Work Text
Garhwal, December 1913
Dear James,
It was a relief to have letters from you, and to know you have settled in at school. In fact two came at once. The post is so unreliable here, and it appears you are even worse at putting pen to paper than your brother.
If you have heard from him, you will know that Charles is doing extremely well. It is good to see him upholding the family tradition so splendidly. I trust that in time you are going to do the same, my boy. Work hard at your studies, especially Latin and Mathematics. You will need to be proficient in both if you are to study at university and take the examinations to enter the Indian Service - or if you decide to follow your brother to Sandhurst. Your uncle has written to me and says he sees no reason why, in time, you should not become a first-class officer.
You ask for news of your pony – I am afraid she is feeling her age and is no longer suitable for polo, or indeed for anything else. I am sorry, son, but we may soon have to end her life. You know that it is our duty to take care of those we are in charge of, and do what is necessary when the time comes.
On another matter, I have recently discovered that, before you left, you made a gift of your rifle to Sula Dowla. Now James, I quite understand that with no English boys anywhere near us, you became friends with some of the better class of local children, but you must understand the difference in status between them and we who administer this land for them. We will say no more about it, for what you did was, I am sure, kindly meant, but it was not an appropriate gift from an English boy to an Indian boy, especially a boy in your situation.
You will be pleased to hear - Captain Lovell recently shot a rogue tiger threatening the village of Bandali, and there have been some fine tea crops. The monsoon came early, but otherwise life here continues much as usual. I am as busy as ever, but there is much talk in the cities of Indian self-government and unrest fostered by Germany’s imperial aims.
I have made arrangements for you to spend Christmas in Norfolk with your uncle. He tells me that you were of great help to his gamekeeper last time, and I am pleased to hear that you are making yourself useful.
I trust you will write and tell me of progress in your studies,
Affectionately,
Father
*******
Garwahl, May 1914
Dear James,
By the time you get this letter I should be well on my way to England. There are so many rumours, unfortunately all of too good a foundation, of Germany building up her military power, of trouble here in India and of unrest in France and the Balkans. I have decided to offer my services once more to the Army in order to play my part in any coming conflict. Your uncle, as Brigadier-General, tells me he is heavily involved in advance planning and he can arrange for me to take some command when the time comes.
Charles, one need hardly say, is full of excitement and anticipation. Did he send you copies of the photographs of him with other members of his battalion? I feel great pride in his achievements, and his skill with the rifle will undoubtedly stand him in good stead should it come to armed conflict.
I am sorry to say, James, that I am still concerned with your lack of progress in Mathematics and Latin. You may be good at French, History and Geography but such subjects are unlikely to be of use to you in your chosen career. Since your uncle is now so busy with military matters, you will be spending the summer holidays in Kent with your godfather, and I am writing to him to ask him to arrange some coaching for you. I don’t doubt that your frequent bouts of fever in the past have set you back in some subjects, but I am sure that, if you apply yourself, you will be able to make good any deficiencies.
Keep up your shooting and riding whenever you can, and pay due attention to what you can learn in the School Cadet Corps. Remember your duty to the family tradition.
A small birthday gift is on its way to you courtesy of the good offices of your aunt. I hope you will enjoy reading it.
Affectionately,
Father
PS Of course I didn’t take the rifle away from Sula. Whilst it was not a correct action on your part, it was nevertheless a gift from you and therefore to be honoured.
Editorial note. The lot of family members in the Great War was often to be separated, too often never to see each other again. On both sides, fathers and sons went to the front, to be bogged down in seemingly endless mud with the constant attrition of their companions for little or no apparent progress or meaning. If they were lucky, younger children left behind without a parent were boarded at a good school, and passed round to various guardians and relations in the holidays. Letters between family members might be few and far between; many might never be kept; many might never even reach their destination. Thus it was in this particular family. Just the occasional letter survived: amongst a bundle of papers, tucked into a book to mark a page, stuffed into a pocket and forgotten.
In the ‘Biggles’ tales, we are never told the forename of Biggles’ father. Possibly Mr Johns was not told, or merely forgot to mention it. In those days, even within the family, speech was often formal and it was not unusual for an upper-class boy to call his father ‘Sir’. At the time of Biggles’ boyhood, neither of the Assistant Commissioner’s sons would have addressed him by anything other than ‘Sir’ or ‘Father’, nor would he sign his letters to them in any informal way. Between brothers and old friends, surnames and nicknames might be used in salutation and signature. Thus, it is fortunate that, among the few family letters that survived, we have a couple from Biggles’ father that are actually signed.
*******
France, September 1914
My dear Duvency,
Thank you so much for looking after James all through the long summer holidays. I trust he wasn’t too much trouble.
It was a relief to me to hear that you found a fellow to coach him in his weaker subjects. Can’t have been easy in present circumstances. Boys do need the discipline of learning, and a sound background in the important subjects is essential.
There’s always Wales another time, if you are busy and find looking after James interferes with your work. My sister-in-law has offered to help many times since his mother died. They have two boys, one near to James in age and the other nearer to Charles. I believe the elder is working in some administrative post in the War Office; it must be a great relief to his mother to know that that he is safe.
She writes that Algernon, that’s the younger boy, was always pestering her to let him go and join this and that boys’ cadet unit in the holidays. As if he didn’t get enough of that sort of thing at school. Then some family friend arranged for him to go up in a balloon so now she says that nothing will do but he must join the army when he is old enough and become whatever they become in balloons. Boys! No doubt he will in due course go into the army; the family regiment is the Royal Welsh Fusiliers of course.
I rather think she thinks James would have a calming influence on Algernon, although I’m not sure if she’s right! These days, boys have so many distractions and James can be very obstinate once he gets an idea into his head – as no doubt you found out last summer.
We keep going here and I am very busy. [removed by censor] and Charles junior was looking well. I feel very proud of him. An excellent soldier and a great credit to the family.
Thank you once again for your support. It means a lot to me to know that James is safe and with somebody I can trust,
Yours affectionally and in gratitude,
Charles
*******
France, October 1914
Dear James,
Just to let you know, Father is in hospital – don’t worry, nothing too serious, just a bit of a chest infection – the old trouble really. I don’t know what possessed dear old pater to come back into the fray at his age. Especially at this time of year.
Anyway, he asked me to write and remind you that you will be going to Kent for Christmas. I did say that I thought you might be safer and better off in Wales. You’d have Algernon for company. Yes little brother, I do remember that you didn’t hit it off terribly well but that was a while back and you’ve both grown up a bit since – or if you haven’t it’s about time you did!
How’s school. Have you managed to learn any Latin yet? Father’s always going on about it. I hope to God you’ve learned how to take part in Cadet Corps field exercises in the proper manner, etc. I only found out recently what you and that friend of yours did last year. Uncle passed through on some fancy inspection exercise and we had a drink afterwards. He seemed to think it was funny and showed initiative. Personally I was highly embarrassed – and as to what everybody thought of you, a Bigglesworth, pinching the convoy and ruining the day… It’s a good thing Father didn’t get to hear of it. I made Uncle swear not to tell him.
