Aug. 4th, 1915.

I couldn't let today go by without writing you a real real letter.

Well to begin with there is no news at all. We are still here and the Major is away. I am O.C. and do nothing but sit at the end of the phone. They looked around our waggon lines today and I was hob nobbing with two generals. They let us down pretty easily and the harness was'nt too bad. The lines were spotless and waggon straps all curled and oiled. I got covered with oil myself the night before counting ammunition. The horses are a bit thin but in good condition. Then I came to the guns and have been sitting here ever since. Ell and I went for a walk to the village, bought some fruit and talked to the old lady. She hates to leave her home but is just a little timid about the German "obus" or shells. Her husband was hit in about six places this week by shrapnel, none of them serious, but it worries her more now. When you think of living in a place the size of, say, Coldwater, and the daily "hate" brings about six to ten shells in every day, it makes it very interesting to know which one will get your house. So that is her attitude.

We have heard nothing of the long rest you speak of for the Division. It must be a myth. I will cable you any news like that.

I'm glad the D.O.F. is going to give some poor chaps the pleasure it has given me. They can gaze out across the city all they like and it wont even nibble the gazes I'll have when I get back. I know it will do them good to sit on the old verandah and get the nice fresh breeze.

The Major is still ill, and has been sent to England by the Hospital people for treatment. I will give your clipping to Col. Mitchell and tell him about the rest home. He occasionally sends an officer away if he thinks he is run down but beyond a headache or a cold, occasionally we are all in fine health. Ell is on leave now and I expect to go about the 20th.