it will be much better.
You must not mind my only writing these brief bulletins at
present. It tires me sitting up and tires me writing. I hear
nothing yet about my return, but then I am, of course, quite
incapable of travelling yet, and there will be no talk of it
till I am (capable). Wilcox comes every day, and is as
devoted as ever. I will give him your note to-morrow. I
slept the whole night last night.
The Director-General of Medical Services (Sir Arthur
Sloggett) is coming round this morning, and they are busy
getting ready for him. I can't write more ; it makes my back
ache.
LETTER No. 286.
B.E.F., January 27, 1916 (Thursday).
Your letter of Monday afternoon arrived last night,
Wednesday ; I dare say if it had caught the early post at
Winterbourne it would have arrived here on the following
evening. I am getting on well, and had a bath this morning,
the first since the operation. It was very nice, and nothing
relieves the discomfort and pain more.
Yesterday I received enclosed from the Cardinal : you will
see that it is very kind and cordial in tone, and I feel now
sure that he will take up my case vigorously. The Bishop of
Clifton, too, will keep on at it.
The Bishop's letter was written before he had heard from
me from this place. Now knows of my operation, etc.
No, you did not tell me before of Lady Glenconner's
visit. . . .
Two officers that used to belong to my old unit at the front
came to see me, and were very pleasant.
I must stop now. I hope Alice is livening you up. I am
not feeling very weak, but the pain is often harassing still,
and will be till the wounds of the operation are healed and
the stitches come out.
Best love to Christie and Alice.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 311
LETTER No. 287.
B.E.F., January 28, 1916 (Friday}.
I am tired, and can write you but a word to say I'm doing
well.
Last night I had an enormous mail — letters from you,
Christie, Alice, the Bishop, his Secretary, W. Gater, the
Cardinal, the Duchess of Wellington, Lord Glenconner,
Marquise de Montebello, Lady Austin-Lee, Father Keating
(the Month}, and I am nearly worn out answering them. The
actual writing does not fatigue me : it is the position in which
I have to do it.
I can't conceive why Alice should not have slept as usual
in my old room over the kitchen, and it worries me. I
suppose you thought / might swoop down ! But there will
be no swooping. I am not likely to be out of this hospital
for some little while, and should probably be then transferred
to an English one till out of doctors' hands. You say, " Why
not come home and let civilian doctors do it all ? I don't
think ! There's no point in being ill at one's own expense
when one falls ill on service.
Winifred said she found you so well, and so pretty, with
a nice healthy colour. . . .
LETTER No. 288.
B.E.F., January 29, 1916.
I had a good night, but am feeling " poorish " this morn-
ing. I suppose it must be so for a time, but I suffer so at
times that I feel quite collapsed afterwards. I shall not
write many letters this morning, but rest. I meant to have
written to Christie and Alice, but am not quite up to it. Give
them my love.
One of the volunteer nurses here is a Miss Bibby. Do you
remember the name in Shropshire long ago ? The Bibby s
live near Baschurch (the home of the Jebbs of the School),
at a place called Hardwicke Hall (not the Kynaston's Hard-
wick, of course), and she used to hunt round Ellesmere and
our neighbourhood. We have great talks, and she is now
eager to read " Gracechurch." She is very good to me, and
brings me all sorts of things.
The reason I changed to pencil in writing this letter is
that the ink in the fountain-pen I was using gave out.
I must stop.
3i2 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTER No. 289.
B.E.F., January 30, 1916 (Sunday}.
I feel better to-day than any day since the operation. And
the doctor examined the place yesterday, and told the Sister
after that I was doing very well, that it was healing well, and
he was very pleased with it. As I suffer a good deal still,
I was beginning to feel uneasy, wondering if it was all right,
and so I am glad to hear this.*
It has turned very cold, and I'm glad not to be in that tent
at Dannes-Camier.
Our mail comes in about 6 p.m. Last night there was none,
and we were told the boat had put out, but had to return to
England owing to enemy craft.