Well, we are ready for anything here – it’s one hell of a responsibility. So much is at stake, we have to keep the [removed by censor] open. But I dare say we shall give the Boche something to remember. All my men are raring to go, and there couldn’t be a better bunch of men. Nothing like our professional army – makes one proud to be British.
Must close, duty calls – Hamilton-Jones has a particularly good case of claret for the Mess tonight – but you are too young to appreciate such delights! Stay out of trouble James, and for God’s sake learn some Latin.
So long kid,
Charles
*******
Malton Hall, January 1915
Dear Biggles,
Hope you are feeling better. Rotten luck getting flu just when school started. Matron says people don’t get flu in India so you aren’t used to it. But you’d better buck up and come back. We’ve got a wizard cadet day coming up and everybody is very excited. We’re going to act something that happened in some place called Epres (not sure if that’s the right spelling) where we beat the enemy. Better than drill any old time. The Head says the town boys are going to be the enemy. One up to us!
Hervey got it at prep last night, passing sherbet lemons under the desk to Brickwell. He lost the lot. What do you bet that Mr Bruce eats them in secret? By the way, Page and I have formed a secret alliance. You can join when you come back. We’re inventing a code for the Army to use with its carrier pigeons.
Hurry up, it’s beastly dull without you,
Smith tertius
*******
France, May 1915
Dear James,
Birthday greetings little brother! Hard to believe that you are 16. Maybe I’ll have to stop calling you little brother. No time to write much as we are [removed by censor] but morale is high. I have been promoted and [removed by censor] so next time you see me I expect some respect!
Father sends his regards and hopes you are working hard. I ran into him by chance at, well can’t say where, but he was looking pretty good considering. He’ll write I’m sure.
Good luck in the summer exams – don’t worry yourself ill, James. Father says you can always go to a crammer for your Latin. Plenty of time before the university and even more before Civil Service Entrance. Chin up!
So long kid,
Charles
*******
Ringwould, Walmer, June 1915
Dear James,
Your uncle has written to me again. The Norfolk house is still empty apart from the butler and the housekeeper and he thinks it is best if you come here when school finishes next month.
Your aunt has also written from Merioneth, but I have told her that the weather is a little too damp for a boy with a delicate constitution like yourself, and that the climate here is better suited. In view of your remarks last time you were here, I am sure you will forgive the subterfuge.
There is plenty to do when you come. I am in the final stages of perfecting a device to fire two rifles at once from one of those new-fangled flying machines you are so keen on. You may be able to help me test it. I have set Bilkins to modifying the trap but we are not quite sure how the pony will react. I am contemplating making some mufflers for her ears.
Please bring anything you think might be useful,
Yours affectionately,
Papa Duvencey
*******
France, August 1915
Dear James,
What can you be thinking of! Of course I am not going to let you go up in one of those dreadful machines. Quite apart from the expense, you are much to young for such a dangerous activity. You must put such ridiculous thoughts right out of your mind. There is nothing further to be said on the matter. Your job, my boy, is to concentrate on your studies and be a credit to the family, even if you can’t reach the same level of achievement as your brother. Remember, it is not just what we achieve that matters but how we achieve.
However, I was delighted to hear of your prowess with the rifle. To win the Malton shooting cup at your age was most creditable. It is pleasing to hear that you have made good use of your early training. Congratulations.
I will write further another day as we are very pressed here and [removed by censor].
Affectionately,
Father
*******
France, September 1915
Dear James,
You certainly put the cat among the pigeons! Father was most irate when I saw him (did I tell you he is currently stationed down the road?). It’s a damned good job he didn’t realise why you were asking. Father is not at his best at the moment. He isn’t looking forward to winter and all the cold and wet – and mud.
Just you listen to the advice of your elder and better, James – that’s me in case you are wondering! For a start you idiot, you can’t enlist till you are 18, and for another thing, Father will never agree to you joining the RFC. You might join our regiment when you are old enough, but the war will be over long before then.
I know you are mad keen to fly, but there will be lots of opportunities to do that after the war, after you have passed all your exams. If you work hard and do well, I’ll see what I can wangle for you. I know a fellow who has a chum who flies these machines called B.E.2s. I knew you’d want to know exactly what, so I asked. They carry two people and the pilot sits behind, while the fellow in front aims a gun. I gather they don’t usually hit anything much because they’re a bit slow but I don’t suppose you’d mind that as long as you were looking down at the ground from a great height or whatever it is you want to do!
Please, if you see Aunt-in-Wales can you tell her, thank you very much but we have all the socks we need, and perhaps she might send some to some other unit? I imagine she has everybody on the estate knitting socks in Welsh (and before you make some pedantic remark James, that is a joke, right?).
Might see you, next leave. Have you really grown as much as you say? I suppose even you have to obey the laws of nature,
Cheerio, chin up,
Charles
*******
Brendenhall Manor, January 1916
Dear James,
Thank you for your note. I do assure you, it was a great pleasure to have you and your brother here for the festive season. And you are more than welcome to spend Easter at Brendenhall and explore the park, hopefully in better weather than we had over Christmas and New Year. It was a pity that your brother was only able to stay for a week, but I suppose there is great need for all our men at the front, even if both sides do seem to have reached a stalemate. No doubt there will be another big push in the spring when the better weather comes. And of course there were the losses in the Dardanelles fiasco to make good.
Your father writes that he has been unwell again. I do think your brother Charles is right and that it may not be long before they send your father home for a period to recuperate. I know he would be so glad to see you after such a long time, and no doubt you him. He has a greater regard for you than you think, James. Don’t think you are a disappointment to him just because you are different from your brother. You have your own good qualities, dear boy, and your headmaster speaks highly of your intelligence and your courage.
I am still doing my bit for the war effort, correcting maps and plans for various services, and doing some translation and document checking. It is quite disgraceful how inaccurate some of the information is. Unfortunately though, they don’t yet appear to be taking the war to South America where my knowledge could be really useful.
I don’t know how we are going to keep the park and gardens in order this year. Watterson is getting old and finding it a bit too much now the two lads have enlisted. They are passing a law to make it compulsory for boys of 18 and over to be called up for military service, and men under the age of 41. I never thought to see such an act in this country. Are you any good at gardening James?
Affectionately yours,
Dickpa
*******
Wendover, Easter 1916
Dear Biggles,
Have you got roped in for gardening? If you can wangle a couple of days here, we can have a prowl round Halton. It’s only a couple of miles away. There’s a fence but lots of ways in if you know how. It’s mostly training for the chaps who do the dirty work now they’ve moved the mechanics school here from Farnborough, but there are plenty of aeroplane bits around and some days they actually fly!
I still can’t think why you want to go up in one – I tell you, they’re death traps. I have seen two crashes already this hol.
