Sherriff’s cosy subterranean world had been upended, with the arrival of a large party of new men, come to join the existing group; two officers had come along as well – ‘one of whom I know,’ he wrote to his mother, ‘as he is an East Surrey man’ [in fact a friend from his own Company, 2nd Lt (Pat) Patterson]. They had not been warned in advance, and no shelter had been arranged for them, so Sherriff and Gibson were left ‘rushing round all day finding dugouts’.
To add to his woes, as he told both parents, his Commanding Officer had come along (‘amidst all the bustle and muddle’) and seen some of his men unshaven and dirty. Consequently he had received a note later that evening:
‘The Commanding Officer noticed with displeasure this morning that some men of the battalion unshaved and very dirty, and on being asked who they were answered”Tunnellers”. It is intended to relieve you in the near future.’
Extract from a letter to his mother, 10 December 1916. By permission of the Surrey History Centre (Ref: 2332/1/1/2/122)
‘I always hate being “told off” for anything,’ he complained to his mother, ‘and it makes me miserable’. He tended to take criticism to heart – probably more than the C.O. realised – and it tended depress him for a while. He really did not want to return to the battalion (‘and much less to go back because I am not capable of looking after my men’), but suspected that the C.O.’s note meant that he would be returning in a few days. He told Pips that he felt the criticism was unreasonable – he inspected his men regularly, but on this occasion had been so busy dealing with the new men that he had no time to inspect the others (‘if he had only known the trouble we had had that morning with all the new men I am sure he would have shown some consideration’).
After grumbling to both parents, he changed his tone, becoming more stoical. He tried to buck himself up by thinking of the lessons from his Marcus Aurelius, and by enjoying a cigarette (‘I do not smoke very much,’ he told Pips, ‘so I find more comfort in an occasional cigarette than if I was always smoking them’). And in the long term there was always home to look forward to, where everything would be ready for him – his mother, Pips and Bundy and Beryl and Puss and the chickens – ‘everything, in fact, that is nice.’
Apart from his new-found gloom he was feeling well – the weather had been kind, although there was still plenty of mud about, which meant that he was always in need of new socks, if his mother wouldn’t mind slipping a pair in one of his parcels now and then. She was coming to the end of her fortnight’s rest from the hospital, and he expected she was not looking forward to getting up on cold, dark mornings. But ‘I expect you will like to think, as you get up shivering, that I am standing somewhere shivering, too, as you are always out in the trenches whilst dawn comes, and darkness falls.’
He ended the letter to Pips with a quick apology: having promised to send him postcards from local villages and towns he had thought better of it after speaking to another officer, so despatch of the cards would have to wait. The letter to his mother was ended with the observation that he had written her rather more than usual: ‘I expect you notice that I always write longer letters to you, dear, when I have some trouble to tell you about – somehow it relieves me to write telling you everything…it is so nice to have someone you can absolutely tell everything to – particularly when I am “told off” for something that is really not my fault.’
[Next letters: 12 December]