_May 23._—Went on at "Quinn's" again, loopholing and strengthening fire trenches. Curious state of affairs here: _we_ sapped out towards enemy's lines some time ago—and met the Turks doing the same towards us. Result: _a communicating trench from our lines into his_, which is guarded night and day at either end by each party respectively, the intervening distance being about ten yards! Didn't dare to expose ourselves, as sharp-shooters were sniping all the time from two sides, a cross-fire at a range of about forty yards. Got back to camp and found issue of rum awaiting me, also ration of _fresh_ beef. Cooked it on a grill made of twisted fencing wire and had an A1 blow-out. More letters to-day. Wonder what the navy is doing at the Dardanelles? Rumours; the air is full of them. Here are three: (_a_) Turkey has demanded either £40,000,000 or £50,000,000 from Germany, otherwise she will join the Allies; (_b_) we are going to be relieved and sent home to England on the 25th instant, to refit; (_c_) submarines are cruising about quite close. To-day the warships bombarded the enemy's trenches just in front of our own, first giving us warning to keep our heads well down. Didn't need the warning, as shells simply skimmed our parapets. One plumped _into_ a trench full of Australians. Didn't do much damage luckily, but upset the harmony of a nice little card-party playing poker. Result: the loss of some money and several tempers. Got a blanket served out to-day. Could have done with it a long time ago. Still waiting for trousers; the pair I own now on their last legs. Talking of legs, I bumped into one to-day sticking out into one of our support trenches. You had to duck to pass it. Seems that our chaps when building the cover found a dead Turk badly in their way, and as they would have had some difficulty in removing him they decided to build him up _in_ the roof; his leg slipped through, however, so they just let it hang. Quiet night; hardly any firing at any part of the line. _May 24._—Just finishing breakfast when rain started. The worst of it is that even a slight fall turns this country into a kind of clay bog, owing to the top soil clogging on one's boots and then slipping over the subsoil. It is like climbing a greased egg to scale the hills—and our position here is on top of a high ridge running round a deep gully. Coming down one generally does a joy slide on one's hindquarters. Have been ordered to stand by, pending a rumoured armistice supposed to take place at 7.30 a.m. Heard that Italy has come in on Allies' side: this time it seems to be credited. Hope it is true.