Wilcox walks down each evening and looks at me (tear*
fully !), and goes away again. He looks so lonely, poor man.
Best love to C. and A.
LETTER No. 290.
B.E.F., January 31, 1916 (Monday}.
It is terribly cold ; if I sit up in bed I get frozen. I shall
therefore only write you a word to say I'm improving steadily,
if not as quickly as I should like.
I had very nice letters from Mr. and W. Gater. Please
thank them. Also excellent letters from Bert and Mary : I
like their letters; there is no convention and filling out with
phrases. Poor - - writes ever so lovingly, but simply
clatters " the Lord " round my head like a set of castanets.
Of course, I do not get up yet, but am always in bed, and
while one is ill I think it the best place.
We seem to be always having a meal or meal-let : 7 a.m.
tea ; 8 a.m. breakfast ; 1 1 a.m. lunch ; I p.m. luncheon ; 4 p.m.
tea; 7 p.m. dinner.
I must stop. God bless you, and with love to Christie . . .
* It had been uncertain whether the conditions were cancerous. —
EDITOR.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 313
LETTER No. 291.
B.E.F., February I, 1916.
When I awoke this morning, after a very good night, I
found a bundle of letters by my side which had arrived in
the night, and among them your letter of Saturday.
It is beastly cold this morning, and sitting up I get my
hands frozen. You know how cracked nurses and doctors are
about open windows, and it is a hard black frost.
There is an "evacuation" this morning — i.e., a lot of
patients sent home ; three out of ten officers in this ward gone.
I wonder when my turn will come ; but, as I told you, I would
rather complete my cure here, where it costs me nothing :
after that the sooner the better. I don't envy them to-day,
for it will be a bitter cold journey.
Poor Mary and Bert seem so really delighted at the prospect
of my getting home. I hope whenever you do see me walk
in you won't be sick at me, as you were at Mrs. Taylor ! !
I must stop.
LETTER No. 292.
B.E.F., February 2, 1916.
The "Major" (he is really a civilian doctor, a very eminent
surgeon and specialist from Liverpool, who is serving here
as a volunteer) has just examined me again, and he says it is
getting on very well ; there is, however, still inflammation, and
the wounds are not yet healed up. I told him that I did not
want to go home till I was at least very nearly cured, and he
quite understood. He is very nice, and so is the Colonel-
Commandant here . . . very kind and sympathetic. To-day's
was my first chance of a good plain talk with the Major, and
as it all now rests with the doctors, I am very much relieved
in my mind to have had it. I had been watching for the
opportunity a long time.
Three of our officer patients went out (to England) yester-
day, but three more came in. They are all wounded, but
not at the front: one in a game of football, one in a motor-
accident, one while doing gymnastics. Very dull, isn't it ?
I suffer very little pain now, and am really enjoying the
rest and comfort in hospital.
You speak of its being a "house," but it isn't. It is a
collection of huts, built in Liverpool, and sent out here all
ready to put up.
I must dry up.
3i4 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
LETTE'R No. 293.
B.E.F., February 3, 1916 (Thursday}.
I have been longing to begin my letter for the last two
hours (for it is nearly 12 o'clock, and at 12 o'clock our post
goes out), but another officer has been sitting on my bed
telling me all about British Guiana, and I thought he never
would stop. It was quite interesting if I had not wanted to
be writing. He was a planter out there and doing very well,
but threw it all up and came home to Europe to fight England's
enemies. I know now all about a planter's life in British
Guiana — the sort of houses they live in, their pretty gardens,
the snakes, alligators, " tigers " (i.e., pumas), dances, niggers,
natives, Indians (all different), and so on.
I told you this was a hut, but it is a very nice one : this
ward about 100 feet long and 20 broad, a good height, and
very well built.
I must stop. I'm doing very well.
LETTER No. 294.
B.E.F., February 4, 1916.
I have just come back to bed after a trip to the bathroom;
after the first week I began to have a bath each day, and it
really does me more good than the fomentations used to do,
as both doctors and nurses had the sense to recognize at once.
