War Diary of AA Laporte Payne August 1917

War Diary of AA Laporte Payne




Brigade Diary, Personal Diary, Operation Orders, Note Books, Memoranda




August 1917


R.P. August 1,1917.

It has rained continuously and hard for the last thirty hours and it is still coming down in torrents. After twelve hours out in it I came back and found the camp under water, with about a foot deep in my tent.  I am now sitting on a throne of ammunition boxes in the middle of the tent writing letters.  The poor horses are having a wretched time, and the men too.  I tried hard to find a barn or other shelter for the men to dry themselves in, but I was quite unsuccessful.  They will have to remain wet until it pleases the sun to come out again.


We have taken I understand 3000 prisoners and a good slice of the Boche front line: then it pours with rain. Truly the stars in their courses fought against us.  It really is exasperating.  The poilu shrugs his shoulders and exclaims “C’est la guerre”.  The British tommy curses or whines dismal tunes.  The staff sit in their chateau playing cards.


I enclose a newspaper cutting, (July 29th)


We have just had another officer posted to us. It will relieve the pressure a bit.


Down here at the wagon line I mess with the W.L. Officer of B Battery. At the moment he is howling for me to go to dinner in a shanty made of tarred felting.  It is very shaky, draughty, and certainly not water tight, but still it serves.  So I must close.


August the first, 1917.

The sand here is very troublesome as it seems to pull the shoes off the horses’ feet, and the appalling mud gives them greasy heel.


Conditions are delightful! It has rained hard and persistently for the last thirty hours without stopping, and it still continues.  The camp is under water.  When I returned there after being out in it for twelve hours in hardly a dry condition I found a foot of water in my tent.  I am now sitting on a throne of ammunition boxes in the tent writing a few notes.  The wretched horses are having a rotten time, and the men almost as bad.  I tried hard to get a shed or barn for the drivers to make some attempt to get dry, but was quite unsuccessful.  They will have to be wet until Jupiter turns the tap off.  It always pours when we contemplate making a push.  If the stars in their courses do not fight against us the clouds dropping rain do so.  The gods must be angry with us.  It is bad luck on the men who have the weather, the staff and the Boche to contend with.  In such conditions success is hardly likely.


The papers will have told you what is going on. Up to the present I have heard that part of the German line with about three thousand prisoners have been taken to the south of us.  Now the weather has called a halt.  Poor old British Army!  They are always getting done down by one or all of the three elements that go to make up our atmosphere out here, staff, Boche, and rain.  But stay, I must not forget what journalists say about “tommy”, that he is never so cheerful as when everything goes wrong.  Did you ever hear such rot?  I wonder where they get their information from?  The censor, no doubt.  He ought to know, if any one did.  They live close to one another in some cosy chateau.


Well, well. Hay-up has just gone, so I must stop.


R.P. August 4, 1917.

The weather is truly fearful. We are swamped out.  We know that the floods are subsiding when we can see the tips of the horses’ ears sticking above the water.  We have no need of a dove.  Our bridge over the dyke, by which we enter the field where we live, floated away yesterday, and we had great but wet fun rescuing it.  One of the ammunition wagons completely disappeared in a bog.  I do not think I have ever experienced such a lengthy period of steady rain, certainly not in August.  Thank Jupiter it is clearing up now, so we are alright except for the MUD.


However the flood gave us a certain amount of amusement, but we could well do without it.


The new officers to replace casualties seem to be no earthly use. I do believe they do not know which end of the gun shoots out of.  I should have thought that at this stage of the war men better trained could have been sent out.  It makes it very hard for the old stagers who have to spoon feed them without being relieved of any of their duties.


The Boche infantry is nothing like what they used to be. The enemy seem to rely on their 5.9, in. gun and machine guns manned to the latter by picked men in strong posts.  Tanks should be our answer to the latter, and good counter-battery work to the former.  These difficulties have got to be surmounted somehow.


At last we are obtaining a fair allotment of leave for the men, I am glad to say. The majority of them have had no leave since they have been in France.


August 5, 1917.

We have been quite flooded out. We do not require a dove here.  We know when the floods are subsiding when we see the horse’s ears semaphoring above the water.


It was great sport fishing for floating wagons and our precious ditch bridges with drag ropes. You know the physical geography of this delightful country, so you can imagine the conditions after a sixty hour storm.


