The following letter has been received from Quarter-Master T. F. James, of College Street, Ammanford, and Conservative agent for East Carmarthenshire, by councillor D. Morgan, White Horse Hotel, Llandilo : —
“My inspiration has always been great and ready to write to you, and my pencil swift to respond; but opportunity has not presented itself until this moment. Doubtless you have already learned from brother Burgess that I arrived safely in France , and was soon conveyed with my battalion in trucks similar to goods and cattle trucks to the zone of battle.
“How our hears went up in praise when we realised, after a twelvemonths' hard training, that we were at last face to face with the Huns, with bayonets sharpened, plenty of ammunition and bombs, and, what is all-important, stout hearts and willing hands; overflowing with grit and determination to do our whack for Old England and the loved ones at home.
As you would imagine, men who have not been subject to fire before have a strange sensation in going to the firing line. We all had this feeling, but not accompanied with any feeling of fear.
The boys went smiling, full of confidence, and with a strong feeling cemented in their hearts that at all times would they live and fight to uphold the traditions of our regiment, the Welsh, and to fight like men, to number in the roll of millions who are………………………………………….
………………….arrival near the fighting line, when all were tired and had anchored down for the night in a wood, the order came along secretly to pack up, and when I mean a pack it is enough for an ammunition mule.
We were about to have our first experience in the trenches.
The first trenches we took over were held by the French. They gave us a good reception, and were delighted to give us all information regarding the tactics of the Huns in the trenches 200 yards away.
The Huns, with their usual keen eye to business, knew we were coming to relieve the French, for the day prior to our arrival they kept on shouting to the French asking when the b—— British were going to arrive, for they had stored nice presents in the way of shells for us. Little did they think that our artillery who were attached to us had equally good presents for them.
HUNS GIVE A “WELCOME.”
When dawn came upon us we noticed the Huns had put up a board, which was kind of them, with the word ‘Welcome' on it. This was soon a target for our boys, who immediately hit it to pieces. Early in the morning, before we had our breakfast, the Huns commenced giving us their promised reception, sending all sizes of shells, bombs, and rifle fire.
We all got to work immediately and retaliated with considerable effect. Our artillery gave them the surprise of their lives by blowing their trenches to bits. No words of mine can show you the greatness and ability of our artillery; their fire is regular, effective, and most accurate, and from what I gather and see, are more than a match for the Huns.
The evening of the same day as I refer to above, the Germans blew up some mines near the trenches of the South Wales Borderers, who were on our right. Immediately the mines exploded the Germans charged, only to be met with the bayonet and driven back by the Borderers.
After holding those trenches for a week we were relieved, and went back to billets, in barns, stables and outhouses. These buildings are roofless, having been bombarded by the Germans in the early stages of the war. Our rest soon came to an end, and we were on the march again, taking over a new line of trenches, which we now hold. My battalion and the Royal Welsh Fusiliers are together in these trenches.
“Most of the artillery fighting is done in the evening or at dawn. The countryside quakes and is lighted up, as if it was day, when the big guns commence barking. How the boys delight to watch our artillery at work, for the shells come right over our heads in the trenches and as they go on their errand of destruction to the German trenches the boys say, ‘Another message to Fritz.'
“We are now quite accustomed to trench life. We generally do seven days in the trenches and six days rest, or supposed to be rest, in billets. These days of rest are generally busy days, for we have to dry our clothing, which is generally inches thick with mud; repair our clothes, clean rifles, and route marching to keep fit.
The rest gives us opportunity to have a bath, quite a rare treat. Our bath consists of two biscuit tins. We put one leg in each tin, and do the best we can. I should like to see D. M. having a turn in biscuit tins.
DUEL IN THE AIR.
“The trenches have many occupants who live rent and taxes free, with meals whenever they like, and are always found in the trenches and billets in France. These occupants are rats as large as rabbits, and thousands of them; beetles, mice, frogs, and lice. The rats attack the men's rations, and often we have to put a guard with fixed bayonets to guard the rations. Needless to say, the rats afford good sport for the boys. The only pity is we cannot stuff them with sage and onion when we are hungry.
“There is an ample supply of good food in the trenches. We have four meals a day, and steaming hot, and more so when it is accompanied by German artillery fire.
All hours of the day do we watch our daring aviators, who fearlessly fly over the German trenches. The Huns fire hundred of shells at them. I have seen as many as 120 shells explode near the aeroplanes, and still never touch them. The aeroplanes seem to turn round and laugh at them.