1 always feel much easier after it, though a little tired.
You will be glad to hear that I am notably better, better
each day. Presently, in another day or two, they will let me
up. Then the next stage will be transference to some hospital
in England, and the next after that, I hope, a board which
will allot me sick leave, so that I can go home.
Another man here had an operation for the same thing as
me the day before yesterday, but in his case the trouble was
slight, and he suffered scarcely anything either before or
after the operation.
We have had English game several times — pheasants, and
jolly good ones. The Liverpool people send us fresh eggs,
vegetables, grapes, oranges, bananas, and all sorts of little
luxuries. I must say it's very good of them. I keep my
fruit to give to Wilcox, because he adores it and I don't : the
rest I gobble up myself.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 315
Miss Bibby makes us excellent sandwiches for tea. She is
very good, but I can see that she is tired out ("fed up," as
the soldiers say). She has been nursing ever since the war
started, and it's very hard work, especially the being on
your jeet for over twelve hours each day.
LETTER No. 295.
B.E.F., February 5, 1916 (Saturday}.
It is a fortnight to-day since the operation, and I am almost
quite well; at first I seemed to myself to make no progress
at all, but for the last five days I have steadily improved
daily.
The doctor (the Major) is going to examine me again this
morning, and I believe I shall then be given my "ticket" for
England — that is, a sort of label will be put up over my bed
saying I am for the next lot who go over to England. One
would probably remain here four or five days after that.
Whenever I do go I shall, as soon as I get to England,
send you a telegram to let you know I am there ; but you must
not expect to see me for some time after that, as I shall have
to go first to some hospital for some short time.
I write every day to you — I did not even miss the day of
the operation — but it seems to me that you get my letters
very irregularly : I am so sorry.
With best love to Christie and Alice.
POSTSCRIPT. Smday
The Major has just examined me again, and I am to have
my "ticket" That means I shall go over with the next
convoy, possibly to-morrow, possibly Tuesday or Wednesday.
So I don't think there is any use in your writing to me till you
hear where I am — it will probably be London.
LETTER No. 296.
B.E.F., February 7, 1916 (Monday}.
It is pouring down in a fierce rattling deluge, and poor
Wilcox arrived from Dannes-Camier in the thick of it —
drenched. But it is the sort of passionate rain that doesn't
last, and already there is a wild gleam shining through it, so
I hope he will have it dry and warm to walk back.
3i6 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
You see, I am still here, and here I may be for days, just
as I may be off at any moment. You would not like that,
would you ? The uncertainty, I mean.
You cannot think how nice Colonel Peake and Major
Littler- Jones are here, how kind and cordial : and the nurses
too.
LETTER No. 297.
B.E.F., February 8, 1916 (Tuesday].
I believe it was on this day last year (and at about this
hour) that I received the War Office letter telling me that I
was to come out here again at once, and it seems a great
deal more than a year.
No convoy yet, so you see I am still here; however, I am
in very good quarters, and as I am not cured yet, I might as
well be in one hospital as another.
Friday is my birthday ; by then I expect I shall be in
London.
Yesterday afternoon I had a long visit from Captain
McDonald, one of the officers of my own unit — No. 4 General
Hospital. He stayed over two hours and had tea, and was
very amiable. It seems they have received no patients yet
since coming from Versailles. . . .
I wish Alice could stay on till I get back ; I should so much
like to tell her the history of the last year.
LETTER No. 298.
B.E.F., February 9, 1916 (Wednesday}.
You see, I am still here ; but I expect there will be a convoy
very soon, and then I shall be off : one never knows long
beforehand when there is to be a convoy. However, I have
my things all ready.
Last night I had your letter written on Sunday, and a lot
of other letters same time : a very kind one from Lady Ports-
mouth. During the war they live almost entirely in London,
or, she says, she would have gone over to see you.
It is very cold here to-day, but bright. Yesterday we had
thunder, hail, black storms of rain, and wind. Wilcox said
the sea was very rough, so I was not sorry that I was not
crossing.
