Good-night, Mother, From your loving Son, ALEC. 11TH SUFFOLKS, B.E.F. My darling Mother, I hope you got my last letters all right and understood them. Since writing them I have moved, but the battalion has not. Two of us and 71 men are on a course in trench mortars. We have moved some 12 miles further, and are, I think, about three miles from where Arthur was. We came right up here in 'busses, and arrived here no one seemed to know anything about us, so we had to forage round and get billets for our men and then for ourselves. When all was settled, an officer came and told us he had orders from his brigade to have these billets for a battalion just coming out of the trenches, so we started off again, and finally fixed the men up and in the end ourselves in an estaminet (whisper it softly--a pub.) in a wee room with one large bed. We both then slept on the bed and used the rest of the room for storing our clothes in. The men were roused up in the night by a false alarm from the trenches, but they did not disturb us. To-day we breakfasted at 9-0 and were lectured to in the morning and afternoon by an officer, who came out of the trenches yesterday afternoon. This evening we went to a fairly large town near here and had tea and dinner. At tea we found a large major leaving the cafe and vainly looking for his cap. At length he got the services of a waitress. "I've lost my cap" ("ton chapeau?") "Call it what you like as long as you find it." He was rather amusing. Dinner we had in the usual French cafe I have described before, and returned home to bed. The other man has gone to another estaminet and so I am sleeping alone. The house is on a slight rise, so from my window at night I can see a huge circle with lights going up every minute here and there--star shells, they quite light up the room, then flashes and a boom. They have just been quite bad tempered a few miles north of us and have been making a dickens of a row. I think it is a nuisance that ought to be stopped, it must be quite annoying to the people round. Now they are getting distinctly unfriendly to the south for a little. It looks like a fifth of November show, rather long drawn-out. Please excuse this writing, as I am lying down in bed. Good-night, little Mother, Your loving Son, ALEC.