France
January 03, 1917
Dear People.
I left my company on Sunday and came here to the Divisional grenade school for a week's course. We are billeted in what was in ancient days, I am told, a sort of nunnery - now private houses. I have a nice big room with a huge bed, and everything very comfortable. It is largely an N.C.O.'s school; but there are always a few officers - at present six. In addition of course there is the commandant, so we have just a nice little mess. The work is fairly interesting, and altogether I'm having a very tolerable week.
No mail of any sort has reached me since leaving the base a week ago; but I have no doubt it is following me around, and I shall probably get it sometime all in a bunch. Without it the days are uneventful. I don't suppose there will be much doing until the spring; and I shall possibly be spending most of my time on courses. They aren't bad in a way; though I was really looking forward to having a platoon to take care of and getting to know my men. So far when I have been in charge of men it has been only for a few hours; and they have been in a sense without personality. The only men I have got to know at all are my servants. My present man, Bayley, is a nice lad of 21 from Leicester, very quick and intelligent. The men rather like being officers' servants; for it is certainly easier work than mucking in the trenches, and besides they share to a certain extent the more comfortable living-conditions of their masters.
I ought to be learning some French; but find it rather difficult to get started. If one knows a little and has a start at vocabulary it is not hard to pick up conversation but when one knows nothing it is almost impossible to make a start. (Don't count the starts).
The weather - it seems to be the only thing of importance - continues very mild. I've hardly smelt winter yet. I suppose we'll be having some before long though. How I envy you your cozy evenings by the fire - or gas-grate. (I forgot for the moment that we made that sacrifice to the sun). I am quite comfortably warmed by a stove; but then I miss the conversation - more edifying than is sometimes that of the mess.
My heart goes out to you in love untellable, as you know.
Bun.
