The Invisible Cross

Andrew Davidson

(Heron Books, £20)

Graham Chaplin adored his young wife, Lil. He wrote to her at every opportunity from the filthy trenches and squalid billets of the First World War, from Armentieres, Bethune and the Somme. He thanked her for sending lemon squash or potted meat, offered sage advice on a dozen humdrum household tasks, and told her, time and time again, not to worry. There was grumbling about toothaches, infections and sleepless nights but the abiding themes were love and reassurance. Graham's fears made only rare, fleeting appearances: "I simply had not the heart to write," he confessed after a 10-day silence in November 1914, "in case I should be killed before you received the letter." Scarcer still were moments of irritation. In August 1916 Lil had wondered at a lack of missives and Graham was miffed: "Your letter today rather hurt me. You might be sure that if the circumstances permitted I should always write and I never cease to think of you all." Far more typical was the cheerful line of banter: "Most of the men have Kilmarnock bonnets now. I suppose we shall have to take to that form of headgear – I do not think it will suit my peculiar style of beauty." There was even time to tease, as only the faithful, doting husband is allowed. From Amiens, on furlough, in 1917 Graham writes: "Even my grey hairs do not protect me from the young women. I never go out without getting accosted, but I look straight to my front."

We have Andrew Davidson to thank for bringing these beautifully ordinary letters to our attention. As a bleak yet somehow uplifting portrayal of a wretched conflict they are as eloquent as any war poem. Chaplin was an officer in the 1st Cameronians, a seasoned soldier who had learned his trade on India's North-West Frontier, but he had never experienced anything like the chaos of France. The boredom and uncertainty were the worst of it. "You probably know more about the war than I do," he complained to Lil in September, 1914. "There is really nothing to write about" or "There is absolutely no news" were common laments.

Almost as troubling was the creeping concern that, as Davidson puts it, "the men leading this army really don't know how to win the war." At Loos, a "bloodbath" that brought 60,000 British casualties, Chaplin's patience wore particularly thin. The details are hazy, but he seems to have had profound doubts about orders that meant certain death for his men and may have insisted that his superiors inspect the front in person before continuing a senseless battle. There is not the slightest suggestion of outright disobedience but some at HQ were displeased by Chaplin's pluck and, from that moment, his card was marked. Expected promotion to brigadier was conspicuously slow to materialise and Graham did not shield Lil from his exasperation. "I feel so much the injustice of it. I have been strongly recommended by every General Officer under whom I have served since September 1915. Everyone says that I must have an enemy." "Injustice" is surely the right word. Chaplin would become the army's longest-serving front line officer in 1917 and it would have been lunacy to question his sense of duty. As he wrote to Lil in February 1917, "I cannot throw the show up as long as I can last."

Davidson has produced a superb selection of these letters, framed by a vibrant narrative of events. He does not make a saint of Chaplin who was "a man of his time", capable of being "intolerant and unforgiving, snobbish and sentimental." The war, which Chaplin survived, brought anger and isolation and, at times, "to cope, he simply shuts his humanity down." "I hope the Germans will attack everywhere" he once wrote, "it is much easier to kill them if they will." But in the midst of all this, perhaps just eighty yards from enemy trenches, with the horrors he had witnessed haunting his mind's eye, Chaplin "builds another world for himself" and its centre was his family. "How I wish," he wrote in January 1917, "I was playing bow-wow and trit-trot with Jim and nursing Eileen. I wonder if they miss me but don't suppose they do." A little later he calculated that it was "two years and seven months since we left Glasgow - it seems to me that I am 10,000 years older" and he'd earlier warned Lil that this had taken a toll on his looks. She apparently assured him, her turn now, not to worry and Graham replied accordingly: "No, dear, I never thought for a moment that it would make any difference to you if I lost my hair."