“There is No Place Like Home” Vignacourt, Christmas 1916

Bert and the boys had a rather special Christmas lunch. They fashioned a table out of planks and found some barrels on which to sit. Then they dined on giblet soup followed by roast poultry and pork with mashed potatoes and cabbage. For dessert they ate plum pudding, and jelly and custard. Afterwards they shared drinks all round, and everyone (except the teetotallers) got fairly drunk. Then they all went into a cafe in town and drank more with the result, Bert wrote, “we got very tight”. Later, some friends brought them home and put them to bed.

Boxing Day - “I woke during the night and caused a disturbance. I am ashamed of myself. I must not get drunk again at any time in the future. I am suffering a recovery today, “Il n’est pas bonne” [it is not good].

A few days later Bert enjoyed spending time wrapping and readying his presents to be mailed home, and wrote this poem to enclose with them:

‘Tho’ far away, “Somewhere in France”;
My thoughts still fly to thee;
And send these “Souvenirs des France” 
as “Hands across the Sea”.
For Austral liberty to earn, 
Thro’ many lands I roam;
And now a lesson well I learn: 
There is no place like home

On New Year’s Eve Captain Thomas Louch, son of Archbishop Thomas Louch of Albany, gave the signallers and runners 150 francs in order for them all to enjoy another dinner similar to the one they’d shared on Christmas Day. Inevitably, the drinks went around again, but Bert had only two before going on duty at 7pm. He came back later and, as always, his thoughts were of heading to blanket town for some snore-oh.

31 December 1916 - 9.30pm - This is the last day of this year and I hope long before this time next year, Peace is declared & I am home again... 

Now to bed and GOODBYE 1916.

By Shannon Lovelady
Story from A Signaller’s Story Exhibit