Letters from the front line
ning for it, I hope we shall pull it off. Sunday is a favourite day for football.
AUGUST 6, 1918
One day after being heavily shelled all day, we had retreated across the old Somme battlefield, jumping old trenches and struggling through barbed wire, passing lonely graves of French soldiers, and at dusk reached a large deserted farm, which was to be the headqts of brigade. Just to show how everyone is brought to the same level on such occasions, we had found a barrel of French beer and were drinking it out of a bully tin, when up came a colonel and asked for a drink. We apologised for the cup, but he laughed and said what was good enough for us was good enough for him. At 10am Jerry opened on us with field artillery, the order was: “Get on equipment”. As we fell back the shells were making a mess of the place.
We passed our artillery, who were firing over our heads. The din was terrible, one battery of 18 pounders was all limbered up and still firing.
We had been lucky up till then but 10 mins afterwards a big salvo of heavy stuff caught us, killing our wireless corporal, a brave fellow (married) from Edinburgh Post Office.
It was sad to see the dead horses at one crossroad. I can’t say I have seen any of the “glories of war” one reads about. Well old man, this is all this time. I hope you’re feeling better. Give Mum and Nanny a good kiss for me.
SEPTEMBER 19, 1918
You would like to be where I am now, right in the midst of the Somme battlefield where Jerry has advanced and retreated again on four occasions.
Only a fortnight ago he was dug in all around here, and you should see the stuff he has left behind.
Just outside our tent are some of his gun positions, heaps of unused shells, some with fuses attached ready to fire, thousands of hand grenades, hundreds of picks and shovels, German tin helmets, rifles, bayonets, mess tins, every kind of war implement but very little personal things as our Tommies were of course here before us.
I hope you and Mum are both well, I am longing for the day which I hope is not far hence when I shall be on leave again, shall have a lot to tell you.
UNDATED
The French seem always drinking wine, it is the only thing that is cheap, everything else seems very dear. I
I hope you don’t get funky during raids, keep cool to look after Mum
GEORGE GLOGG ENCOURAGES SON FREDERICK BACK IN DOVER
should think the French are making a good harvest out of British Tommies.
The French money is a nuisance not for the value, that is easy, but there is little silver or copper and notes are issued as low as 50 cents (5d) so you’ve always got a pocket full of dirty notes.
The river Somme runs thro the town, it is very swift, there are some nice canals with nice rows of trees and always a lot of French soldiers fishing there, plenty of fish but rather small.
Crowds of German prisoners working here, they do most of the dirty work about the camp under guard with fixed bayonets. Most of them look strong and healthy, no mistaking the Prussian guards amongst them.
The First World War ended soon after at 11am on the 11th day of the 11th month. If your family has an untold story, we would love to hear it.
Hidden away in a drawer for decades, these extraordinary letters show one loving dad’s attempts to reassure his son while he was away serving in the First World War.
Exactly 100 years ago, George Glogg was fighting for his country in France. He regularly wrote to his teenage son Frederick back home in Dover, Kent.
Now, his grandson has unearthed his letters among a treasure trove including a German newspaper, foreign currency and his silver cigarette case with tobacco remnants.
Mike Glogg, 78, found them in a drawer at his home in Hampshire.
A trustee of the Rugby for Heroes charity, and former manager of the England under-19s rugby union side, he said of the letters: “My dad left them to me when he died in 1981 and they have never been looked at properly.
“Looking at them was really quite an emotional experience. I can remember my grandfather but neither he nor my father ever discussed the war.”
George’s letters encourage his son not to get funky, meaning frightened, over German air raids. The first bomb to fall on British soil during the war hit near Dover Castle on Christmas Eve 1914.
He also talks about the welfare of horses, then used to transport artillery.
George worked in the Post Office when he was called up, serving as a signalman in the Royal Engineers. He was demobbed in 1919 and went back to his job, before dying aged 70 in 1949.
Here are extracts from his letters.
SEPTEMBER 13, 1917
Mother tells me you are looking quite ill as the result of the raids. I am so sorry to hear it, and hope that now the weather has changed you will soon buck up.
I hope you don’t get funky during the raids, remember you are a big boy now and I want you to act the man and keep cool, so as to look after Mum when she is nervous. I would like to feel that you were capable of taking my place at such a time.
Remember ninetenths of the noise during a raid are our own guns; I want you to try and keep cool, one cool person ensures confidence in another.
OCTOBER 30, 1917
Mother tells me you still got funky at the mere sound of the siren. Well, I thought you were a braver boy than that and was going to try and comfort mother. Why here the warning goes sometimes 8 or 9 times a night. Last night more and never a false alarm.
The warning is mostly unnecessary for those out of doors as Fritz [Germans] flies pretty low at night and it’s easy to distinguish the sound of his engine from ours. Ours is an even sound and regular, his is laboured and droning, like the rise and fall sound of a thrashing machine.
When bombs are shaking the place all round everything goes on as usual and there’s no brick walls here to protect you from flying splinters or nose caps, so I want you to buck up and try to be brave.
NOVEMBER 22, 1917
I am writing this on duty tonight, 9 to 8.30am. It’s quite a decent night, and both Fritz and us are taking advantage of it. The sky is lit up with flash of guns and star shells etc. You should hear the roar of some of the great naval guns, perhaps you have seen them in pictures on railways, about as long as a couple of trucks. They fairly shake the earth.
I’m afraid I shan’t be able to send you anything for Xmas, but will send you a few francs to buy something yourself as there is nothing I can get here.
FEBRUARY 12, 1918
On Sunday afternoon I witness a most exciting football match, the semi-final for the Divn Cup. 39 Sigs v ASC Supply Column. The column were gigantic chaps, including professionals, and were as big a team as I’ve ever seen, their weight must have been twice our team.
There was a big crowd, and we beat them 3-2 after 2 extra half hours of play. We are now in the final and it looks as if we shall meet the “Jocks” of our Divn. I guess our team is going into special trai-