Do you send any of my letters on to Winnie? or anybody? After work to-day we went into the town to have tea. After tea we met some of our men and gave them some pay, pro. tem., as they have had no pay for two weeks or so and were broke. Then I bought a Pearson's magazine (price 1s.) and we started for home and got a lift on a 3-ton A.S.C. lorry, from which I dropped the magazine, unfortunately. I am billeted in an estaminet by myself, and Bill Fiddian is with two other officers on the same course in another estaminet in a large room with three beds, out of which all the bedrooms open. Grandma groans in one small room, Monsieur and Madame and about two dozen others in another small room and two officers in two other small rooms. Grandma has just gone to bed; she has attained to the small total of 97 years and seems able to look after herself. We have just been having a long talk with Madame, who brought us up our dinner, an omelette and coffee. We have been reading and talking, and on Monday we shall return to the battalion. The big candle you sent me is topping and is lasting for hours. The guns are at it again--they have been busy all day. The Germans were here once, but they are not here now. Since coming out here I have come to be very proud of the battalion. I have seen no battalion with their physique and few with their discipline. They sing a song about the Suffolk boys being respected wherever they go, and I think they are. In comparing them with other men, I have been struck, and so have others, with how fair they are. Most of them have very fair hair, often gold, and fair rosy cheeks. They seem a very Saxon type. I have been wondering whether they are descendents of the Danes and Saxons, who took refuge in the fens in Norman times, a memory of Hereward the Wake. The fen men have always been a separate race; they must have very little Norman blood in their veins. They have the Saxon stolidity also. I am very glad I am not in a town battalion like the Northumberlands and such regiments. They are not nearly so easy to control or so well disciplined, and I am pleased to discern to-day that our men seem much quicker in picking up new ideas, despite the fact that they are not so educated. Well, I am afraid all this is very boring. But, as I have suddenly developed into a writer of letters, I must write either just what comes into my head or nothing at all. It seems funny this long, stretching line of trenches, always busy even in the quietest of times. By daytime guns and shells; by night, bombs, flares, searchlights and machine guns. And a few miles behind it as we are, perfectly safe as if there was no such thing as war, with only the faint noises one notices, now faintly, now clearly, as the wind varies to remind one of the struggle going on. It seems funny to lie in a comfortable bed and watch it all through the window as on a stage. Noises off.