litd a wonderful escape, a bullet glanced off his cigarette case and travelling round his body in some marvellous way fetched up in the knee of his breeches. He had white heather and a lucky bean in the case. He and I pigged it together in a hole behind the trench.
A trench does not improve after weeks of use in wet weather, I've seen more mud here than 1 ever dreamt of before. Last night we marched back a few miles and got into billets, coming on here to-day. It would make a stone weep to sce the state of the country round here, houses in absolute ruin, such as one must see to appreciate. Burning farms can be seen every night, lages with scarcely a house intact, roads with huge gaping holes where shells have fallen and trees been shattered.
It is wonderful how tenacious the civilians are, some stay on till shell blows them up, others steal back at night to see if their dwelling still stands. Hens run about the ruins, Two goats and a cat came into our trench frequently. I shot a fowl the other morning with my revolver for the pot.
The rations are really very good, especially the tinned meat and veget able stuff. Here follows an acknowledgement of some parcels and an il skin coat, which the author calls "q dream of comfort" and he winds off by adding "This climate isn't fit for a winter campaign, wish they would arrange to change the venue to South Africa."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.