There is a subaltern here in the adjoining wagon-lines of our Brigade, a delightful fellow and a Scotchman, and he makes me howl with laughter at his antics and grousings. He is really most amusing.  I should fade away with melancholia if he were not here.  He is the brightest spot in the landscape.  The sight he presented when he arrived at my tent late the other night in the pouring rain was most comical.  He had waded over knee deep in water, and forgotten the water hidden ditch half way across.  His great wish now is to ride into a small town some way away where there are some English or other nurses.  He says that if he does not get a sight of an English girl soon he will languish and die.


The new subalterns we are getting as reinforcements to replace casualties are truly awful. They seem to be worse than useless, and do not know which end of the gun shoots out of.


My mare is looking very well, and appears to be thoroughly enjoying life. I have a new groom now to replace the one the Colonel robbed me of.  This fellow is quite good, and keeps my large quantity of saddlery clean.  Nothing looks so pleasing as a good horse, well groomed, and well polished leather.  But he is not so good as Scarret, my former groom.


Noon, and time for stables so I must go.


August 9, 1917.

4.45, a.m.

A line by one of the men who is going on leave to let you know we are alright….. Let me know if you get this properly stamped, for if not the fellow I give it to will be sorry for himself when he returns.


August 11, 1917.

Another note by a man going on leave… The fellow is in a hurry.  He has not seen his people since December 1915.


August 12, 1917.

Time does not hang heavily on our hands at present. But noise, rain and mud and the other usual concomitants of war in Belgium get a bit wearisome at times.  Though I must say I have never been so fit and well or eager to enjoy life as I am at present.  Just as the minor discomforts often become disproportionately momentous so with avidity we snatch at the trifling pleasures which this unnatural life sometimes offers us.  From a low view point the unevenness of existence appear unduly exalted.  Perhaps we do not things sub specie aeternitatis as we should.  The only true philosophy for the soldier is the Stoic.  I still carry Marcus Aurelius about with me.  It is curious to recollect that he wrote while on active service and at a time when the Roman Empire was just beginning to fall into decay.  I wonder whether our so-called civilization will go the same way.


We have been sending a lot of our men away on leave, those who have had none since they came out, poor fellows! So I am up early every morning to see that they go away properly dressed and that they leave behind their dangerous souvenirs.  Many are the precautions taken to see that the folk at home come to no harm.


I have just paid the battery three thousand francs, and now is tea time. After tea I am off to the gun-line.  It is delightful there now.  You cannot see the smoke or hear for the noise.  With luck I shall be back at midnight and without rain.  It will be a still greater relief if there is no traffic block on the road, and if the Boche does not take it into his head to start shelling.


The men are having a wretched time. I have not had the heart to damn them for not cleaning the vehicles and harness lately.  But there will come a day of reckoning.  The harness is filthy and red with rust, and there are four sheds of it, quite full.  And we are very short handed.  I am expecting a visit from the General soon, and he is a brute, who expects everything to be kept as if in barracks in peace time.  He has no experience of the conditions except for a fleeting glimpse occasionally, and no imagination sufficient for sympathetic consideration.  How a creature has the audacity to curse the infantry for being dirty or straggling after days in the line, let alone the heart to do it, beats me.  However I do not suppose he will get nearer the lines than the gate to the field, which has at least two foot of mud in the “fairway”.  He will certainly get his boots dirty if he negotiates it, and will make such a mess in his car.


I am enjoying myself with the horses.  I have found a broken down cottage, and in it I have stabled my own two horses, one of them the bay mare known in the Brigade as “that hot little devil”.  Room has also been found for the Major’s two horses, one of which won jumping at Aldershot, two belonging to a “wart” (subaltern), one a very good jumper, and another charger also a subaltern’s.  In all seven.  All these I ride in turn, sometimes as many as four a day.  Now they are all fit, and their coats looking fine.  They are better housed than their masters.  It is comical to see them tied up in the kitchen and best parlour, but they look all the better for being under cover and free from mud.


R.P. August 14, 1917.

The Sergeant-Major is posting this for me, as he is going on leave. I am fit and well, but the weather is just as bad as ever.


August 17, 1917.

August is now living up to its reputation. It might be April or March.


