Sept. 5th, 1915.

It has rained for three days and everything is mud and water from trenches to horse lines. We have a fairly comfortable F.O.O. station now, but it is cold as charity. I went down to the wagon line again last night for a week's turn and it is a sea of mud already. I don't know what it will be in mid-winter. There is a rumour that leave is going around again so with luck I may get away again in another three months.

Tonight, Sunday, we are all sitting around one table writing letters with two candles stuck in champagne bottles. We can get cheap stuff like that occasionally here and it adds to our "mess". Everyone has become a house builder here. Sandbags, tar paper, boards and sod are the ingredients of a good shack. There are many varieties but the type of the old Hillside Hut is the most popular. Well-digging is also one of our specialties. The first was no good, ground too low, so we are starting another tomorrow.

There is no news at all. My wish now is Medicine and Hope, because they go together now and above all Canada again. I dont want you to think me a quitter but everyone says the same thing. This monotony is fierce.