Gore-Browne looked over at Tremlett, who seemed to have sunk back into himself [Tremlett had recently discovered his brother had died]. He could think of nothing to say that would not sound trite, and decided it was better to let the lad work out his own grief. He took out his knife and sharpened the pencil in a few short deft strokes, then returned to the letter he had been writing to Ethel.
Thank you for the chocolates, and cherries from the garden. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever see Brooklands again. Most of you at home have no idea what this is. The Boche [German] has been putting up a strenuous show tonight, a rain of shells, must have been 1000… And this gas business is loathsome, though our protection is now thunderingly good. Whatever happens I don’t think we’ll ever be able to regard Germans as anything but a people apart.
We lost one of our best today, Lt. Bowman. He was only a boy, curiously like Kerr [Gore-Brown’s best friend who was shot in the head at Ypres] and as good as they make them. He’d been through Gallipoli and come onto us and was doing A1. I don’t know when I’ve thought so much of a fellow on short acquaintance. I saw a good bit of him and ran across him only this morning down in the trenches. He stopped and talked for a few minutes, laughed and was full of good cheer. He was one of those folk who do you good so everyone’s the better for them. Then he went on his way and I on mine. Ten minutes later a shell hit him. He’s still alive, most horribly hurt, and thank the Lord unconscious. One’s only hope is that he’ll soon be dead.
Lord but it’s hard, not for him for if ever there was a happy warrior it was he, but for the wife and child (he married a year ago). A fellow like that must leave a gap in scores of lives.
Source:
Lamb, Christina. “Part One: 1914-1927, Chapter 4.” The Africa House: The True Story of An English Gentleman and His African Dream. Harper Collins Publishers, 2004. 54-5. Print.
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