The team horses are not looking up to the mark. The rain and mud have spoilt their coats, and I have not enough men to groom them properly.  The gun-line have too many up there and many are on leave.


The attitude of people in England now is strange.  The men come back from leave with impressions they should not have.  I have asked several how they enjoyed their leave.  A typical answer I get is “Oh! Alright, sir, but everybody is fed up with the war, and grumbling”.  Now this is strange.  Surely the troops out here are the ones who might be expected to grouse immoderately, and be forgiven.  There is no comparison between the conditions.  If at times the men here do grumble, there is hardly one who wants to get out of it or finish the war until we have the Boche well beaten.  Thank heaven, there is no peace talk out here.  I have come to the conclusion that all the men who have got any spirit at all are out here.  At home you have now only physical wrecks, politicians and socialists avid for higher wages as munition workers.  If you come across any mumblers of peace tell them off on our behalf.  Out here we are quite cut off and inarticulate as the war correspondents have no time for the opinions of mere regimental officers or troops.


August 18, 1917.

The weather is better here, and the mud is drying up quite nicely. We shall be able to get on with the war soon.


There is no opportunity of leave yet……


I am losing my “stable companion”, the scotch subaltern, who has, alas! to go up the line. I hope I shall be going soon, too.  It is rather dull down here at times, though there is plenty to do.


This evening I am expecting the Major down to inspect the Wagon Line, but he has not turned up yet. Things are not as ship-shape as they might be, but what can you expect with less than half the men we ought to have?


August 24, 1917.

I have got a rash on my face, which is stupid of me. The doctor says that I have poisoned myself with the water I use for shaving in, which usually comes out of shell holes or ditches.  I remember cutting my face the other day.  I must try and get rid of the sores before my leave comes through.


It is still windy and wet. The wretched inhabitants behind the line are struggling to get the harvest in, in spite of the rain and shells.  They are extraordinary people.


August 27, 1917.

It takes I find five days for a letter to arrive from home.


It has poured for two days, and a gale so ferocious that we can hardly stand up against it, has blown for a whole day. It was really most amusing, of course; but I am like a cat and hate the wet.  All our tents were levelled on top of us last night, and to make matters worse the Boche shelled our lines and killed one of my best horses.  It was a mercy it did nothing else.  All the horses were closely packed on some slightly higher ground near my tent to escape the flood water on the rest of the field.  A really heavy shell, the first to arrive, landed right in the midst of the horses, went deep into the mud, and burst.  A splinter cut into the flank of the horse and killed it.  The crater made by the shell was literally from heel to heel of the horses on two lines.


When this missile arrived I was asleep in my tent. It covered the canvas with great lumps of mud.  We soon cleared out of the field with all horses, struggling through the narrow muddy exits in the darkness, and waited until the shelling stopped.  In the confusion I managed to “make” another horse which was scared and going astray.  No one has claimed it yet, so I shall stick to it and make no unnecessary enquiries.


You would have laughed to see me in pyjamas, a Trench coat and an old pair of gum boots with a hole in one of them.


It is hard to be a philosopher, even for the most philosophical, under all circumstances. And I confess that I did not see the humour of it last night.  It is, I think, easy to pose as heroic in some great thing with others watching and applauding, but not so easy in little things like this which happen suddenly in the dark when one is alone in responsibility.  I hate horses being shelled in mass, or even singly.


I have not read a book for sometime, and have not seen a paper for days. I shall soon be unable to read a book worth while, and shall not have the energy to learn to read again.  What a future!  But this depression is only in sympathy with the weather.


R.P. August 28, 1917.

August must have been a record, I should think. The weather has been truly fearful.  We are now having a gale.  Our three enemies are still as powerful as ever, the weather, the Boche, and the staff.


Letter to the Hammonds 29 August 1917.

Letter to the Hammonds 29 August 1917.


62 Benyon Road


London N1


Dear Ted & Mary

I got your P.C. just as we were leaving the house on Sat morning & received one this morning.  We had a very nice holiday the weather kept up until last Friday & then it was so windy that we could scarcely keep on our feet & it went much colder so that we felt quite ready to return to London.  I am very sorry that the weather is so bad for you.  It is brighter here today but windy.  We have had a lot of rain since Sunday.  We took our Mothers to Chingford yesterday but it was rather rough for nieces & the Vicar slipped & dislocated his shoulder so it was rather unfortunate.  I am glad to say that he is going on as well as can be expected.  I am glad to hear that Fred & George are alright.  You are not far from Neston.  What sort of place is Hoylake it was *** **** when I was at Neston.  I must close now ***.


