Weather growing hotter daily. Flies increasing all the time. Flowers coming into bloom fast. Eased my feet by changing socks from left to right—the only change I could manage. Rockets thrown up by the Turks last night. Wonder what the game is? Fancy homing pigeons are being used by the enemy, as I have noticed quite a lot flying about lately. _May_ be wild ones, of course. Went on trenching same as yesterday. _May 15._—Heavy firing during night. New Zealanders stormed enemy's trenches to the left of our position last night and held them against strong counter attacks. Reported loss 500. A good bit of work well carried out. Antwerp and Ostend reported to be recaptured. Submarines said to be cruising off Anzac Cove, and all transports have left in consequence. H.M.S. _Lion_ said to have been torpedoed; didn't know she was nearer than the North Sea. Went up to "Quinn's" at noon to go on sapping, etc. Some sniping, but little damage. Wish we could get the dead buried: the stench takes a lot of getting used to. Fairly quiet night. Three weeks to-morrow since we landed! As lively a three weeks as any man could wish for. It seems like three months. But it's got to be done. And if I am lucky enough to get through this slather-up I mean to live a man of peace for the rest of my natural: get on to a tidy little place, grow spuds and cabbages, and raise early chickens—and kiddies! CHAPTER IX SITTING TIGHT _May 16._—Went on sapping, this time at "Pope's Hill." Had a man killed here in rather curious way. He was in the act of throwing out a shovelful of dirt when a bullet struck the blade of the shovel as it appeared for an instant above the parapet, came right down the handle, and knocked the poor chap's brains over his tunic. Rough luck! Came off work at noon. Quiet evening; some artillery and machine-gun fire. Another of our officers killed by a sniper to-day. A smart sort he was, too, and popular with all in the corps. Rum and tobacco issued—always an event. But why do they give us "medium strength" when nine out of ten of our chaps have been used to hard tack? This soft stuff only burns our tongues and makes us say our prayers backwards. Got to bed early and was lulled to sleep by the music of bursting bombs and heavy rifle fire in the neighbourhood of "Quinn's" and "Courtney's." Our camp is at the foot of the cliff to the left of "Dead Man's Ridge," only thirty yards behind the firing line; all day and night we hear the song of bullets and the scream of shells passing overhead. I expect we'll miss them when we retire into private life again—if any of us are left to do the retiring stunt. One of our cooks shot dead while bending over his pots. Oh, it's a sweet spot, is Anzac! Weather growing much warmer. Seems to agree with the flies. Wonder what part in the scheme of Nature flies play?