How much longer have we got to go? It’s like a long, long walk, with no milestones, towards an unknown destination. If we only knew how much farther our goal lay, it would be easier. I dreamed last night of Kootenay, all green and cool and somnolent. It was rest, rest, rest. One gazed through the apple-trees to the quiet lake and felt happy in the too much beauty. But please don’t worry about me. LXX France August 17, 1918 I’m in the support trenches to-night carrying on with the infantry. This is my third day and I am relieved to-morrow. Yesterday I had a gorgeous spree which I will tell you about some day. I was out in front of our infantry in an attack, scouting for the enemy. This war may be boring at times, but its great moments hold thrills which you could find nowhere else. It may sound mad, but it’s extraordinary fun to be chased by enemy machine-gun bullets. I’ve recently had fun of every kind. Once again death is a familiar sight—tired bodies lying in the August sunshine. In places where men once were, birds are the only inhabitants remaining. In this hole in the ground where I am sitting I found a copy of the New York Times for 30th June, with the first advertisement of Out to Win. Less than thirty hours ago the Hun was sitting here and making himself quite comfortable. I wonder if he was the owner of the New York Times. I was relieved last night, and had a difficult walk back to the battery. There were several letters from you all awaiting me. How tired I was you may judge when I tell you that I fell asleep without reading them. For the first time in a fortnight I had my breeches off last night. Up forward one got drenched with sweat by day and lay sodden and itchy on the damp ground by night. But don’t think we weren’t cheerful—we were immensely happy. There’s no game in the world like pushing back the Hun. I had another example of how we treat our prisoners. A young officer came in captive while I was shaving. “How long before we win?” I asked him. “We are going to vin,” he replied. “If not, vhy because?” Our Tommies started kidding him. “Say, beau, you don’t look much like winning now.” And then they offered him water and food, although we were short ourselves and his whole deportment was insolent. During an attack, while I was within 200 yards of the advanced post and pinned under a barrage, a Canadian Tommy wormed his way towards me. “Say, sir, are you hungry? Have some maple sugar and cake?” Was I hungry! He had received a parcel from Canada the night before which he had taken with him into the attack. There, amongst whizz-bangs and exploding five-nines, we feasted together, washing it all down with water from the bottle of a neighbouring dead Hun. You can’t beat chaps who joke, think of home, go forward, and find time to love their enemies under shell-fire. They’re extraordinary and as normal as the air. LXXI France August 20, 1918