Love to you & Mary also to the boys & Gladys


P.S. I don’t know whether Will wrote to you Kibby Walls husband joins up today.

A.A. Laporte Payne letter to Muriel 27 August 1917

A.A. Laporte Payne letter to Muriel 27 August 1917



August 27th 1917.


Darlingest mine,


Your letter of the 22nd has just come – thank you so much for it.  It cheered me up a lot to know that someone, and that one you, still cared – everybody plus the elements seem to be against us – you and your letters are the only bits of sunshine I get now.  It has poured for two days and a gale so ferocious that we can hardly stand up has blown for a day.  It was really most amusing of course but I am like a cat and hate the wet.  All our tents were levelled on top of us last night, and to make matters worse the Boche shelled us and killed one of my best horses – it was a marvel it did nothing else – the first shell I mean as it landed right in our lines – we cleared out with all the gees and in the confusion I managed to ‘make’ another horse which was going stray and no one has claimed it yet so I shall stick to it.


You would have laughed to have seen me in pyjamas and a pair of old gum boots with a large hole in one of them.


Forgive my telling you about some of my worries but I feel sometimes I must write and tell you. It helps me a lot and you will also understand why my temper is not of the best always.  It is difficult to be a philosopher – even to the most philosophical among us – under some circumstances and I am selfish enough to want someone who is not one of us here to sympathise with me in these silly little troubles.  It is the little things which try us most isn’t it?  It is easy to pose as heroic in some great thing but very hard in the multitudinous little things of everyday – and that is where you come in for me, darling.  But don’t tell anyone else for I hate anyone else’s sympathy real of affected – and after all I should not worry other people with these silly things – not even you but I can’t help it at times.


So you are back at Finchley again. It is great getting home again after a long absence.  I hope you found everybody well and everything as you wished.  I don’t suppose you will get any tennis yet unless you have different weather to this.  You are not very far away you know.


How are you all keeping? All well and jolly I hope.  Give my love to Mr & Mrs Cross.


So you are doing some reading again. I have not read a book for months and have not seen a paper for days.  I shall soon be forgetting how to read, or is it one of those things you can’t forget.  I hope so.  I should never have the energy to learn to read again.


With all my love dearest and a long kiss

Ever your


G. Hammond letter 26 August 1917.

G. Hammond letter 26 August 1917.


26-8 17

My dear Mother & Father

By the time you receive this I shall most likely have had my 3rd birthday away from home.  Am I 23 or 24.  I quite forget.  Well I must be getting on in life now judging from the way my moustache flourishes.  Now I have a little surprise for you both.  I am sending your birthday present on Wednesday don’t think this is a decoy to get you to send me something.  I would much rather you gave me the money to Pa to look after for me.  He takes such good care of it.  The only difficulty is Pa sees something he likes and having no money of his own say, Oh well I will buy it out of this and to pay it back next week.  Knowing all the time it is hopeless.

Now I am sending a pipe for Pa only to be smoked on Special occasions.  The paste is to polish it with not to smoke, and for Ma there is a little silver purse.  I have already written and told Gladys it is your purse and not to be ***.  You will also find my watch inside which wants repairing immediately, cleaning, new second hand, new luminous figures & fingers & a new saddler made wrist strap.  If you can get it done within a week or 10 days send it here.  I want it as soon as possible especially as the nights are getting dark.  Glad to hear you have managed to secure good digs see & have a good time.  I expect to find ma looking very fit when I come on leave.  I had a letter from Gladys today she says Salman is going home on leave.  Well this is all at present we are working very hard 7 am until 7 pm.  I shall be fit for a Brig Gen after this – perhaps – I forgot to tell you Mr Smith*** could have given you the address of some digs in Hoylake.  Don’t forget the watch.  Had a FPC from Gus the other day.  He is OK

Fondest love


PS I shall send the parcel home G


F. Springett letter 26 August 1917.

F. Springett letter 26 August 1917.






August 26th 1917

Same address


Sunday afternoon.


