firing line we were making for, unarmed except for the moral effect our gas helmets would create by their hideousness. However, I soon managed to breathe out and to see a bit. Then I noticed the position of the Very lights and saw we still held the front line, so we felt reassured, especially as we could hear the topping sound of our own shells whizzing over our heads, about the most comforting sound I have ever heard. When we came to Battalion Headquarters we found that the gas was off and gladly took off our helmets and tried to push on to the firing line. But we had awful difficulty, as about 800 men, who had been in working parties working on the trenches, were coming down, and the whole way up the C.T. we were sniped and shelled, the shells bursting all round us within a few yards, but, thank goodness, none going into the trench. The men coming down seemed to think the end of the world had come were almost on their hands and knees. We tried to encourage them a bit, but they did not like to stand up, though they were not likely to be hit unless a shell came into the trench. At length we arrived at the safety of the firing line; really it is quite the safest place unless you are several miles back. They practically never shell the trenches unless there is an attack coming off, because they can do so little damage without shooting off hundreds of rounds. In the firing line we found things quieted down, no attack being made against us and things generally normal. The alarm had come from our right. There was an attack away up North, and probably the alarm had been passed right down the line. I think we were successful in the attack I mention. At about 3-0 a.m. I got to bed. I arose this morning at about 11-0. Fuller fried my breakfast on the brazier and I had it in bed. Then I washed my feet, rubbed them with anti-frost bite, had a good wash and shave, brushed my teeth and hair and went to lunch feeling very fit. Had tea this afternoon at our Battalion Headquarters and am now going to bed at 1-10 a.m., having been scrawling this rubbish for about an hour; breakfast in bed in the morning, I think. I am afraid this letter has been a long time coming, but somehow I always seem to have something to do. There are two noises I can hear now, one the squeak of a rat, but I know he won't come in (at least, I hope not), and two, the crack of a sniper's bullet, which I know has no chance of coming in. As the papers would say, "Situation normal on the Western Front." We get absolutely no news, you know more of what is going on in France than I do. We heard that the division on our right were in action the other night, but, although it was four nights ago, we don't know whether it is true.