I hated writing the article in the Month, but I felt it a sort
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 317
of duty; English people never realize what France suffers
from the war.
I have been nearly three weeks in this bed — three weeks the
day after to-morrow, and now I sometimes get the fidgets,
just as you do. All the same, it is far more comfortable in
bed than hanging about in the draughts of the ward. Miss
Bibby is off duty with a bad cold, and it's a judgment on her
for her passion for opening windows in all directions.
I must stop. I've a pain in " me " back from sitting up in
rather a crunchy position.
LETTER No. 299.
B.E.F., February 10, 1916.
I have an idea that this will be my last letter from France.
The Colonel told me last night that he did not think there
would be any convoy to-day, but that there would be to-
morrow, and the convoys usually leave here early in the morn-
ing, so as to catch the boat that leaves Boulogne or Calais
about 11.30.
So, if that is so, and all goes well, I shall be in London by
the afternoon of my birthday.
Last night, just as I was settling down to sleep, the mail
came, and two letters from you dated Saturday and Monday.
I am writing with the most abominable pen I ever suffered
from, like a bent pin, and it is almost impossible to make it
write at all.
Yesterday afternoon I had a long visit from Colonel Butler,
one of my former brother-officers of No. 1 5 Field Ambulance ;
he has for a long time now been Commandant of a hospital
at Boulogne. He had plenty to tell me of our old lot, and
he declared that I look much better now than when I was up
at the front. / don't think so.
LETTER No. 300.
B.E.F., February 11, 1916 (Friday}.
I expect you will be getting very impatient ; it is so many
days since I told you I should be going over with the next
convoy, and still I am here.
I really thought I should be going to-day, for yesterday
they brought my luggage into the ward, where no luggage is
allowed till patients are leaving. When the night Sisters
3i8 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
came on duty last night I said good-bye to the day Sisters,
not expecting to see them again. But they are all back
again, and I am still here.
It is a beastly day, so in that way I do not lose much by
not having to travel — a dismal persistent rain, and very
bleak and cold too. So bed is not a bad place to be in, after
all. It is three weeks to-day since I came in to hospital, and
I certainly had expected to be in England long before this.
However, one must be patient, and I must be off soon now, as
it is more than a week since there was a convoy. This is my
fifty-eighth birthday, and the second I have spent in France :
not that it feels like France here, for one never sees a French
person or hears a word of French.
I have read about twenty books since I was in here, and
am now reading again "Feats on the Fiords," by Harriet
Martineau, which you read aloud to me about (almost
exactly) fifty years ago. It is worth a hundred of the books
written now.
LETTER No. 301.
MRS. ARNOLDI'S HOSPITAL FOR OFFICERS,
LONDON.
February 13, 1916 (Sunday).
I arrived here just now (and it is jolly comfortable). We
left the Liverpool Merchants' about 10.30 yesterday morn-
ing, and I was carried on a stretcher (fearful humbug) to the
motor, thence in an ambulance-motor to the train. I was
carried into the train, after which I flatly refused to be
carried any more, and walked on board at Calais.
We reached Calais at 3, but did not sail till 6.30 this
morning, and got to Dover at 8.30, after a hateful crossing —
I wasn't sick, but very nearly.
I hope to be given sick leave in a very few days — possibly
on Tuesday or Wednesday.
LETTER No. 302.
Monday.
There is no chance of my getting a board or getting home
for a few days.
This morning I was examined by the house doctor
(Dr. Menzies) and the consulting surgeon (Dr. Swinford
Edwards), and they immediately decided that a very trifling
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 319
further operation was necessary, and I went straight up to
the operating theatre, and it was done, without any anaes-
thetic. The surgeon shook me warmly by the hand, and
said: "You are plucky, splendidly plucky."
I am quite all right, and able to eat a most excellent
luncheon and dinner : and this afternoon I had two very
pleasant visits — Cardinal Bourne for an hour and a half, and
Lady O'Conor for two hours, but was not in the least tired.
