Search The Archive

My very dearest Kid: —

I guess we’ll go in again. In the meantime I am kept here with a party getting ammunition up from the cars — the most desperately hard work I’ve ever thought of — and dumping it outside. Climbing up is the hard part, and going overland seventy or eighty yards to the guns a little risky. Every day somebody gets killed. Yesterday Fritz wounded three of his own men who were carrying out our wounded, and killed one of our fellows this afternoon.

I was hoping we would be relieved, too, as I haven’t washed or shaved since we came in. Water for tea has to be fetched in gasoline cans, two each, from down a trench a long way, just this side of Nouvelle St. Vaast — or what is left of it. I am quite well — very.

If the battalion goes in again in a day or so, I guess I’ll go with them. They’ll need us. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it; but of course I understand what it means, and that it is what I am here for.

I wish it wasn’t so cold. If only the people at home understand this war and what we boys suffer — and never a holler! How little I understood, even up to a week ago; yet I’m glad I’m here. It is my place.

The Fritzies here work very hard and uncomplainingly and willingly with our wounded; every one has remarked on it.

They were a fine appearing body, too, those opposed to us. Of course nothing could last under our bombardment. It was magnificent — awful. It was a walkover for our boys. Casualties were light, very; but of course — in proportion, I mean —

If only we could get news! We know nothing, only rumours.