Both my brothers are now in the Ox and Bucks. It is so frustrating to be the youngest. Do you think it will go on long enough for us to get there? The vicar says it will be over this summer. Mother says it will never be over! They can’t both be right.
Write if you can come. Or just come! Mother says she would love to meet you,
So long for now,
Smith tertius
*******
Malton Hall, May 1916
Dear Biggles,
No more skulking at Brendenhall! You’ve got 10 days to get well again. You do want to take your exams don’t you? We are swotting like mad here. Mr Bruce has sent you some books so you can catch up a bit.
The weather is most un-summery. So cold and wet! All the cricket was cancelled last week and this week doesn’t look any better. Not that you’d care one way or the other of course! But you’d care about school meals. I tell you they are off the bottom of the scale. Page says there’s a war on, but what difference does that make? It’s not as if they are cooking under fire.
Have you heard from your brother recently? They say there is going to be something really big soon but it is all rumour as ever. Nobody knows, and if we know, they know, don’t they! Middle brother was going back on the leave boat last week. He couldn’t say what-where but he said we should watch out, they are going to blast the Huns off the map! There’s a rumour going round that they’ve got some new secret weapon on the ground. Can’t be that secret if everyone knows about it.
Did you get that cutting I sent you of the aeroplane at that flying school that crashed into another aeroplane and both caught fire? Surely enough to put off anybody but a complete and utter idiot. Much safer on the ground, with a good rifle and chaps at your side, than on your own, hundreds of feet up in something made out of cardboard and wire. Well I don’t know if they are but that’s what they look like!
So long, see you soon, have your pen and your brain at the ready!
Smith tertius
*******
France, Late June 1916
Dear James,
I’m glad to hear exams weren’t too bad. I’m sure you’ll pass, and then it’s back to school in the autumn for university entrance. Lucky you. I wouldn’t mind being 17 again, Top Year, Captain of the XI, sitting round in the common room discussing life and all that. Those were the days!
You may not get a letter for a while. And if I can write, where do I send it? Are you going to be at Brendenhall or Walmer? Presumably not in Norfolk as Uncle is somewhere in France still. As is Father – but God knows where.
Look after yourself little brother and remember, chin up!
Cheerio,
Charles
*******
France, July 1916
My dear Dick,
It was good to have your letter and hear how you are faring. It seems a million miles away. Hard to believe something resembling normal life still goes on just across the Channel.
In answer to your question, I don’t know where James is spending the summer holidays. Is he in Kent? I haven’t heard from Duvency for a long time, but I assume he is still at the old place. Don’t the school know? They must have an address. Or they damn well should have. I suppose he might have gone to the Laceys although he’s never been keen. Don’t blame the boy really, the woman is terribly overbearing and fussy.
But it is most thoughtless of James not to write to you, especially when he has spent so much time at Brendenhall recently. When you find him, tell him to write to his father and brother. I saw Charles briefly at Division Headquarters and he said he hasn’t heard from James for a while. There is no excuse, James has plenty of time in the school holidays. I don’t know – I did think he was developing into a responsible and sensible boy, but maybe I gave him too much freedom to please himself at Garhwal. Mind you, he was never one for writing letters – I more or less had to stand over him to write to his aunt every Christmas and birthday.
Hoping this finds you in good spirits, as it leaves me,
Charles
*******
Reading, July 1916
Dear Smith T,
I just have to tell somebody. I’m a real soldier in the Army. HOW ABOUT THAT! It was so easy, I just said I’d been born in India and I’d lost my birth certificate. They didn’t care. All I had to do was fill in the forms. The chap didn’t even look – just stamped them and told me where to report. The medical was a farce, the M.O. wasn’t bothered as long as I could walk! It’s three years or however long the war lasts, so somebody said, but I didn’t find that out till after I’d signed.
Mind you I haven’t even seen an aeroplane yet. Just everlasting drill and fatigues. It’s so boring, and so jolly hard. I’m finding muscles and bits of me that I didn’t know I had. Such a waste of time and we have to get up so early. It appears their main aim is to teach us to do what we are told, when we are told, how we are told, no matter how stupid the orders. And if you think school dinners are grim – you should see what we get. On top of all this, the huts are cramped and draughty, and the beds are hard, and everything has to be neatly folded in exactly the approved way, and our boots have to be polished AND all the buttons. They call it Army discipline. You can probably guess what I call it! But there are some stout chaps here and we are all keen to fly. I can’t wait to get to Flying School.
I’ve found out how to bunk out of camp to the village to post letters. It is common knowledge that they read the ones we put in the camp bag. Mind you, can’t exactly see this one endangering Army security or helping the Huns!
Don’t don’t DON’T tell anybody. I am putting you on Cadet’s honour, School honour, and any other honour you can think of. Although I don’t think Father can do anything about it now. Anyway I don’t even know where he is, nor Charles. But I’d die a thousand deaths if he got Uncle to pull strings to get me out before I get into an aeroplane.
Good luck Smith tertius! And wish me the same. I may need it to avoid an avenging parent and assorted uncles,
Biggles
2nd Lieutenant J. Bigglesworth – please note!!!!
*******
Ringwould, Walmer, August 1916
My dear Bigglesworth,
How are things at Brendenhall? No better than down here I suspect. Nobody left to do anything – there are even women working in the factories down here, as if working on the land wasn’t enough. But I suppose somebody has to get in the harvest and turn out the stuff for our boys in France. They’ll have schoolboys doing it next!
Which reminds me why I am writing to you. I am sorry, but I haven’t heard from James either. Maybe he has gone to Wales. I shouldn’t worry too much – he’s a sensible boy. He might be staying with one of his school chums.
Anyway, either his father or his brother probably knows where he is by now. The trouble is, post between here and France is so unreliable. Charles says they can go weeks without any letters and then a whole bundle arrives at once. And that’s without the mail that gets blown up, ripped to shreds, or buried in the mud!
It sounds grim out there. God knows, I thought our time at Ladysmith was bad enough, but this slaughter is unimaginable. They don’t tell us the truth of course but they can’t stop word trickling back. I must say, I started the war wishing I was young enough to go but frankly, I don’t feel the same now. Does that sound unpatriotic and cowardly? Maybe it is. I think I must be getting old!
But I am still trying to do my bit for the war. You’d think the Air Ministry would be pleased to have new ideas but when they do deign to reply to my letters, it is just some damned official somewhere saying they are grateful for my interest.
James and I tried out one of my inventions last time he was here, but the pony took fright and bolted. We caught her eventually but the trap was wrecked. I haven’t solved the problem of how to test my weapon yet.
If you do find out, let me know where young James is. I could do with his help. He’s a good boy, enthusiastic and interested in my ideas. You should have seen how he caught that pony and calmed her down – very plucky.
With affectionate greetings,
Duvencey
*******
Thetford FTS, Late September 1916
Dear Smith T,
I am not sure where you are but I hope this finds you eventually. I didn’t know whether to send to School or Wendover, or even if you have bunked off and joined up!
