In this continuation of a letter to his family in Thurso David Barrogill Keith describes soldiers’ concerts, his pride in being a Scottish soldier, and a humorous story involving the Battalion’s Catholic priest (which starts with an encounter involving Kitchener and the other Allied generals and politicians in a restaurant in Calais and ends up with several British officers having to be hoisted ashore by rope after making a rough Channel crossing, all of them “as sick as dogs”).
The Calais Conference referred to in the letter was held on 4 December 1915, and was an attempt by the British to persuade the French to abandon their Salonika campaign.
This letter concludes our selection of the wartime letters of DB Keith.
Last night we had a concert. But soldiers’ concerts out here are different indeed from those at home. At home there are civilians & lots of smiling people in a well lit hall. Here in Flanders it’s a whitewashed schoolhouse with a stone floor, & the light is penny dips & the audience is only the khaki coated Tommy with his pipe in his mouth. Often they sing with no accompaniment & the predominant note is a dull low dreary melancholy about “Dead for bread” or something of that sort. Be the song dismal, be the singer a bass & be there no accompaniment & roll the song on without rhythm thro’ interminable stories of the woes of existence & the clamour & applause great. Not that Tommy is downhearted or dull, on the contrary, but he is a bit of a sentimentalist as one understands as he joins with right good will in “Dear Homeland – Goodbye” or “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” or other suchlike sentimental ditties.
But the pipes out here sound grand. It’s a great thing to be a Scotsman & it’s tremendous to be in a Scottish Regiment with its pipes in this land of France. When the pipes play & we go swinging along we feel so much better than the poor blue coated Frenchy & we strut mightily proud thro’ the streets of France. And at concerts with the tobacco smoke & the songs & the atmosphere it awakens memories of the great broad moorlands & the swirl of the wind & the clear sky & how we hate the Sassenach intruder. It must be the remains of that primitive instinct that made the Highland raiders come from their mists & their hill tops with their plaids wound tightly round them, & holding a good claymore come down into the lowlands to garner what they could by force & steel.
It’s a great life this & it makes one realise the reality of humanity & how all men are equal & there are no classes & no schisms but all together doing their best for the benefit of the whole. And yet there are officers & there are leaders & with the most democratic army in the world there is respect for the officers aye & tell it not to the labour parasite there is love also; real deep affection between those in authority & the men they lead.
Well I’m getting off the point & only talking. We have an R.C. padre in the Brigade & he’s absolutely Tip Top. No finer fellow could be imagined. He’s Irish of course & he tells a good story & he’s always giving & he’s got a delightful brogue. Well he went on leave when the Calais Conference was on & got a divisional car down to CALAIS. There owing to mismanagement he couldn’t get across because there wasn’t any boat at all you see. So the other brass hats there they swore a bit & expressed themselves on the great staff capabilities of our Army & the Padre I’m afraid did likewise & then the happy thought of luncheon. Behold a big restaurant. Into this they strode & on opening the dining room door who should they find but Kitchener & the conference at lunch. The Brass hats thought they would go & find some other little pub but the Padre stood his ground. We’re going to pay for what we eat he said so here goes. But to avoid any unseemly squabble no doubt by intuition K. sent out & told them to come in & they came & dined in the same Room. K was at the head of the table, Joffre on his right, A.J. Balfour on his left & all the others round about but Sir John French was not there – only Sir Douglas Haig was. Lunch ended, K sent word that he was sorry that the navy part had failed & if they liked the destroyer accompanying [him] was at their service.
Oho said the padre. I’m a bit of a sailor & I’ll go. But the others trembled. The waves were very stormy & the ship was very wee. However they took courage & embarked. 8 of them Colonels & suchlike were stuffed in a tiny cabin & battened down cause it was too rough for them to get out above. They were told that the ship was to start. It whistled & then they got off at an awful rate with unfortunate results to the inhabitants of that black hole. One elderly Colonel smashed his eyeglass, another stood upon his false teeth & the Padre found his head on the centre of another’s stomach & it got worse & worse as the boast tossed & twisted & they all got as sick as dogs & they all rolled about mixed up on the floor. & when they reached the other side – fortunately for the dignity of the British Army it was dark – they had to have ropes tied round their middles & get hoisted ashore.
Well I think I have drivelled enough now & I must stop. I hope you all have a jolly time & I will write again when Xmas has been & tell you all what it is like. There’s nothing about leave yet.
With love to all & best wishes for Xmas & hoping all are well,
From
DB Keith
[Caithness Archive Centre reference P38/10/16]