Sometime ago we witnessed a duel in the air between German aircraft and ours; we could see the machine-guns which they carry spitting forth their fire. On this occasion the German was put out of action, and loud cheers went gaily through the air form our boys.
“We have had a few casualties. We lost one man the first night in the trenches. He is buried on a slope near a wood, alongside the graves of many a gallant soldier. The regiment put up a wooden cross with his name and regiment and the Prince of Wales' feather, our badge, inscribed on it.
“All the roads, lanes and fields here are dotted with rough wooden crosses, marking the resting-place of those who have fought the good fight. The French put the caps and bayonets of the brave ones on their graves, with the inscription, ‘ Here lies a brave son of Franc,' marked on a rough wooden cross. The graves of brave sons of England are well cared for.
“While to and from the trenches we often pass English, Scotch, and Irish regiments and are always ……………………………………..
………………………………… serving in these regiment. It is indeed, a cheerful sight to witness the meeting of two chums who have been parted for years, and who are brought together while fighting for the land they love.
“The villages near the firing line are in a pitiful plight. The houses and public buildings are almost level with the ground; houses are roofless, and some simply the bare walls standing. In the village near our trenches are a few old inhabitants. The younger generation fly back to the interior for safety, but the old people refuse to move.
A fellow-sergeant and I visited an old lady some days ago, whose experience is quite a tragedy. There we found her, stricken with years, being about 70, sitting around a smouldering wood fire in her cottage, which was once her dear home, now simply three walls, devoid of any furniture. She seems to have lost all reason. Her husband and two sons and daughter are buried together in a grave opposite the cottage in, a field. They suffered death at the hands of the Huns, who shot the two sons and father, who attempted to save them. The daughter, poor girl, was outraged and killed.
This makes me think how our loved ones at home would be treated if ever the Huns got the chance, and it makes me happy sometimes when I think, at any rate, I am doing my whack for the homeland. I would much rather die a horrible death than to think that any Britisher should meet such a death. (As I am writing, the Huns are at it again; shells are bursting overhead).
It is just after dinner time. I suppose they have had a good dinner, and are sending us the dessert.
RATS AS BIG AS HARES!
“How are things going with you? I trust J. R. and Burgess are still strong supporters of a big Navy and Army, rum for the troops, and Tariff Reform. (Hope the reputation is being kept up of best calico and best vinegar in town). How often I think of you all while in the trenches. I can picture myself often with you all. I don't suppose I will have the honour of celebrating New Year's Eve with you this year.
How often do you go golfing and enjoy the refreshing tea at Tafarn Bach? I wish D. M. was here with us last night and had his sporting gun and dogs with him; we have shooting rights and no license. We are swarming with rats.
A crowd of us went forth in the moonlight on our hunting expedition, led by our master cook, who is a great chap for fun. He keeps us going; we don't want to go to a music hall. However, armed with stout poles and an electric torch, we went after Mr. Rat.
We soon came across hundreds of them and had fine sport. I could pick a good team from you to fight the rats, with D. M. and Ossie Jones as forwards, Dai and Taffy half-backs, J. R. and Duke on the wing, and Burgess in goal. After our rat hunting we sized them on a table.
They were nearly as large as the hares D. M. used to shoot at Gwynfe, after rat hunting the party's attention was drawn to our underclothing, which has considerable ‘game.' Again armed with poles and an electric torch we had great captures.
It does not matter how often we wash and change, we are always annoyed with lice. Not very pleasant, is it? To keep then away and to destroy them we use Keating's powder, which we sprinkle over our underclothing, and Harris' pomade, which we apply to the skin. If D. M. was near he would soon sell out.
“I hope you are all keeping well. Give my kindest regards to all friends, including Mrs. Morgan and (---W---) Simon, Pencoed. &c.
“How is the weather with you? We have had some heavy rain. Now it is very good, but is very cold at night, having white frost. How would you like to get up in the morning and find your bed and carpet which Dear Nature gave you – the ground – covered with frost? I assure you it is nippy.
There are a few cafes here, which are of no use to the British Tommy, as we are all obliged to be teetotallers, for we don't like the French wine, and as for the French beer it is like Scotch broth; it contains garlic or onions. Some have to fall back on the best tea and coffee.
“I must now conclude, for I have to be going on duty again. I am keeping very fit by having plenty of work to do. I will write to you occasionally. I shall be glad to hear from you all.”
