We are issuing stores now from one depot for the whole Division, and to all others who come. Way and Carver are running it. I simply hold a watching brief for my Brigade, but give a hand when I can in helping the business to run smoothly. Foley is up the coast a short way at “X” Beach, running his own depot for the 87th Brigade, and wires constantly come in from him indenting on us for stores he has not in stock. It is just like a business store, and we are running short of supplies, but a Supply ship has come in to replenish our stock and form a large reserve depot. Our depot is the hot-bed of rumours and news, and we feel the pulse of the Division through the news that the Quartermasters and ration parties bring. Bad news has arrived this morning. Captain Reid, to whom I was talking last night, has been killed, and Major Lee, his C.O., with him. I inquired as to what time it happened, and learn that it was at eleven o’clock. I was talking to him at ten. It appears that shortly after I had left him, word was passed down the trench for C.O.’s and Adjutants to go to the end of the trench to meet the Staff. Major Lee, accompanied by Captain Reid, immediately went, and met two officers dressed in khaki with Staff tabs. One of these officers fires a revolver in Major Lee’s face, killing him instantly, while the other murders Captain Reid. In their turn they were quickly bayoneted by Lee’s and Reid’s orderlies. The line is attacked by some two hundred Turks, who are met in the open by our men and quickly retire, getting hell from the French “75’s” in doing so. The two officers dressed in our Staff uniform proved to be Germans, and their action was an attempt to break our line. I hear also that Godfrey Faussett, Colonel of the Essex, has been killed. This upsets me far more than danger, and I have the nightmare question running in my head sometimes now, when talking to my friends or seniors whom I knew so well in England, “I wonder if I shall see you alive again.” A few snipers have been caught, and they present a weird and uncanny appearance. They wear uniforms of green cloth, to which in some cases are attached or sewn sprigs of gorse-bush and small branches of trees. Their rifles, hands, and faces are painted green, and they can be passed unnoticed at but a few yards’ distance. Most of them have been found in holes and dugouts underneath clusters of bushes, with two or three boxes of ammunition, and enough bread and water to ration them a fortnight.