In a dugout.
Friday. Feb 2nd 1917

My dearest Mother

As this is an urgent letter I have bucked up to write it but believe me I'm feeling so rotten with an intense influenza cold that I'm hardly fit to do anything (let alone write) but so far I've held out against it and carried on as usual and hope the worst is over. To add to things we are now in the most uncomfortable dugout of all (just luck) of course. I caught the cold while in those new billets of ours at camp. We were turned out of our old ones, which we had made good, and comfortable and put into a drafty warehouse in another village - hence everybody has a cold.

I received Pa's weekly tonight while I was on guard two hours ago and there being very brilliant moonlight I was able to read it there and then and I did feel near home and all of you when I finished. Glad Percy was home and had a good time.

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