As Sheriff wrote letters home to both his mother and father on the day after his birthday, the Battle of Messines had already begun. Although he had expected to be involved (and had implied as much in his recent letters), to his relief, it had begun without him. As he told Pips:

‘Circumstances alter so quickly that it almost takes my breath away – I am now lying on a wire bed in a little hut in a camp behind the line – my regiment has gone up the line now and I and several other officers are remaining here as a kind of reserve.’

But there was more, as he explained to his mother:

‘I am staying at the Transport Camp and tomorrow if all goes well I shall be going on a Course at a Sniping School…Until about 2 days before the Regiment went up I fully expected to go too, but my Captain suggested to the Colonel that as I had spent so long out here without leave and as another officer had just rejoined the Regiment who has not been up before – that I should go on this course in place of him and consequently my name was substituted.’

Even better, he had been told by the Adjutant [Captain C A (“Nobby”) Clark, whom he admired greatly, and who seems to have been very solicitous of Sherriff] that, if things went well, and the Battalion was out resting by the 18 June (when he was due back from the course), he might get his leave ticket. Of course, he knew, as he told Pips, that there were no certainties in the army:

 ‘As is always in the case in the army, I feel almost guilty for writing a word suggesting certainty – I say I am going on a course – for all I know before I finish this letter I may receive intimation that it is cancelled. I say I am staying behind as a reserve – for all I know before the sun sets this evening I may be with the Battalion again. I listen to the roar of one of the world’s greatest battles, not knowing when I may be in it – when we may move – or, in short, not knowing where we may be in an hour’s time.’

Although he was happy to be lying on his wire bed in reserve, and was relishing the prospect of being sent on the course, it was clear from an excerpt in his letter to his mother that he was somewhat conflicted about seeing his friends march off toward the sound of the guns:

‘Things are going wonderfully well with our men – hardly any casualties but much gain of ground and thousands of prisoners as you will doubtless read in the papers – the news trickles through gradually and nothing of course can be guessed from the great distant  boom of guns – I hope the battle will be so satisfactory that my Battalion will come through with very little loss – I hope so sincerely as I have some of the finest friends I have ever had up there, amongst the officers, and many, many men whom I am interested in and whom I shall be glad to see back safely.’

From his vantage point in camp he could see the German prisoners very clearly, and he expanded to his father on their dishevelled and downtrodden appearance, contrasting it with the smartness of the English soldiers marching in the opposite direction:

‘I have been watching Hun prisoners stream by in hundreds – poor dejected looking men with a quick nervous look who do not seem to wish to meet the eye of anyone – streams and streams of them – some hatless, some with helmets and some little cloth caps – they are unshaved and haggard and bear a look that only men who are subject to incessant bombardment can bear – some old men bent with sheer exhaustion – some bespectacled – some typical “Fritz’s” – all looking very apologetic and beaten.  “It isn’t my fault” some seem to be thinking, some have a surly insolent look, others beam amiably while our men stand and watch them go by quite silent – just interestedly.

And all the while Boom Boom go the guns and the troops go on slowly taking what the Huns have had so long and now must lose – bowing to the old saying “Might is Right” which they themselves once used.

From my window I can see a stream of Germans filing along the dusty road between a hop field and a corn field going away from shells and fighting never to return to it – going to a camp somewhere in the quiet where they will work on roads and fields – in the other direction, marching in step and the proper formation come some English troops towards the line – toiling under great loads – but bearing it wonderfully and marching evenly in wonderful contrast to the dragging weary shuffle of the Germans.  I wonder who are happier?’

13 years later, as he settled down to write the first few scenes of his sequel to Journey’s End (written for the movie studios, but never published) – in which Stanhope and Trotter are captured and taken back to Germany as prisoners – it may have been these scenes which guided his pencil.

[Next letter: 9 June]

 

Sheriff began a short letter to his mother by commenting on the weather: ‘[it] is still exceedingly hot and the dust is rather troublesome – but it is ideal weather and perfect for living in tents’. Very quickly, however, he turned back to the topic which had engaged him so completely in his letter to Pips the previous day – the delay in his receiving leave: ‘How I do wish I had got leave – I feel nothing could be more perfect now than days on the river and strolls in the park.’ But there was nothing to be done about it, he concluded, so they should both set themselves to waiting until the permission finally came through – at least it was bound to come in a quicker time than that which had already passed. He was sure, if he kept well, that it would come through soon, for he was ‘next on the list but one’.

His comment about keeping well was an interesting one, and echoed similar thoughts made in his letters in the previous few days. They were clearly involved in significant preparations for something. The battalion diary notes that, through the first few days of June, it provided ‘day and night working parties for X Corps REs, consisting of about 7 officers and 400 men daily and about 3 officers and 150 men nightly, and, although it does not mention exactly what the men were doing, Sherriff had mentioned in a previous letter that they had been laying water pipes, among other tasks. He had frequently referred to the hard work they were doing, and were going to be doing, so it seems more than likely that they were aware of the impending assault on the Messines-Wytchaete ridge, which would begin just two days later (with the battalion ready in support from the beginning). In fact, it was probably the impending assault which was the reason for his frustration at not receiving leave quickly enough – had he done so, he might not have been there when it began. Nevertheless, there he now was, and aware of the impending dangers, as he confided to his mother:

‘There is one thing, dear, we must both face: shortly, I expect I shall have to go through bigger dangers than before, and although a great number are bound to come through safely, untouched – it is simply a matter of chance and it is just like drawing lots. I don’t wish to worry you dear, but I simply want you to realise exactly that it is a great gamble, and that if I win I shall be home fit and well sooner or later – if I lost I would know nothing about it – it would simply be you at home who would hear the news.

I have every hope of coming through safely – I shall endeavour to do so for my sake and yours, dear, but it must all be left to fate to decide – and should you not hear from me sometimes for several days, it will be because I am too busy to write.’

He ended his letter by wishing everyone well at home, and with the heartfelt hope that he would soon see them all again, ‘in dear old Rossendale’.

[Next letters: 7 June]