"The C.O.'s been down on people writing things in letters too. Lewis wrote home he'd starve on the rations we get if it weren't for the parcels his people send him. The C.O. had him up. He told him to make complaints through the proper channels in future and gave him seven days Number 2. He has to collect and empty the latrine buckets every morning before breakfast. When he gets back from work in the afternoon he has to chop wood with that swine of a Police Corporal standing over him. Of course, he's a bloody fool to write in that strain--our rations aren't so bad, considering. Thompson was up for the same sort of thing. He wrote he'd seen a thing or two out here and when he got back home he'd open people's eyes a bit about the war and the army. All bluff, of course, for the truth about the war and the army could never be published. He got five days for his trouble. I nearly got into hot water myself. Luckily for me I was the first one to be on the peg for writing things in my letters, else I'd have got a stiff sentence. I wrote: 'Being in the army is just like being back at school; the only difference is that whereas at school your superiors generally know a little bit more about things than you do, in the army that is not the case.' The C.O. told me off properly. He said it was most serious, a court martial offence, in fact. The charge would be one of 'Conduct prejudicial to good order and military discipline.' He let me off, though, because it was my first transgression. Old Peter Cowan was nearly run by the S.M. a couple of days ago. He was inspecting us and when he came to Peter he shouted, 'Why haven't you cleaned your boottons?' Peter answered with a perfectly solemn countenance, 'I omitted to do so, sir.' The S.M. glared at him, but he wasn't quite sure about the meaning of the word 'omitted,' and being afraid of making a fool of himself he passed on. Fletcher, who was standing only a few numbers away, smiled at Peter's remark. The S.M. spotted him, and shouted, 'What are you grinning at--anything foonny?' Fletcher said, 'No, sir,' and straightened his face with a wry contortion. The S.M. shouted to the Orderly Sergeant: 'Take this man's name.' Fletcher was up before the C.O. in the evening and got three days for laughing in the ranks. I'm sure Peter'll get into trouble before long. He did the same sort of thing yesterday. Sergeant Hyndman was in charge of us and we were standing to attention. Peter started talking--you could hear him as loud as anything. Hyndman got his rag out and yelled, 'Stop talkin' there, will yer?' Peter dropped his voice and went on in a whisper. Hyndman could still hear him, so he walked up to him and shouted, 'What the bloody 'ell's the matter wi' yer?' As cool as you like old Peter replied, '_Cacoethes loquendi_.' Of course Hyndman hadn't the remotest idea what that meant and said, 'None o' yer bleed'n' impudence, else I'll land yer inter trouble.' He didn't run him though.