Wake up early. A perfect morning, but a high wind. Scene beautiful. Talk to an old Greek, who has been all over the world, and in all the ports of England, and who has come home to his native island for the rest of his days. Try fishing, but catch nothing. After lunch, start back to camp on ponies, stopping at Panaghia for tea, arriving home at 6.30. _September 5th._ Start off again for Panaghia with Duff and Elliott, and have lunch there. After lunch we go off to another village, where an annual holiday is being held. Bands are playing and the inhabitants are dancing weird native dances, appearing very solemn about it. Parties are going round from house to house, visiting and partaking of refreshment, such as grapes, figs, wine and liqueurs. An old Greek invites us in, and his wife forces us to have grapes, melon, jelly, and liqueurs. I took a bite of cake and was nearly violently ill. We came back another way through vineyards, where grapes can be had for the asking, olive groves, and fig-tree orchards. _September 6th._ A fine day again, but windy. No news, but a rumour that Bulgaria is against us now, and that we shall be in Gallipoli for the winter. We go back to-morrow night. We get up a concert, which takes place in the evening. We rig up a platform, borrow a piano from the Y.M.C.A., and make up a programme. I snaffle some champagne for Headquarters, and after a cheery dinner we go to the concert. We have some excellent talent, and everybody thoroughly enjoys it. It is a sight worth seeing—the platform lit by candles, and the Brigade seated around on the sand: some of those who took part in the landing, some recently in the fighting at Suvla, and new drafts who had not yet tasted war. “The Defence of Lucknow” was recited by Lieutenant Butler, of the Worcesters, an actor by profession and a good fellow, and it went splendidly and gripped us all. New Brigade Major arrives, Wilson, of the Royal Fusiliers. _September 7th._ Awake at five, and on becoming conscious of the fact that to-day I have to go back to that Peninsula, to remain there for Lord knows how long, I have the same depressed feeling, only more so, that one has in the days of school on the last day of the holiday. At 6 a.m. Phillips and I and the Supply Section embark, and on a tossing trawler, bucking about like a wild horse, we undergo the misery of a four hours’ crossing in a very rough sea to Suvla Bay, where we arrive at 10 a.m. We lie off the _Swiftsure_ for an hour, and then two pinnaces come alongside, to take us on shore. Shrapnel is bursting steadily over the low lands, and one or two high explosives are now and again bursting on “A” Beach and “W” Beach. We land soon after 11 a.m., and on arrival back at our part of the promontory we find that our camp has been moved to the end of the long gully, where on the side of a hill D.H.Q. are dug in.