Raymond; or, Life and Death. Sir Oliver Lodge
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Front; he went to a doctor, who refused to pass him, owing to some temporary indisposition. Raymond was then asked if he was fit: he replied, Perfectly. So at 10 a.m. he was told to start for France that night. Accordingly he packed up; and at 3.00 we at Mariemont received a telegram from him asking to be met at 5 p.m., and saying he could spend six hours at home.
His mother unfortunately was in London, and for many hours was inaccessible. At last some of the telegrams reached her, at 7 p.m., and she came by the first available (slow) train from Paddington, getting here at 11.
Raymond took the midnight train to Euston; Alec, Lionel, and No�l accompanying him. They would reach Euston at 3.50 a.m. and have two hours to wait, when he was to meet a Captain [Capt. Taylor], and start from Waterloo for Southampton. The boys intended to see him off at Waterloo, and then return home to their war-business as quickly as they could.
He seems quite well; but naturally it has been rather a strain for the family: as the same sort of thing has been for so many other families.
O. J. L.
First comes a letter written on his way to the Front after leaving Southampton.
"Hotel Dervaux, 75 Grande Rue, Boulogne-s/Mer, Wednesday, 24 March 1915, 11.30 a.m.
"Following on my recent despatch, I have the honour to report that we have got stuck here on our way to the Front. Not stuck exactly, but they have shunted us into a siding which we reached about 8 a.m., and we are free until 2.30 p.m. when we have to telephone for further orders to find out where we are to join our train. I don't know whether this is the regular way to the Front from Rouen. I don't think it is, I fancy the more direct way must be reserved for urgent supplies and wounded.
"My servant has been invaluable en route and he has caused us a great deal of amusement. He hunted round at the goods station at Rouen (whence we started) and found a large circular tin. He pierced this all over to form a brazier and attached a wire handle. As soon as we got going he lit this, having filled it with coal purloined from somewhere, and when we stopped by the wayside about 10 or 11 p.m. he supplied my compartment (four officers) with fine hot tea. He had previously purchased some condensed milk. He also saw to it that a large share of the rations, provided by the authorities before we left, fell to our share, and looked after us and our baggage in the most splendid way.
"He insists on treating the train as a tram. As soon as it slows down to four miles an hour, he is down on the permanent way gathering firewood or visiting some railway hut in search of plunder. He rides with a number of other servants in the baggage waggon, and as they had no light he nipped out at a small station and stole one of the railway men's lamps. However, there was a good deal of fuss, and the owner came and indignantly recovered it.
"As soon as we stop anywhere, he lowers out of his van the glowing brazier. He keeps it burning in the van! I wonder the railway authorities don't object. If they do, of course he pretends not to understand any French.
"He often gets left behind on the line, and has to scramble into our carriage, where he regales us with his life history until the next stop, when he returns to his own van.
"Altogether he is a very rough customer and wants a lot of watching—all the same he makes an excellent servant."
Letters from the Front in Flanders
"Friday, 26 March 1915
"I arrived here yesterday about 5 p.m., and found the Battalion resting from the trenches. We all return there on Sunday evening.
"I got a splendid reception from my friends here, and they have managed to get me into an excellent Company, all the officers of which are my friends. This place is very muddy, but better than it was, I understand. We are in tents."
"Saturday, 27 March 1915, 4.30 p.m.
"We moved from our camp into billets last night and are now in a farm-house. The natives still live here, and we (five officers) have a room to ourselves, and our five servants and our cook live and cook for us in the kitchen. The men of our Company are quartered in neighbouring farm buildings, and other Companies farther down the road. We are within a mile of a village and about three or four miles to the southward of a fair-sized and well-known town. The weather is steadily improving and the mud is drying up—though I haven't seen what the trenches are like yet. …
"I am now permanently attached to C Company and am devoutly thankful. Captain T. is in command and the subalterns are Laws, Fletcher, and Thomas, all old friends of mine. F. was the man whose room I shared at Edinburgh and over whose bed I fixed the picture. …
"We went on a 'fatigue' job to-day—just our Company—and were wrongly directed and so went too far and got right in view of the enemy's big guns. However, we cleared out very quickly when we discovered our error, and had got back on to the main road again when a couple of shells burst apparently fairly near where we had been. There were a couple of hostile aeroplanes about too. … Thank you very much for your letter wondering where I am. 'Very pressing are the Germans,' a buried city."
[This of course privately signified to the family that he was at Ypres.]
"1 April 1915, 1.15 p.m.
"We dug trenches by night on Monday and Wednesday, and although we were only about 300 to 500 yards from the enemy we had a most peaceful time, only a very few stray bullets whistling over from time to time."
"Saturday, 3 April 1915, 7 p.m.
"I am having quite a nice time in the trenches. I am writing this in my dug-out by candle-light; this afternoon I had a welcome shave. Shaving and washing is usually dispensed with during our spell of duty (even by the Colonel), but if I left it six days I should burst my razor I think. I have got my little 'Primus' with me and it is very useful indeed as a standby, although we do all our main cooking on a charcoal brazier. …
"I will look out for the great sunrise to-morrow morning and am wishing you all a jolly good Easter: I shan't have at all a bad one. It is very like Robinson Crusoe—we treasure up our water supply most carefully (it is brought up in stone jars), and we have excellent meals off limited and simple rations, by the exercise of a little native cunning on the part of our servants, especially mine."
"Bank Holiday, 5 April 1915, 4.30 p.m.
"The trenches are only approached and relieved at night-time, and even here we are not allowed to stir from the house by day on any pretext whatever, and no fires are allowed on account of the smoke. (Fires are started within doors when darkness falls and we have a hot meal then and again in the early morning—that is the rule—however, we do get a fire in the day by using charcoal only and lighting up from a candle to one piece and from that one piece to the rest, by blowing; also I have my Primus stove.) … We are still within rifle-fire range here, but of course it is all unaimed fire from the intermittent conflict going on at the firing line. …
"I have a straw bed covered with my tarpaulin sheet—(it is useful although I have also the regular military rubber ground sheet as well)—and my invaluable air-pillow. I am of course travelling light and have to carry everything in my 'pack' until I get back to my valise and 'rest billets,' so I sleep in my clothes. Simply take off my boots and puttees, put my feet in a nice clean sack, take off my coat and cover myself up with my British Warm coat (put on sideways so as to use its great width to the full). Like this I sleep like a top and am absolutely comfortable."
"I have been making up an Acrostic for you all to guess—here it is:
Lights. My first is speechless, and a bell
Has often the complaint as well.
Three letters