The.News.Of.The.Day is that I have flown in an aeroplane. It was just terrific, and I wasn’t sick at all. To be truthful though, and I wouldn’t tell anybody else but you, it was a bit of a nightmare and I was convinced I’d never be able to fly one myself, even if I spent the whole of the rest of my life trying. But just as I was wishing I’d never got in it, I actually started to enjoy it. The fields looked so small, and the houses and trees – it was like looking at a map of many different colours changing shape every second. And you wouldn’t believe what the instructor made that plane do. Of course I behaved like an idiot. I didn’t even know how to get in and out!
But it wasn’t really my fault, because they should have sent me to a different place. And when I eventually got there I was in trouble for keeping everybody waiting. The chap in charge of our flight has a jolly good line in swear words I can tell you, and I felt so embarrassed! Quite educational though. Even Hervey could learn a word or two!
But very next thing, somebody came in to land and made a complete hash of it, right in front of everybody. I didn’t feel so bad then. The funny thing was, the plane just went to pieces all round him yet he wasn’t hurt. I hope that never happens to me – I’d feel such a fool.
There is so much to learn I fear the war will be over long before I get my ‘wings’. I am supposed to know how aeroplanes are put together, and bombs, how instruments work, navigation and meteorology, photography and observing, and, and, and – you wouldn’t believe how much. That’s as well as learning to fly!
Please let me know where you are if poss. I don’t know how long I’ll be here but I’ll try and keep in touch.
Cheerio, Smith T,
Biggles
*******
Frensham, October 1916
Dear Smith T,
Thanks for your letter. It caught up with me here. I hope the entrance exams go well. I can see you will soon be too posh to associate with me!
I’ve been here one day. Strange to think only 24 hours ago it was all thrills and fun. Now it’s suddenly deadly serious. Do you remember that cutting you sent me last summer about the two planes that crashed into each other? I’ve seen it. Yesterday morning. One came in when another was taking off. You just knew it was going to happen and nothing could stop it. The noise was terrible. They both went up in flames.
I felt sick. Somebody told me I’d get used to it. He said they’d killed seven last week. So casual. It was like they were counting pheasants or something. Luckily an instructor grabbed me to do some gunnery practice. I suppose I’ll learn to take it. No choice really. Grim though.
We’re right by the sea and they’ve put some old aeroplanes near the beach. We practice shooting at them but I can’t see that it will teach us much. It’s great fun diving down with machine guns and pretending they are the enemy. But it’s not real. The Huns aren’t going to sit quietly on the ground and wait for us to fly over are they! I think most chaps don’t understand how to aim at something that’s moving fast. Next time I’m down in Kent, I shall ask my godfather if he can invent a machine for teaching how to hit a moving target.
Cheerio old chap,
Biggles
P.S. Never got to post this. Just as well. Don’t know when I’ll be able to write again. You’ll never believe this, but even though it’s only three days since I came here, I’m off to France. Didn’t have time to finish my tests – they just filled in my logbook and training card, stamped them and told me I could put up my ‘wings’. I am SO excited! I’m officially a PILOT and I’m going to the War - AT LAST!
*******
France, October 1916
My dear Charles,
I’m afraid I have some unhappy news. You may not surprised to hear this – James has enlisted. And as if that were not bad enough, of all things, he has somehow got himself into the Royal Flying Corps. It took took various family members a while to track him down and unfortunately, by the time we found out, it was really too late to do anything about it even though he’s well under age.
I asked my brother what he could do, as he has some influence in these matters, but he said he could hardly turn round and ask for a pilot to be transferred out of the Flying Corps when they are so desperately short of pilots. In my opinion, although he didn’t actually say so, he was on James’ side from the start. Said it would be good for him to do something different from you.
He also said he’d be safer taking photographs in an aeroplane than crawling round in the mud. I suppose he’s got a point there. James is really not strong enough to be fighting in the trenches.
I gather that’s what they use aeroplanes for – to take photographs of the enemy lines. I suppose they are too far up for the Huns in the trenches to shoot them. But I’ve seen a few planes round here and they look very flimsy. Much much too young. He should still be at school. I hate to think what his mother would say if she were still alive.
But there, it’s done now, and nothing we can do but pray that the boy actually knows how to fly one of those contraptions.
On a more cheerful note, congratulations on your decoration. I am proud of you my son. I hope we may meet up some time if you are coming through this way,
Affectionately,
Father
*******
Oswestry School, November 1916
Dearest Mother,
Have you heard? James has gone to France!!!! Charles wrote to EB who wrote to me… Why didn’t Charles write to me as well as my brother? He promised faithfully to write last time he was here. Mother, how can James go to the war when he’s not 18 yet? If he can go why can’t I go? I’m nearly as old as James, and I bet I’m taller.
EB says Charles says James has joined the Royal Flying Corps and he is flying aeroplanes. Aeroplanes sound more exciting than balloons. Honestly, Mother, it’s not fair.
Father will be pleased – I was second from top in Latin and I did ok in Maths. Grade seven piano is next week, and I have been practising hard, really and truly I have. We did Gibbons’ Second Service at Chapel last Sunday but the odious choir was flat. It was so painful when it should have been so beautiful.
The Cadet Corps is hilarious this term. The new intake just have no idea – you wouldn’t credit it. I’m keeping my end up because it doesn’t look good if we don’t set the kids a good example in the field, but it isn’t the sort of thing I’m going to do. I have changed my mind, Mother. Balloons are out! I am going to fly aeroplanes like James.
By the way, thanks a million times over for the parcel. You are keeping me alive. I am not sure why school food has gone so downhill, but it has. No doubt it’s the war and they have to send the best rations to France. But they have to feed us too. No good having stunted soldiers in the next generation.
Mother, dearest Mother, PLEASE will you speak to Father and persuade him to let me learn to fly? I promise to be careful and keep up schoolwork and piano and everything.
Your loving son,
Algernon
*******
Oswestry School, Early December 1916
Dear Mother,
If Father won’t let me learn to fly, I shall be forced to do what James did!!!! Can’t you persuade him Mother? PLEASE!
Sorry about the dreadful postcard of school but I have run out of writing paper till Saturday and this is URGENT.
Your loving son,
Algernon
P.S. Two boys from the year above me enlisted in the Royal Welsh last week.
*******
Malton Hall, February 1917
Dear Biggles,
I made it to Oxford – got a scholarship in fact. I think the parents were pleased but they are less pleased with my decision to put it on hold. I will be 18 in four months and I really can’t bear to stay out of it any longer. I’m going to join my brothers’ regiment as soon as I get home. But as I said to the parents, we have to go eventually - everybody 18 and over unless they are too feeble or have some special reason. Much better to volunteer.
School is not the same. In between cramming for Oxford Entrance, I helped out with some of the younger boys, as did several fellows in the top year. Very unofficial of course, but so many masters have gone to the front. The Head leads us in prayers for our boys out there but all the time he knows… well you can imagine.
