Stuk 59 - Letter from George to Ruth Mallory, 4 August 1916

Letter to Ruth Mallory written from France during the Battle of the Somme, 'Aug 4 1916'

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Dearest Ruth,

I’m still in the battery, neither Bell nor I was up in the line yesterday and he is taking his 3rd day now – tomorrow my turn again. The men are digging themselves in very comfortably down here, and most of them have very good places to sleep in – much more agreeable than the old dugouts a little way apart up the hill in the trenches but not so safe. I am sitting in the evening sun on the steps of the Xc’s post & much busyness is going on all around me – the making of wire beds etc. This gorgeous weather with a clean cool breeze is the greatest blessing. I only wish the nights were as peaceful as the days. But we have good news from the infantry again today and German helmets of prisoners are in evidence. The men here at once say that the war will be over for a fortnight, and evidently some of them do quite definitely entertain the happy thought without really believing such an event probable. What a sum total of thoughts there must be about the end of the war!

I’m with you very often in Westbrook garden and in the drawing room too and many a time Clare is with us. I like all you tell me about her. You don’t seem to understand why she doesn’t crawl but can’t you see the heredity in it as how would you expect a daughter of mine to be crawling – did you ever see me stick my knee against a rock if any foothold would serve? Naturally she won’t rub her knees along the floor when she sees other folk walking. I imagine the garden quite glorious now in the golden sunshine. I want to see the great elm trees looking dark above the valley on the far side of the corn fields – or is it no corn that one may see this year from the look out by the spring garden? I know what the heart will leap to most readily – just cultivation – to see land solid well cared for, teams of cart horses t work in the fields, the farm hand sowing or reaping it doesn’t matter which and good manure being dug well in. I think I should fancy Herefordshire for mere country after this plaque spot – or the Tern Valley which we will assuredly one day visit, that would do me.

I wonder if you’ll find me different I think not. Slightly more self indulgent perhaps, a bit easier going – I was wanting to be that before ever I came out here. But I don’t think I shall ever be a person to let myself off easily because if ever I’m finding excuses for myself I’m desperately unhappy and that gives the show away.

Lazy – you may find me very lazy, I hope not. One thing has come upon me lately – its no god pretending I can be satisfied with life if it offers too few opportunities for deep thinking; nothing annoys me more than not to be efficient and yet I perceive a real opposition between what is usually meant by efficiency and the experience of thought as I understand it, its no use any more pretending there is none. I can very often get myself to do correctly a number of little things which efficiency demands (I’m not only referring to the soldiers life) but they give me no satisfaction when done, my mind is in a state of constant rebellion. I believe that always will be so.

Yesterday in some spare moments I began a poem, I don’t imagine it will ever be finished perhaps never continued but when I tell you what it is about you will understand my state of mind. It is called ‘BED’. Not that I am as a rule particularly fatigued – merely that Bed is the nesting place of ideas. There I can be alone in high solitary state and simply think. That is good.
Well my dear Ruth. I want you far more and more ans see my life as it were from a considerable distance. I see you more and more clearly as the one person for me. Dearest how I love you! How the great understanding has grown between us! Don’t you feel that? You’ll never bore me and I’m sure you’re the ne person in the world who wouldn’t.

Fare thee well beloved. Kiss Clare for me and then the Westbrook household.
Your loving George.