There is Danger in Being a Censor

I have been downloading onto my Kindle various Canadian history books. Many of the older documents cost only a few dollars. One such book I finished reading is The Red Watch: with the First Canadian Division in Flanders by J. A. Currie. Colonial Currie was the commander of the 48th Highlander, The Red Watch when they went oversees to be part of the 1st Canadian Division.

In reading the book I gained some insights into the perspectives and experiences of 1914-1915. I learned that battalions were often paired so that they were in the trenches for 3-4 days at a time and resting 3-4 days at a time behind the lines. Here is a quote about one of the moment of respite (billet life) about a mile or so behind the line. This happened about a week before the Second Battle of Ypres which almost destroyed the 48th in April 1915 (first time the Germans used gas on the western front).

“One of the happiest features of billet life was the receiving and writing of letters to friends at home. Pen and ink were plentiful, so was paper, and most of the spare time of the men was spent in writing letters to friends. All these letters had to be censored, and the censor was not Lord Kitchener, as some people seem to think, nor Sir John French, as the London papers would have it, but the colonel of each regiment. He is the heartless man who has to wade through reams of love letters, and he never even drops a tear when he finds one of his young men corresponding with two or more young ladies at home, and assuring each of them in the most fervent and fond language that he loves but her and her alone. Sometimes the commanding officer is so busy that the labor of censoring the letters is turned over to a junior subaltern who may happen to be handy. The letters are brought in to headquarters and left unsealed. They are supposed to be read by the colonel, closed and his name written across the front page vouching for the contents. On one occasion one of my platoon commanders brought into the orderly room a very large bundle of letters. His men had been very busy with their pens that morning, and he made some remark to that effect to me. At the moment I was very busy writing letters to irate mothers who would write to me whenever their sons neglected to provide a weekly batch of correspondence, so I told the young officer to take my stamp and censor the letters himself. When he had gone about half way through the correspondence, he gave an exclamation, jumping half way out of his chair. "What's the matter?" I asked in alarm, wondering if he had caught one of his men in treasonable correspondence with the enemy. ‘The matter,’ he said in a tone of rage, ‘Why, one of the men in my platoon is writing love letters to my best girl in Toronto.’”

There is clearly a danger in being assigned to censor the letters. LOL.