You and your observer friend seem to get up to all sorts – is that three times now that you’ve landed in the mud the wrong side of the wire? I am surprised they ever let you leave the ground, old chap! Don’t they get tired of replacing your aeroplane? Still, better to get back covered with mud rather than not get back at all.
Try to stay up in the air for a change! Then who knows, in a few months I may see you in France! It’d be a shame if you were flung in a Hun prison before I get out there – just for landing in the wrong place.
Maybe you’ll get some better stay-in-the-air aeroplanes – or is it just the way you fly them? It’s ok – that’s a joke. Your brother was here for an Old Boys do last time he came back on leave and he says you are getting quite a reputation in your squadron - for flying that is!!!
Cheerio for now, take care of yourself if you can!
Smith tertius
*******
Oswestry School, April 1917
Dear Mother,
Thank you for your letter and please thank Father for the Chopin Preludes – lovely to have a whole book of music to play – or to try and play, to be truthful. It’s tricky stuff! Grade eight soon, then that’s it for music exams for a while. I might have a bash at the organ in chapel if they’ll let me.
We’ve got an old piano in our common room now but I don’t think Father would approve of what I play on it! But the soldiers’ songs are so catchy and most of our year prefer them to the serious stuff. And it is supposed to be our leisure time!
The Debating Society’s been good recently. There’s a pacifist group in the top year and some of them are truly passionate about not killing people. It makes for some interesting exchanges, but it would be no good if we’d just sat back and invited the Huns in, would it? I’m going to fight them. And win!
Talking of which, I’ve been allowed to go solo. Can you believe it – me flying a plane all by myself! It was so exciting, and I managed to land without too many bumps. The only trouble is, school is so mundane in comparison with flying. Roll on my birthday and real flying.
I hear EB has got a Secret Job in a Secret Place in London. He wrote and was very full of it, but it sounds pretty boring to me. I’m glad I’m not the elder. I’d sooner be out in France any day than filing bits of paper and writing lists, even if he does get to meet what he calls Important People!
Lucky James, having all the fun. I don’t suppose he ever writes to you? Charles says James is the worst letter-writer he knows. Well, he doesn’t mean he can’t write – you know what he means! I want to know what it’s like flying in France and how many Huns he’s shot down, and what sort of chaps are in the squadron, and lots and lots of other things. What’s the use of having a cousin out there if he never writes to tell you anything?
I hope the new vegetable garden is coming on well. Soon be time to sow some beans!
Your affectionate son,
Algernon
*******
Merioneth Towers, June 1917
My dear Harry,
Thank you so much for your suggestion. I will indeed write to John Salmond – the Air Board is a new organisation to us. I do worry so much about Algernon flying aeroplanes with all those guns about. It does sound so terribly dangerous. But there’s no stopping the boy now. Thank goodness his elder brother is safely out of harm’s way in London.
I have also written to Hugh Trenchard, with whom we dined at the War Office a few months back. He’s apparently the Officer Commanding this new flying corps, and is said to be the most influential man in the Army when it comes to anything to do with aeroplanes. And I have one or two other people in mind, one of them in the House.
As for Algernon, it all started when his cousin James enlisted and, of all things, rushed off to France flying aeroplanes instead of going into the family regiment.
I blame my brother-in-law. Instead of keeping the boy in India for so long he should have sent him home to us where James could have had a proper education and learned how to behave as an English gentleman. I believe there were times when he ran quite wild, shooting things in the jungle, and mixing with local Indian boys would you believe – and he the son of an Assistant Commissioner!
Quite why Algernon should be so influenced by what Charles says James has done, and a few newspaper articles on flying, is beyond me. He would do better to adopt Charles as his model. Charles is in his family regiment and, by all acounts, doing exceptionally well. The other boy – well, I don’t know. He must have inherited the same wild Lacey streak from his mother that Algernon sometimes displays.
Whatever Charles wrote about James and flying, it has had the most unfortunate repercussions. Algernon did nothing but pester me, and his father, and threaten to run off and enlist. In the end, his father agreed to him learning to fly and entering the Army as a commissioned officer. We thought it better that he did it with our approval rather than following James’ example. And to be honest, I think we both hoped the war would be over before he qualified.
But unfortunately it hasn’t worked out that way. All I can do now is try and get him somewhere as safe as possible. Charles did write and tell me that James has a reputation for being a good pilot and that he has survived flying some tricky new Camel aeroplane – so he must have some skills. So, I have decided that the best option is to get Algernon sent to the same squadron (apparently that is what they call the flying units). Having been indirectly responsible for Algernon getting involved in the first place, I feel the least that James can do is look after his younger cousin. I just pray that he will take his family responsibilities seriously. I shall write to James and to his Commanding Officer.
We were, by the way, delighted to hear of the newest addition to the family. I must confess I wasn’t expecting to be a great aunt so soon. Please pass on my congratulations to your son – I hope to see you all some time soon.
Your affectionate sister,
Virginia
[Editorial note: The letter is slightly damaged leaving the first part of the signature illegible. Thus, Lady Lacy might have been Victoria or even Amelia. Unfortunately, there is no other letter from her to use for verification.]
*******
France, July 1917
Dear Dickpa,
Thank you for a host of letters and the birthday card and the book – how did you know I had been wanting ‘Valley of Fear’? It must have been Charles as he knows I am collecting Sherlock Holmes! Anyway thank you very much – detective stories are the perfect antidote to war flying. Sometimes it’s a relief to get out of a noisy Mess and curl up with a book in a corner somewhere where nobody can find you.
By the way, don’t believe everything Father says! I’ve been in charge of my own Flight for a good while now and I’m no longer ‘acting’ Captain but the real thing… And don’t say I’m not old enough! Practically everybody out here is not old enough. In fact, I’m now one of the older ‘not old enough’ chaps!
And talking about not old enough, I’ve recently got landed with a younger cousin in my Flight - well I don’t mean it to sound as if I mind because I don’t. Algy can certainly fly, and better than most new blokes, or else he’s damned lucky! He shot down a Hun first time over the lines and saved my bacon the second time! I wasn’t expecting to like him one bit but in fact we get on like we’ve known each other for ages, and in the air I’m really getting to trust him.
Did you ever meet Mother’s side of the family? The Laceys live miles from everywhere, somewhere in Wales. Algy’s the younger son – and unbelievably crazy at times. It’s a good thing he’s got a sober elder brother to inherit the family title and do the boring stuff. Algy says he’s going to fly round the world after the war but I’m not even thinking about after the war. No point. You can never be sure when it’s your turn, you just know that one day it’s bound to be. But you always hope it won’t be today - else you’d never get up for a dawn patrol!
Which reminds me, I must stop writing – it’s late and I’m on early patrol tomorrow. With Algy, who simply hates getting up when it’s still dark. I’ve told him he’ll just have to get used to it – he doesn’t have a choice.
I hope you are well, and that you are managing with just old Bill and his wife at Brendenhall. If the park becomes an impenetrable jungle, Algy and I’ll bring our machetes and rescue you next time we get some leave!!!!