The Cardinal was ever so nice, so simple and friendly and
kind.
But of course I shall have to stop in bed a day or two.
This operation is a mere nothing. It hurt a little, but not
much.
Both the Cardinal and Lady O'Conor thought me looking
very well.
LETTER No. 303.
February 15, 1916 (Tuesday).
I received your letter of yesterday afternoon this morning.
I fear you won't get mine of yesterday afternoon till this
afternoon; for London post goes out at 5 p.m., and if you
miss that, country letters don't get delivered till afternoon
post of next day.
I couldn't catch the 5 o'clock general mail, because Cardinal
Bourne came the moment I had finished luncheon, and stayed
till nearly 4, when Lady O'Conor came, who stayed till after 6.
The Cardinal was so nice, cordial, kind, and simple.
Both he and Lady O'Conor said I looked so well in spite
of having had another little operation in the morning.
This afternoon Lady Portsmouth is coming; she has just
telephoned to say so.
It is comfortable here, and I have a large room all to my-
self.
Here's luncheon !
I have written seven longish letters, and am tired ! I hope
to get my board about Friday, and then will come home;
but meanwhile I'm in bed. I wonder why you only got my
wire on Monday; it was sent off from Dover about 8.30 a.m.
on Sunday.
While I am writing a man is photographing me (in bed),
despatched by the Press Photographic Agency. Isn't it
funny ? He is to send you down a copy to-night. He is a
queer little hunchback, with a clever, witty face, and he says :
" That War Office ! it won't take me, and all my friends are
at the front."
320 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
I told him he'd much better stay at home, for he looks
terribly sickly and delicate, but he said : " Better chaps than
me have to take their chance ; why shouldn't I take mine ?"
The Daily Graphic telephones that it wants to interview
me ! So as soon as I've got rid of the Press Agency man I
shall have them on my hands.
I'm doing very well and am very comfortable, but still in
bed ; the wound of the new operation is not quite healed, and
I shan't be allowed up till it is, I expect.
Yesterday Lady Portsmouth came and spent a couple of
hours, and had tea here. She was very nice, and we had
great talks. She brought me beautiful flowers from Hurst-
bourne. My room is full of flowers sent or brought by different
people — camellias, snowdrops, violets, azaleas, daffodils.
Lady O'Conor telephones asking for leave to come again
this afternoon.
I got your letter written yesterday afternoon this morning.
LETTER No. 304.
Wednesday.
I hear that the doctors do not wish me to leave here before
Monday. They are very cautious, and like to keep any case
under observation till they are sure it is all right.
As I am getting the best doctors in England for nothing,
I think it much better to take advantage of it. Dr. Donald
Hood, the King's physician, is to see me before I go. It is
odd that staying in bed four weeks has not weakened me at
all, but only rested me. That no doubt is partly due to the
fact that they have fed me up like a little pig ever since I
came in hospital.
I am so glad Cyril Gater has been promoted. Please con-
gratulate them for me.
LETTER No. 305.
February 17, 1916 (Thursday}.
Yesterday I. wrote to you twice, so I have all the less to say
to-day.
I had a visit from a representative of the Daily Graphic;
then a short one from the Marchioness of Ormonde; then I
was overhauled by the King's physician, Dr. Donald Hood ;
finally Mrs. Arnoldi (who runs this hospital) came and
talked.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 321
There are very many and excellent nurses here, and the
hospital is most comfortable, the food first-rate, and the drink
too (the latter all comes from the King).
I'm very comfortable here, and as long as doctoring, etc., is
needed, I may as well get it for nothing.
LETTER No. 306.
February 18, 1916 (Friday}.
After luncheon yesterday Lady O'Conor came, and stayed
a long time. She is a staunch and devoted old friend, and
we talked over dozens of other old friends. Her sister is in
terrible trouble. Wilfrid Ward, her husband, and Herbert's
father, has had a bad operation, and they now say he has
consumption of the tissues and must die, perhaps in a few
weeks.
