July 3rd, 1915.

Here we are again. I'm lying on the floor in my barn billet on a hot July afternoon, with flies fairly eating me alive. I've never seen such a place for flies, but I dont wonder at it for each farm has its cesspool right in the middle of the place. I've put creosote around everywhere, and chloride of lime but there are too many flies already. However we are having things quiet again even in action. We rested for a while then came here. I am going to the guns for supper and then to the F.O.O.