Many thanks for the book, and I will try to reply to your letters a bit quicker in future,
Biggles
P.S. By the way, nobody here calls me James. Though I have to try and remember when I write to Father and Charles! Especially as Charles was called Biggles at school before me.
*******
Wendover, August 1917
Dear Biggles,
I know you will be grieved to hear this. Bad news. Smith tertius was killed in a Hun raid on London – just passing through on his way to France. Poor old Smith – never even had a chance to get a crack at them. Gotha aeroplanes they called them. They dropped a load of bombs on London and many people were killed and injured. I could scarcely believe that he was gone as, only the day before, we had been out along the hedges picking early blackberries.
I am still staying with his mother at the moment because it seemed rotten to leave just like that, straight away, when there might be something I can do. His mother is very brave but she has now lost two of her three sons as the eldest was posted missing believed killed, in Flanders – they’ve never found any trace of him.
The Army is still refusing to have me on health grounds which is so frustrating. It’s not exactly that I want to go and be killed on some battlefield somewhere, but I do feel I’m not doing my bit.
Maybe they will send some of you fighter squadron chaps to London to fight off these Hun bombers. Have you seen them in your part of the Front? Anyway, I hope you are safe. The list at the old school is getting far too long. Try and stay alive and maybe we’ll meet up again one day.
Sorry, Biggles, I know he was your best friend at school,
Page
*******
France, October 1917
Dear James,
The post is somewhat unreliable – have you written and have I not received your letter? Both Charles and I find letters do go astray from time to time, despite the Post Office doing a splendid job in very trying circumstances. I trust this finds you in good health and spirits.
Congratulations on having your promotion confirmed, James. I dare say it is old news by now, but I only just heard by accident when an Intelligence fellow from your Wing passed through the Depot the other week. I must say, he was very complimentary about some mission you carried out for him. Well done my boy.
Your aunt has written to say that she understands Algernon has settled in and is doing rather well in the squadron but that he seldom writes and when he does, says very little about what he is doing. I wrote back and tried to explain to her that we are not allowed to send home information on such things - and anyway you were just the same about letters, and probably both of you are very busy flying all the time.
I didn’t want to say anything that would make her worry, but maybe you could ask Algernon to write a little more often? Might you also write to her, if only to reassure her that he is all right? She does get very anxious. She never would have agreed to him learning to fly had he not threatened to run off and enlist. He can be very impetuous and you set him a poor example, James.
I was surprised to have a letter from Dick Harboard saying you had stayed at his place when you were on leave, and then something about shooting down something – it wasn’t very clear what he was talking about, but I gather he was quite excited about it! It is a pity that neither of us was at home when you were in London, but Charles has not yet had the leave due to him, and I have not been too well. Winter will be with us all too soon.
Hoping to hear from you,
Yours affectionately,
Father
*******
France, November 1917
Dear James,
I am sorry to have to give you this sad news, but Father died yesterday. He had this chest infection for ages and then it got worse and was thought to be pneumonia. Then he said he was feeling better, and he insisted on going back to the Depot. They are so short-staffed. But he collapsed three days later and died that night. They said his heart was weakened by the pneumonia. He is buried at the [removed by censor] cemetery – in case you want to go, if you are able to go.
All you can say is, he died doing what he wanted to do and they say he didn’t suffer, he never regained consciousness. And James, he had a letter from Dickpa a week back, mentioning your MC! You are a dark horse – why didn’t you say? When he got over his astonishment, he was fearfully impressed, and proud that he had two sons, serving King and Country with such honour, as he put it.
I will write again when I have time. And maybe you might write too? If that’s not to subtle a hint…
Give my best regards to Algy, and both of you try and look after yourselves – I don’t want any telegrams,
Yours affectionately,
Charles
*******
France, December 1917
Dear James,
What’s all this I hear about turkey hunting! Are you totally mad? And before you ask, no it wasn’t Algy! I had some business at your Wing Headquarters with some chap, Raymond I think the name was. He said it was just typical of you and one of these days you’d go too far. But actually I think he was secretly amused.
Just as well you are in the R.F.C. If you were in a regular Army unit you’d be up in front of a row of brass hats for a stunt like that. Suppose you’d been shot down – one pilot and one fighter plane for one turkey! Don’t you have enough risks in a normal day? According to Aunt-in-Wales, you’re supposed to be setting Algy a good example but I often think he’s got more common sense than you have!
Okay – lecture over. Did you know that Dickpa has gone off on his travels again? I think he got bored – the War Office weren’t giving him enough to do, or so he said. He’s gone back to South America although I can’t even begin to imagine how he wangled it, with a war on. Or how he will get back. Or what he will do if he gets into trouble out there. Maybe you take after him, James… the crazy side of the family.
If you ever have any books you’ve finished with, could you send them my way? There are two fellows here who are as addicted to detective stories as you are. I quite like a good mystery myself. I did ask Aunt if she could send some books, and she obliged, but they were not the right sort – much too edifying for trench warfare! What we need is distraction, not education. Does Algy read (anything other than music)? Might he have some he’s finished with? You can send to Headquarters – they’ll get to me. Don’t do anything fancy like dropping them out of your aeroplane!!!
Must go. There are things to do – always things to do. In the unlikely event that they ever offer you promotion to Major, for God’s sake refuse – too much paper bashing.
Hope you enjoyed your Christmas dinner and didn’t break a tooth on a bit of lead!
Please try and be sensible, cheerio for now,
Charles
*******
France, January 1918
Dear Charles,
In answer to your question, he’s all right. We are all tired and we all smoke too much, and we act the fool, and sometimes drink too much, but you know how it is: eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow, etc. – and I can’t now remember which book of the Old Testament that comes from! Or was it Shakespeare…
I said you’d asked him to write, and he said he would, but I knew he wouldn’t… I have even sat down to write to Mother and grabbed him and said ‘how about writing to Mother, or your brother’ – thinking maybe the lesser of two evils and all that!
But he is like the other chaps who have been out here a long time, restless when he’s not in the air. I don’t know when I last saw him sit down quietly and just read a book. He comes in from patrol, grabs a cup of tea or whatever, then looks for somebody to play bridge with, or argue tactics with, or just hang around with. He doesn’t settle. None of the long-time chaps do.
Mahony and Mac (they are A and B flight commanders) have been out here longer than James. They’ve both been on leave but you can see the effect that two years plus of war has had on them. I’ve seen Mahoney scream and fling his flying gear on the ground, and Mac nearly took the roof off the Mess the other day when he went off in a temper. James gets upset when one of his flight goes West, or somebody has been trapped by some nasty Hun trick. A week or so back, he threw a tumbler at the fireplace and then went off in a fury. He came back with his Camel in tatters but he was perfectly okay. He’d worked his anger out – on some poor devils. Just sat down to dinner as normal.
So that’s how it is. We let off steam from time to time but in between we’re fine, and so far we have never all flipped at the same time! We are lucky in our C.O. too – he’s very understanding and really sensible.
