_July 6._ Coming home about 4 a.m. I met the Major alone, and although nearly finished I went back to help him to lay out a new line. Poor old Major is nearly done, but he will drop before he gives in. I hope we can last until some more officers come, but my eyes are jumping and my head sings like a tornado—how few people must know what it is like to be really exhausted in the body and yet to have a mind which drives you on. “To make your heart and nerve and sinew Still serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them, ‘Hold on.’” I hope we can. _July 7._ Beginning to get used to feeling tired and think we can stick it now. We are all jumpy and are too far gone to talk or read the paper—the Decca hasn’t been touched for days. Had another cruel night, and was on the go for twelve hours. Finished wire across the valley and got well on with digging reserve trenches and wiring reserve line. _July 8._ Had three hours’ sleep and went up again at night after a heavy afternoon’s work. Very heavy thunderstorms all night made it almost impossible to move about. Was so exhausted with falling into shell-holes that I started to crawl about on my hands and knees in the mud—once I almost cried with sheer weakness. On way home I fell off my bike and was so weak I had to leave it in a shell-hole. Once or twice I touched my revolver—there is always that. It is a terrible thought, and even now, half an hour afterwards, I can’t understand it—how much less can people at home! _July 9._ Slept a bit, worked all afternoon, and up again at night. Heavily shelled on way up but no casualties. Completed first wiring of left Brigade front and most of their digging. Did an early morning reconnaissance with Major and Brigade-Major, having been on the go fifteen hours. I think we can keep it up indefinitely now, but where our strength comes from I don’t know—at least eighteen hours per day. _July 10._ Usual sort of day. Had to walk all the way to line and back as it was impossible to get a bike through the mud. Wretched night, with pouring rain and howling wind—two poor devils killed. _July 11._ Usual day—started clearing New Wood for digging to-morrow night. Whole area heavily shelled. Could sleep for ever and would dearly love to die.