Great and glorious news! The push is a fact. I mustn't say which day, and, just in case this letter fell into wrong hands, I think I'll hold it back, and not post just yet. The main thing is we are to push; and we are jolly well going to wipe out that Boche corner. It is the lesser of the two schemes--a local affair pure and simple, so I suppose you'll learn next to nothing about it from dispatches. You know our British way in the matter of official dispatches. The British have no shop window at all. One ought to be glad of it, I suppose. Ours is the safer, better, more dignified way, no doubt, and certainly never raises hopes doomed to possible disappointment. At the back of my mind I approve it all right. (Which should be comforting to the G.O.C. in C.) But, as touching ourselves, one cannot help wishing the dispatches would give you news of our show. Of course they won't. "The night was quiet on the remainder of the Front." "Some elements of trenches changed hands in the neighbourhood of ----, the advantage being with us." That's the sort of thing. At least, I hope it'll read that way. It will, if "A" Company can make it so. I'm particularly glad we had that turn in Petticoat Lane, you know. Now that I think we shall never occupy it again as a front line--by the time you get this, please the pigs, it'll be well behind our front line, and we'll be snugly over the rise where the Boche now shelters--I don't mind admitting to you that it's a heart-breaking bit of line. There's no solid foothold anywhere in it, and there's next to no real cover. It's a vile bit of trench, which we never should have occupied if we'd had any choice in those early days when the Boche first dug himself in opposite, and the French, having no alternative, scratched in here. For our sins we know every inch of it now, and, thanks to good glasses and long hours of study, I think I know the opposite lines pretty well--the lines I hope we shall be in. Our fellows are queer, you know. Perhaps I've told you. Any kind of suffering and hardship they have to endure they invariably chalk up to the account against Mr. Boche. There's a big black mark against him for our spell in Petticoat Lane, and, by Jupiter! he'll find he'll have to pay for every mortal thing our chaps suffered there; every spoiled or missed meal; even lost boots, sore feet, and all such details. Our chaps make jokes about these things, and, if they're bad enough, make believe they almost enjoy them while they last. But every bit of it goes down in the account against Fritz; and if "A" Company gets the chance to be after him, by Gad! he'll have to skip! He really will.