Must be much the same with you. And at least we don’t spend our days in the mud – just freezing to death on winter dawn patrols! I cannot think why the two sides haven’t got together and agreed no flying before ten o’clock. They must be just as cold as we are!
Don’t worry about him. He’s a brilliant fighter pilot – all the new chaps hope they’ll be picked for C Flight!!!
Take care of yourself,
Algy
*******
France, February 1918
Dear Algy,
Thanks so much for writing. I can’t help but worry you see – habit, from when he was young and so often down with fever. And I still think of him as a small kid, devilishly curious but always so serious. It is so long since we saw each other now that it is hard to imagine him grown up (after a fashion!) fighting in this war. Well you too, come to that! One minute the two of you are at school, the next minute flying some wood and wire contraption… and so on. Sorry, Algy, I am getting to sound just like your mother! But I’m now head of the family, such as it is. I feel responsible.
By the way, will you tell James that I have let the London house to a friend of Dickpa’s but they said James was welcome any time he was on leave and wanted to stay. You too. It’s a long way back to Wales, and it might be handy as your brother is working in London. I will write to James and tell him myself later, but I did want to answer your letter and I’ve got some letters to write to parents about some of the men. Last service you can do…
We will be having a bit of a breather soon, as it is our turn for a rest. The weather isn’t of the best but I gather that the men are hoping to organise a football tournament along with [removed by censor] and I hope to get in some riding. The fields are pretty wet though – snow and rain combined – not good for horses. Roll on spring!
Must stop. Thank you for writing, Algy. Much appreciated.
Cheerio for now,
Charles
*******
France, April 1918
Dear Mother,
Thank you for your letter, the pullover and especially the food parcel. Just like at school and just as welcome! We all usually share so that nobody goes without a little extra. Although I don’t know how you managed to find things to send with all the rationing. I’m sorry the rose garden had to go, but I can see you can’t eat roses… I read, in some old newspaper that made it to our Mess, that London’s got allotment fever and everybody’s growing potatoes!
James has gone on leave. First time for ages. That’s left yours truly in charge of C Flight, would you believe. I’m going to make him sit up by the time he comes back! I’ve already got two Huns. Number three tomorrow, hopefully.
We had an exciting time recently, with a couple of boys from Rundell - do you remember it? That place in the middle of nowhere somewhere south-east of London. They ran away from school to rescue the brother of one of them. Quite crazy but they got away with it, and Wing were so impressed with what we all did, they gave them both a commission. Or maybe they were worried about what would happen if the press got hold of the story. Not that they would have survived without James and me – neither of them had a clue when they first came over, and they would never have brought it off without James being so clever at planning, and getting what we needed, unofficially! I reckon he spends most of his free time visiting other squadrons so that he knows who’s got what, and where!
I’m sorry to hear you are having so much trouble on the estate. I expect it’s the same everywhere with nearly all the young men at the front. James’ godfather wrote and mentioned the land round him was mainly being worked by women, and how good they were. One of the chaps in our Mess has a sister who’s volunteered for nursing behind the reserve trenches. It is very hard work and they have to cope with things I can scarcely imagine. They are not even safe either – well within Hun bombing range.
Please give Father my regards. I will write to him for his birthday – I promise!
Yours affectionately,
Algernon
*******
France, one day later
Dear Mother,
Just a quick PS to my last letter. I’m so furious I hardly know what to write.
I got my third Hun this morning, but little comfort – I’ve been posted – a long way away, so far away I just can’t believe it. I suppose I’ll be able to write to you from there. I asked what I’d done and everybody said it was nothing that they knew. It just came out of the blue, direct from the Air Board in London. I’m hoping they’ve got me mixed up with somebody else and it’s just a ghastly mistake.
But that’s not all. James has been posted to H.E.!!! That, Mother, stands for Home Establishment, and it probably means he’ll spend the rest of the war stuck in some dreadful flying school in Norfolk or somewhere, teaching idiots how to fly an aeroplane.
I mean to say, has everybody gone stark raving mad? Why James? What’s he done? He’s been on leave – what could he possibly have got up to in London! Honestly, Mother, it’s beyond belief – he’s one of the best fighter pilots in France, if not THE best. So why in heavens name have they posted him home?!!!
I’m just so upset I don’t know what to do, and that’s a fact. But I have to go where I’m sent.
Hope to write from wherever I end up,
Algernon
*******
Merioneth Towers, late April 1918
My dear Algernon,
We were amazed but, I may say, very relieved to have your second letter. In fact it got here surprisingly quickly given the distance. I must tell you, your mother was extremely worried by the first.
I do understand that you were upset, my boy, but I am sure that now you have had time to think about it, you will have realised the impact of your letter. It would have been better to soften the message, would it not? However, she is now very reassured to hear that you are acting as a communications officer, which we both hope is not so dangerous. Whilst it may not be so exciting as fighting on the Western Front I am sure that you will, by now, have understood its importance and will be conducting yourself well in your new role.
We both think that it is no bad thing that James has been sent back home. He has been in France for a long time now and we are sure the rest will do him good. Although, to be truthful, I cannot imagine him as an instructor when he is himself so very young.
We both understand that you may not be able to write so often now, but we hope to hear from you from time to time. We may even see James occasionally if he is based anywhere near London.
Your mother sends you her fondest regards, as indeed do I,
Father
*******
France, June 1918
Dear Godfather,
I must apologise for not writing for so long. I know it’s been ages and Charles is always saying I should write more often. But really what is there to say! We’re not allowed to write about anything that’s happening. But that’s a feeble excuse - I’m just a rotten correspondent.
Maybe I can drop in next time I’m on leave. It would be a nice peaceful change – as long as you haven’t been inventing any more explosives! I’m STILL due some leave. When I was last on leave, I met a fellow in London who mistook me for somebody else. Stupid me went and told the brass hats, and they instantly cancelled my leave, sent me to… can’t say where, and that was that. I suppose I mustn’t say any more really. The only saving grace was that Algy was allowed to come too.
Now we are both back at the old squadron and it’s good to see everybody again. But lots of flying every day whatever the weather. I know that’s what we’re here for but, to be truthful, sometimes I feel so tired I think I never want to get into my Camel again. I don’t know how Algy keeps so cheerful.
Still, they continue to find enough food to feed us well enough, and even if what they have behind the bar is sometimes a bit take-it-or-leave-it, we don’t yet have a dry Mess! The chaps in one squadron in our Wing have taken to brewing their own – lethal stuff. Algy and I sampled it one guest night… grave error… enough said!
I hope you are keeping well and carrying on the good work whatever that currently is. It will be a long time before I forget ‘Finalite’!
Oh, very sorry, I should have said thank you for your letters – all three reached me… Please keep writing and I will try and do better!
Yours contritely,
Biggles
*******
France, Early August 1918
Dear James,
Just a quick note to tell you the new address to post to when you write. Or perhaps I should say ‘if you write’!
