guns about. The life is either rather too exciting or ideal. It is usually a sort of picnic; at least, for the battery. We can't do any firing as I have not got my own ammunition at present. The men get up at any old time, they brew tea most of the day. In the morning they don't do much. Then they cook their dinner. In the afternoon they work on emplacements and some go down for rations; they have to carry it all a mile or two, and it takes a long time, mostly through trenches. Then they brew tea again. At night one is always on duty as a sentry over the guns. In the ordinary course of events their life and mine is just a picnic. Well, yesterday after lunch we worked, and then I had tea with the company I mess with, after which, at about 6-30, Kitton and I started out. By the way, the men all have to stand to arms for an hour or more at dawn and dusk. After stand-to in the morning, they get rum. I think I am the only man in the trenches who does not stand-to. Kitton and I went to see the Brigade Major, and they made us stay for dinner; we did not want to, as headquarters mess are all nice and clean and we were simply filthy, I had not shaved and was filthy dirty. I will tell you what I wear. Starting at the extremities:--Long pair of gum boots--they are an Army issue, and come up to the thighs, one pair socks, trousers (more intimate details censored), sweater, tunic, fur coat, what skin I don't know, it is something like squirrel in colour, grey--also an Army issue; and either a waterproof cape, coming down to the calves, Army issue (free) or my Thresher and Glenny.