The following breezy letter has been received by Mr. John Lewis J. P., from Private David Arthur, Welsh Regiment, who lies in a hospital in France : —
“Being that I have just received a draft of local papers this morning from my sister, and to kill time I am going to scribble something. I was very glad to read Tommy James’ letter to you, but I am sorry I have not met Tommy since we were in Eastbourne,
His mentioning about submarines brings me back to think that I was in the fix one night, and I can assure you I was glad to see land again. Even the worst times never put the trench fright into me, but I don’t like the idea of submarines, though.
The morning I felt proud of being a Britisher was the 26th September, after seeing my dear comrades jumping, not in but through the mount of hell like birds. I never knew the meaning of my regimental motto in practice until the 25th. Oh God, that was a sight.
But the Huns had to go through it. I am prouder today than I ever was, for I know the meaning of ‘Better Death than Dishonour.’ But I think that it is my duty to say plain that the young men at home ought to be ashamed of themselves. For instance, in this beautiful hospital, while I am spread-eagled by an internal derangement of my right knee, in the bed opposite me there lies an old man, proud of a broken leg for a good cause, with a couple of holes in him as well.
Excuse scribble, for I am writing on my back in bed, but with no cause to worry about what ever, for hospital treatment in here is simply great, and the yarns about the Huns are enough to make a dead man walk.
“Yes, there are a lot of Ammanford boys in the Welsh, as Q. M. S. James said, but I am sorry to say that some of them are gone to the land of peace, too. I know that from what I have seen. I have just read about debating societies. Oh I love them.
In one of your churches was the text, ‘Can a Christian go to War?’ Can a duck swim? Here is the text for debating societies there and everywhere else, ‘Can a Christian be a Shirker?’
Just fancy that you see the great shops that belong to the good old chemist a mass of ruins before your eyes. I have seen even better buildings that those go in broad daylight. Ha! If the young men knew what the Huns have been doing before we had the Lloyd George shells, they would soon realise that England is not so safe as they think while the Huns are about.
Priests have realised it, and it is time for preachers and parsons to realise that our duty lies not only on our knees, but we, the Allies, must be up and doing, or some morning you may wake to find that the Huns are with you, and all the lives which you profess to feel so much about been sacrificed for nothing.
That we have beaten the Huns is the greatest mistake you ever did. But that we are going to beat them is a solid fact. Whether I will be able to go back to my mob is a question. I doubt it. In fact, my commanding officer has recommended me to go back for munition work.
Wishing all in Ammanford and district the best of luck, and a – well, it would be silly to say Happy – but I will say a Lucky New Year. Then, perhaps, we shall see Blighty again. England is not England to us now. England is Blighty. Bon jour.”
“P. S. – You can be proud that Hen Ysgol, Cross Inn, has turned a good battalion out. Dai Thomas, the old football captain (‘Dai Penybank’), was the first I heard of them. Hoping he is safe.”