My Dear Brother Sid,

Just a few lines in answer to your welcome letter received a few days ago.  Glad to hear that you were quite well I am still A1.

I am sorry to hear that you haven’t much work but perhaps by now you have.  I do hope they still keep you busy at Crayford if they don’t anywhere else. Ha Ha!

Yes we keep getting a few air raids, we were up till 12.30 one night last week when the Zepps came over Yorkshire.  We had just gone to bed when the order came through, to get up and get full pack together.

You can bet there was a little cursing going on.

Of course we didn’t see anything of them.  That’s the sort of thing that ones has to put up with.

Still it makes a bit of sport as well as being a damn nuisance.

It’s quite a bit of sport when they come in the day time.  We had to run and get our gas helmets, and then bolt off to the trenches that are made for the job.  Some of the chaps get the wind up.  They never worry me very much it’s no use worrying in the Army.

We are doing a lot of trench warfare work now, practically every day we are in the trenches.

We are also finishing our bombing course shortly and also bayonet fighting.

We have just started on Lewis Machine Guns this week.

So you will see they want us to know something of anything.

Last Monday they brought two German Destroyers in “down here”.

Perhaps you have heard about it, or read it in the papers.

I have seen them today, they are painted very funny, half black and half white with big black spots.

The weather here is fairly good. Only we are on the top of a hill and the dust is something awful when it blows.  I shall be jolly glad when we get away from this place, and besides it is getting quite cold enough for canvas life.

Well, Sid I don’t think I have any more news this time, I hope you enjoyed your trip on the river.

Well Goodbye

Best Love

From Your

Affec Brother

Frank W


With cover to Mr S.K. Springett, 29 Bath Road Dartford Kent

Postmarked HARWICH 7.15 PM 25 AU 17.

A.A. Laporte Payne letter to Muriel 24 August 1917.

A.A. Laporte Payne letter to Muriel 24 August 1917.



August 24th 1917





Thank you very much for your letter and the photo of Mrs Lowe and the baby which is exceedingly good; but why did you not send me one of yourself instead? I am very glad you are having such a good holiday.  I hope you have recovered from your strenuous labours as a farm hand and that Mr  & Mrs Cross are keeping well and enjoying themselves.


I am sending this note to Benchfield as I think you are returning to Finchley to-day.


This is only a short note, dear, to let you know I am fairly well and thinking of you. I have got a rash like the stupid thing that I am.  The doctor says it is the water or something I have taken – at any rate it wasn’t whiskey.  I must get rid of the it before my leave mustn’t I?


Everything goes on as usual. It is not at all like August – much too windy and wet.


The wretched inhabitants are struggling hard to get the harvest in, in spite of the rain and shells. They are extraordinary people.


How did you find Finchley after your long absence? Much the same I suppose


With all my love, dearest, & kisses

Ever your


Letter to Rev. R.M. Laporte Payne 23 August 1917

Letter to Rev. R.M. Laporte Payne 23 August 1917


Y.M.C.A. Headed notepaper.


LCpl J. Tomlinson 140310

R.E.                                                                                                                 abt 23 8/17

Fulham Military Hospital



Dear Sir,


I am writing this letter to you to ask you if you can do me a favour by giving me a little advice as to the welfare of my children. My address is 56 High St. Nth Finchley.  My wife has been in Hospital 12 months suffering from Heart disease and being Paralyzed is quite helpless.  I have therefore had to rely on the kindness of neighbour’s to look after my children of which I have three the eldest one being nearly 12 years old and the youngest one 5 years.  I was able to get out of hospital yesterday and went to Finchley to see them and I am sorry to say that they are not getting the proper attention that I should like them to have.  I did not have time to call and see you which I should have liked to have done as I was advised to do so I have taken the liberty of writing to you.  What I should like to do, would be, to get them into a good home where they would get proper education and good care, so if you would be so kind to do anything for me in the matter I should be very thankful, as it is a great worry to me, I might say that a lady visitor from the Church used to call on Mrs Tomlinson while she was at home ill and offered to get them away, but Mrs Tomlinson would not hear of it then and myself being in the service I was helpless.  If you could arrange a day & time I could probably get over to Finchley to see you, that is if you think you can do anything for me.


Trusting that I am not imposing on you.


I Remain

Yours Truly

L Cpl J. Tomlinson.