How is life in the sky these days? Things seem to be looking up don’t you think? Now the Huns’ spring push has petered out. I hope your squadron didn’t fare too badly. We saw a lot of aeroplanes over the lines for weeks and, well, I know I don’t need to spell it out to you.
I have to say, James, to be absolutely honest with you, at the time I thought that you had chosen the better option in flying. I assumed you’d be well out of the way of the real fighting up there. But I now know how wrong I was. I watch them sometimes and wonder how those little planes hold together, let alone how you go out and fight in one and still get back in one piece. They seem to burst into flames so easily. You wouldn’t get me risking my life doing that sort of thing! At least on the ground you may stand a chance if you stop one.
Still enough of such thoughts! There is suddenly so much going on. We think [removed by censor] but it is really a case of wait and see. My Company is fully up to strength and ready for its marching orders! See you in Hunland perhaps!
Take care, and Algy too,
Cheerio for now,
Charles
*******
France, September 1918
Dear Father and Mother,
I have sad news, and I rather think James will not have written to tell you. Charles has been killed in action.
We went into the anteroom to pick up our post and there was a letter for James. I noticed it because he rarely receives any letters – then I saw the telegram with it. He didn’t say anything when he read them, just handed me the letter and walked away. Afterwards we went up on patrol and it was if it had never happened. He never once referred to it.
I felt so sad, Charles lying in that dreadful mud along with God knows how many others. Charles, so talented and so full of life, with so much to look forward to. I wanted to say something to James but I couldn’t - he didn’t want to talk about it. But to lose the last member of your close family, that’s hard. However much he pretends, I know he must care.
Sometimes I feel so angry, and feel such loathing for whoever it is that is making us fight this war, making us trample each other in the mud, and shoot down some poor devil in another aeroplane just because he’s on the other side.
But that’s not the normal me. Don’t worry. I always bounce back and the chaps in our squadron – well we are all in it together and we all help each other along.
Nothing more to say really, except I hope you are both well and that the weather has improved a bit.
Yours affectionately,
Algernon
*******
France, October 1918
Dear Mother,
Life continues much as usual. Lots of hard flying and not much let-up. Food is ok but not as good as it was. I’ve been adding to my score of Huns – but I’m no longer sure if I’m pleased at that or not – I mean to say, they’re just chaps like me, mostly, though there’s the occasional bad egg. Maybe not for much longer.
Lots of people coming and going, and we occasionally have a grand evening with the crowd from 287 Squadron. I am still in demand as a pianist – we had another chap who could play but, well he moved on.
And I MUST tell you! You will never believe this – James has got himself a girlfriend! He’s walking round with a sort of far away look in his eyes. I just hope he’s concentrating when he’s in the air. But, so far so good.
She’s French, would you credit it. I’m not sure if I approve. I need to meet her to be sure, but it seems a bit of an odd setup really, her living all alone in this old farmhouse except for an elderly couple (servants, he says), in the middle of a war zone. But she is his first ever girl friend so maybe he’s not really in love, but just putting his toe in the water so to speak.
You may rest assured I am not following his example. Better to fall in love after the war, not in the middle of it. I don’t think girls go with war really – or not seriously. Fine just for a night out, but nothing more.
I haven’t much else to say really.
I hope you and Father are well, and maybe see you soon, since I’m due some leave.
Yours affectionately,
Algernon
*******
France, 14 November 1918
Dear Father and Mother,
Just the briefest of notes to tell you James and I are both safe.
Don’t worry, he is all right, but James was shot down three days ago and has a leg injury, but we have been told it is not too serious and he will get completely better. It shouldn't have ever happened – they sent us out on a job when they knew there was going to be a cease fire.
We were all rather upset here because to begin with we weren’t sure if he was alive or dead. I saw him go down, and minutes later I saw his Camel on fire but there was such a confusion of aeroplanes shooting I was hard put to keep out of trouble myself. I flew back later to look but there was nothing to be seen apart from a burnt out wreck and few Hun soldiers.
Information is so scrappy sometimes and after it was over, everybody seemed to be at sixes and sevens, not knowing what was happening and what we were supposed to be doing, let alone who was safely down behind the lines.
Anyway, today we got the good news and I feel at last I can celebrate!
I will write again. I just wanted you to know we are both safe.
Yours in haste,
Algernon
P.S. James’ girl turned out to be a bit of a disaster. I’ll explain when I see you.
*******
France, Early December 1918
Dear Mother,
Life is so unreal. I still can’t really believe it has all stopped. The silence is almost unbearable. We sit around and play cards and read and all the usual, and look at each other and think, is it really true.
A group of us went into Amiens last night and even the C.O. came – usually, if he’s around when we go, he gives strict instructions not to be late back if we are on dawn patrol. But nobody minds how late we are now. I wake up at night and listen for the guns but there is nothing but silence. I peer through my cracked window and there are no lights, no waving beams, no flashes in the sky. It’s all so strange, as if somebody switched the world off, just like that, flicking a switch. It probably sounds silly, but it’s more difficult to get to sleep now than it was before with the guns and the searchlights and the bombers.
Still I suppose we’ll get used to it. We should just be grateful if our only problem is adjusting to silence. I do hope to get a spot of leave and be home for Christmas as I’m overdue some. But lots of the chaps are wanting it and some have wives, and children they haven’t even seen yet. You sort of feel you should let them have first go.
I don’t suppose you have heard from James? I have written, more than once, but he hasn’t replied. But maybe he never got them – he was moved from a German field hospital to somewhere in France, then back home, or so Wat Tyler our Recording Officer said. I tried to get to see him but I missed him somewhere along the way. If you do see him – don’t ask about the war. And I should warn you, he may not be very communicative. He’s been through rather too much recently.
I don’t really have any more news – or really any news! I hope things are improving back home, and that you manage to get people to help on the estate now it’s all over. I look forward to seeing you, and everybody and everything – it will be wonderful to be home again. Please give my very best regards to Father.
Yours affectionately,
Algernon
*******
London, Late December 1918
Dear Algy,
Thank you for your letters and the Christmas card. I am sorry I never replied. No good reason except I just couldn’t write somehow.
In India, I once saw a tiger on its way to a zoo. It lay in the corner of a small cage. No longer free to hunt or lie in the dappled shade of grasses, or move as a silent striped shadow through the jungle. It just lay, eyes closed, unmoving except for the occasional twitch of its tail or its ears. It had no reason left to go on living, yet it couldn’t die. It still breathed and hated the buzzing flies, and when its keeper brought it food and water, it ate and drank.
I remember it clearly. I was sad. I longed to release it back to the life it had lost, the only way of life it knew and understood. I feel just like that tiger, Algy. And you are the one person I can say it to, and know you will understand.
My leg is more or less mended now and I’m expecting to be back to full duties in the New Year – though God knows what doing. I hope you will still be around, but if not, surely we will meet up again somewhere, sometime.
Yours,
Biggles