Saturday 11th December 1915

Reserve billets at La Rolanderie Farm.

This was to be only a short period out of the front line, and there was little rest to be had, with as much labour as possible to be provided in working parties in the front line trenches as they tried to combat the continually rising water levels. As the rain and cold continued unabated parties of forty men were despatched each morning and afternoon to assist in trench repairs.

Pte. William Knox (see 10^th December) again wrote to his wife, Ethel (I am most grateful to Rachael Broadhead and family for allowing me access to William’s letters).

“I now sit down and write you a few lines hoping they will find you quite well as I am very pleased to say that it leaves me very well at present. You will have to excuse me for not writing before as I have been in the trenches since last Monday and I can tell you we have had an awful time of it. We are jolly well lucky to be alive. We have been shelled every day by the Germans. Yesterday they sent over 850 shells in two hours so you may guess what it was like. I was in a bay all by myself and they were dropping shells every few yards and I thought every minute was my last. I lay flat on the ground in over two feet of water. The trenches are now in an awful state. All the parapets are falling in with the excessive rain which we have had just lately. We went into the firing line on Monday and came out into the reserve trenches on Friday but they are huts so we are very much better off. We stay here for four days then we go into the firing line again for four days. We are in for 24 days so we shall spend Christmas there after all. I wonder if we shall meet half way and have Xmas dinner together as they said they did last year? We have been over knee deep in water ever since we have been in the firing line but we have had gum boots on all the time so we were never wet footed at all. There is to be a very heavy bombardment here every day for three weeks so they will be giving them Hell. They are busy sending them over while I am writing this letter but we are far enough away from them today.

I had a very nice parcel from Teddy Firth at the dairy. He sent me two packets of chocolate, one pound of mint rock, some apples and oranges and a lovely pork pie, homemade, so I am going to have a good bust up this time with my pal Corporal Oldfield (Sgt. Billy Oldfield, see 8^th December for his promotion). I heard some very good news today and I was told by a Sergeant that all our leave was to be finished by the 24^th of February 1916 so if it is true we shall soon be seeing each other again shan’t we Dear”.

J.B. Priestley wrote to his sister, Winnie, with news of how he was faring in the trenches; “Of course, you know, we do not look at all like the soldiers you see at home. We have khaki caps with flaps on, very much like the caps civilians wear. Then we have rubber boots that reach up to our thighs, and fur jackets that we call our ‘Teddy Bear’ coats. Then, besides our overcoats, we have very long mackintosh capes. We have to keep rubbing our feet and legs with whale-oil and anti-frostbite grease. Yet, with all these things, we cannot keep ourselves either warm or dry. I had three pairs of thick socks under my rubber boots, yet my feet were both cold and wet”.

The Halifax Courier published a letter written by Pte. John Smith (13487) (see 6^th October):

“Life in the Trenches – how simple these few words sound but what a lot of meaning they have to Tommy Atkins. People at home cannot realise their true meaning as it is impossible for them to do so; only those who have to go into them know what it means. For some of us, perhaps, we will never see the outside of them again, but we will trust in providence and go into them to do our duty, whatever our fate may be. We move from our billets along a road liable to be sought by machine gun fire at any minute. We reach the communication trench, perhaps named after some well-known place, such as Piccadiily Circus and the Strand and other such names. Down we go in single file, sometimes up to our knees in water, twisting and turning and wondering what sort of trenches we are going into. At last we reach trenches. Each man knows his work and is shown his bay; some go for rations, others for filling sandbags and bettering the bags in the trenches, and a thousand and one jobs which Tommy Atkins knows are to be done. Others try to snatch an hour’s sleep on the fire step, but generally wake up with cold feet. The sentry takes his stand, looking over the parapet, listening and watching. In his turn he is relieved and the man waiting beside him takes his place, and then the old sentry tries to get warm and have a couple of hours sleep. Perhaps one man may be for patrol or in the sap or mending the wires in front of our trenches. Just before dawn the order comes to ‘Stand To’ and each man stands with his bayonet fixed ready for anything that may occur. No one knows what may happen, but men are always ready, looking over the parapet. We can see the German sentries and we get the order to post day sentries. Each man then cleans his rifle and also his part of the trench before he starts getting his breakfast cooked. Breakfast is finished; some start cooking the dinners, some are for fatigue and sundry jobs. At a certain hour work for the morning is finished. Some are tired and go to their dugouts, into which they have to crawl on their hands and knees; some write letters to those at home, perhaps to mother, wife or sweetheart – who knows? Each man knows the dangerous part of the trench or at least he soon finds out. Sometimes a shell bursts nearby and we wonder where the next one will drop. All at once message comes down the line for the stretcher bearers. A comrade has been hit and we wonder who it can be and where he is hit. Such is the life one leads in the trenches. It starts raining – and rain in the trenches means mud – sticky, slimy, slippery mud. After a week, perhaps more and perhaps less, we hear we are going to be relieved and we wonder what regiment is going to relieve us and where we are off to. The time comes for our relief and we are slowly but surely relieved. We get out of the communication trench, along the road and out of machine gun fire and within a short time pipes and cigarettes are alight and someone starts singing a well-known chorus and the other lads join in, forgetting the trenches and the dangers of the past few days. Such is the life of a Tommy in the trenches”.

Jim Coates, who had been among Tunstill’s original volunteers but had been discharged early in the Company’s training (see 25^th October 1914) re-enlisted, joining the recently-formed 21^st Battalion,  West Yorkshire Regiment.

George Clark, another of Tunstill’s original volunteers was promoted Acting Corporal (unpaid). He had gone absent without leave early in the Battalion’s training in October 1914 and had subsequently been discharged. However, two months later he had volunteered again and had been taken on as a driver in the Motor Transport section of the Army Service Corps (see 20^th December 1914). He had immediately been sent to France (22^nd December) and had served there until 10^th March 1915 before returning to England, where he had remained ever since.