“Here we are again; I was last for dinner, but didn’t do badly by reason of it.  I am writing this at a house which our Chaplain has put at our disposal.  It’s quite a treat to sit on a chair and write at a table, after sitting on the ground with knees up and a bad light.

“The trenches are in a rotten state now owing to the heavy rain and the snow.  It’s like walking on a sponge about eighteen inches deep.  Squelch, squelch you go and not infrequently get stuck; parts are knee deep in water, and icy cold water trickling into your boots is the reverse of pleasant or warm.  Then the rain trickles through the dug-out roof—­that caps it.  I really don’t think there can be anything more irritating than the drip, drip in the region of the head.  Then of course your hands are covered in mud, for as you walk along you need your hands to keep your balance, and the sides are all muddy as well.  You come inside then and eat your quarter of a loaf for breakfast and go without for tea—­the usual ration is one-third of a loaf, which generally is found sufficient.  We get jam, too, and bacon daily, butter three times a week, and stew for dinner every day in trenches or not.

“Our sergeant took us to the whizbangs concert party last night.  It was A1—­one chap makes his fiddle absolutely speak.  He played that Volunteer Organist and parts of Henry VIII., the basso sang ‘Will o’ the Wisp,’ and most of the other songs were old ’uns.  I tell you, you wouldn’t believe we had such things a couple of miles behind the line.

“On Sunday I went to church.  It was the hall that the concert party use.  Right glad we were to sing the old hymns again, for we only get one Sunday in two months down here on rest.  We had five bandsmen to keep us in tune, and, with a good sermon, the evening was both enjoyable and helpful.  Afterwards we came back and I had a discussion with two others on Christianity, the work of the Church, Salvation Army, Y.M.C.A., and other such organisations.  It was very interesting, for one of them was an out-and-out atheist who was under the impression that Christians were all hypocrites, cranks, and prigs.”

The last extract from a letter to Sydney Baxter’s office.

“My!  I should like to be back working at the business in any department.  I reckon I shall not be much good the first six months, knowing practically nothing of what has happened since this time last year.  However, no doubt, they’ll find me a job somewhere.  They’ll certainly find me very keen.  They say this life spoils you for the office, but I shan’t be sorry to return to it.  Mind you, I feel very much fitter and stronger in eyesight, less neuralgia and headache than before; but I shall go in for more fresh air and bring up the balance that way.

“The trenches are in a lively state now, all mud and water; however, now November has come I expect they will generally be in a