Here is a little plaint from Egypt. It comes from Pte Harry Batchelor (pictured), whose home is at 17 Dudley Street, Luton.
In the course of a letter to the Luton News and the Saturday Telegraph, he says: "I am writing on behalf of 60 men of the Bedfords attached to this battalion and who seem to have been forgotten by the people at home.
"Most of them have been to France and been wounded, and transferred to this garrison battalion, which was formed last July at Denham (Uxbridge). We left England last August and have since been doing our bit at Mudros, Imbros, Anzac and Tenedos, and now "somewhere in Egypt".
"We are mixed lot of cripples and medically unfits from about 20 different regiments, and, while most of the units have been recognised by their counties, the poor old Bedfords have not had the smell of a Woodbine sent out.
"I am sending you a few lines of poetry which, when you have read, will, I am sure, make you feel sorry for us, especially the composer."
Pte Harry Batchelor, 22439, is attached to C Company, 1st Garrison Battalion, Essex Regiment, Egyptian Expeditionary Force. His verses run:
I know of an unfit battalion
Who for guards are second to none,
They look broken, worn and weary
Through fighting the treacherous Hun.
Yes, they fought and bled for their country,
As did their fathers before,
They were proud to do their duty,
But their hearts are heavy and sore.
There are some who've not shared the fighting,
Though passed fit for service abroad,
The result of the numerous blunders
That occur with these Medical Boards.
But, these are not in the trenches,
And although not medically fit,
Each one has the pleasure of knowing
That for his country he's doing his bit.
They have weathered the rain and the wind, lads,
And the burning hot sun on the plain;
They would gladly do so again.
They ne'er knew the word 'Conscription'
Not waited Lord Derby's call,
When Kitchener said, 'Will you come, boys?'
They willingly gave them all.
Yes, every man is a hero,
Worthy son of a noble race,
Keeping the old flag flying
In the enemies' face.
But there is one thing they complain of,
And to find a reason they try,
When the people at home send out comforts,
Why pass this battalion by?
There are 'fags' for the boys in the trenches,
And other things by the score,
But none for the cripples I write of,
Can you wonder their hearts are sore?
They read of subscription lists opened,
Of people willing to pay,
But do those who send these comforts
Know there's nothing arrives this way?
No doubt when the war is over,
Of complaints there will be a bug shout,
And when things are being righted,
May the truth of these comforts come out.
Another complaint e'er the close, boys,
That affects us day by day -
It is of the few coppers we're drawing,
The man at the head call it 'pay'.
Five shillings a month we are getting,
A month of thirty-one days,
"We cannot have debts occurring,"
Is what the officer says.
But even if every man's married
And allowing his sixpence a day,
He is entitled to fourteen shillings
To represent his month's pay.
But, still, it's no use complaining,
You cannot get things that way.
So keep on smiling and hoping
That things will come right some day.
So, in conclusion, I say, boys,
When the war is all over and won,
You will have the pleasure of knowing
Your duty was nobly done.
[Beds & Herts Saturday Telegraph: June 24th, 1916]