I had a very cheery letter from the Bishop (Clifton) to-day ;
he says that the Chaplain at Tidworth bolted to Ireland last
week without saying "nothing to nobody," and the sacristan
wrote to the Bishop that the enormous congregation there had
no Mass or anything on Sunday.
I received enclosed last night; I don't remember the female
at all, and am not attracted by her letter. I wish so many
people would not want to come and see me. I think of tele-
phoning to this one that I can only give her half an hour, and
perhaps she won't care to come from Hampton for that.
The Medical Board is coming to sit on me here on Monday
at 2.30. I am not decided yet whether I shall go down that
evening or wait till a morning train on Tuesday.
The only train I could catch on Monday after the board
would be the 5.50 from Waterloo, and that would reach Salis-
bury after 8, so I could not reach you till nearly 9.
However, I will think it over and let you know in good
time.
LETTER No. 307.
February 19, 1916 (Saturday).
Besides myself, there are five other officers to be/' boarded "
on Monday afternoon, so the board will probably take some
time, and I think I had better give up the idea of getting off
on Monday, and make up my mind to go down by daylight
on Tuesday.
322 JOHN AYSCOUGH'S
Lady O'Conor telephones that she wants to come again to
see me this afternoon ; she is very good, and sends me quan-
tities of books, flowers, etc.
Yesterday I had a long visit from a priest I had not met
for thirty years — Father Coventry; he saw my portrait in
the newspaper and came to look me up. He had much to
tell me of my fame, etc., and how many people were for ever
talking to him about my writings !
I haven't been allowed up yet, but I just told the doctor
that I intended to go out and say Mass to-morrow morning,
and he said " All right." I shall go to the " Servites," a priory
in Fulham Road ten minutes from here, where Father
Coventry belongs ; I shall not walk, but go in a taxi.
I have been very lucky in both my hospitals, the nursing
and doctoring being first-rate in both. Littler- Jones operated
me so well at Etaples that Dr. Swinford Edwards here (who
is the specialist surgeon for my disease) said after examining
me that he could not even feel the scar of the fissure.
Of course, it's a great advantage to have the very best
surgeons and physicians in England for nothing at all.
To-day began sunny, but has turned very dark and lower-
ing; in five minutes it will pelt.
LETTER No. 308.
February 20, 1916 (Sunday).
I am writing this at a table, the first letter I have written
out of bed for just a month.
I got up at 7.15 this morning, dressed, and went in a taxi
to the Servite Priory in Fulham Road, and said Mass there.
The monks gave me breakfast, and then I walked home. It is
no distance, only about ten minutes walking slowly, but I
found it quite enough.
It is now nearly 12, and at 12 I am going for a short motor-
drive with Captain Neale, one of the other officer patients
here. He and I came together from Etaples. Then I shall
have luncheon, and go back to bed for the remainder of the
day.
I shall go home on Tuesday, unless you hear to the contrary,
by the train reaching Salisbury at 5, which should bring me
home a little before 6. Yesterday I had three visitors.
First Lady O'Conor, who was very nice, as she always is ;
but her accounts of poor Wilfrid Ward, her brother-in-law,
Herbert's father, very bad. I fear he cannot last long.
LETTERS TO HIS MOTHER 323
Then Miss Fanny Charlton, who looked amazingly well
and young; she was in very good form, and fired off a series
of anecdotes. . . .
I have been out for the motor-drive, and am delighted to
get in again. It was an open car, and there was a shrewd
east wind. We drove round the park, which was full of
people — i.e., showing themselves after church.
I must stop now and go back to my bed and my hot
bottle !
LETTER No. 309.
Monday afternoon.
Just a line to tell you that the board has passed me fit after
a month's leave for HOME SERVICE, permanently unfit for
foreign service ! ! !
I could have had six months' leave if I had wanted it ; but
I said, " No, one month."
Here's the editor of the Weekly Dispatch.
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND
A 000 033 803 8
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