I have another letter half written to you, but the tablet it was written on is left at my billet, and, as I rather forgot where I left off, I hope I will not leave a gap. To-day is Monday, 22nd. As you know, or will know when I finish the other letter, Friday and Saturday we moved, and rather marched up, billeting Friday night and on Saturday night--I won't go into details. On the march we saw an aeroplane being shelled--a very pretty sight--white puffs of smoke bursting all round it; one bit of shrapnel fell quite near us and made one of the brigade sergeants quite excited. I am writing this in comfort in bed in my dug-out, though my eyes keep trying to close; I am a bit tired, but I shall get a good night's sleep, I hope. It is now nearly eleven. On Sunday morning I came up early to prospect round the trenches, and to take over from the battery we were relieving. I prospected and then returned back to bring the battery up. To get to the trenches we go first along the road up to a deserted village the Germans shell when they have nothing better to do. They were shelling it when I came out in the morning. I have often heard shells described as sounding like express trains coming through the air. They are almost as difficult to describe as the noise of the bullet. It's a far quicker noise than an express train. It sounds like a taxi going at about a hundred miles an hour and then bursting; a bullet sounds like someone cracking a very loud whip just in your ear, and a bit noisier than that when it is close to you. A machine gun--there is one going now--sounds like a very noisy motor bike, exactly like one, shells and bullets both whistle as well as they are going on. Well, I must get on, I brought my men in in the afternoon. After you get to the deserted village, you start up the communication trench, twisting and turning for about 1,000 yards, you pass the second line, and so on up to the firing line. The trenches we are in are rather wet, but quite pleasant. Directly we arrived in I found dug-outs for the men and myself, or rather pinched them, and put my guns in position. I will carry on to-morrow, I hope; till then, good-night. It's to-morrow now, and nearly the day after; in fact, it is the day after. You will be glad to know that the trench mortar man is the only one who gets a chance to sleep in the trenches; that is, to have a decent sleep. This morning I got up at 11-0, when my servant got me tea and a fire. Here is a plan of my dug-out:-- [Illustration]