Private G. Tomkins, of the Royal Sussex Regiment, wrote this to his sister: "We have a saying out here, 'Don't dream of home.' When a man has a particularly vivid dream of home he knows that he will be killed in his next fight. There was a man of ours that awoke the other night from a beautiful dream. He thought he was back at home on the conclusion of peace, and he had a great reception from his wife and two children. The two little ones were crawling all over him, and laughing with delight. They were all happy, and the thing was so vivid that he had to tell us all about it. It seemed to please him. Sure enough his number was up, for that afternoon he was struck in the throat with a bullet, and as he died the only words he uttered were: 'Oh, my God, I shall never see my children again.'" In the trenches on the Aisne after a hard fight, a wounded Seaforth Highlander found one of the Gloucester with an unfinished letter in his hand. It was written to his wife and little girl. It spoke hopefully of the future, and said: "Tell Annie I will be home in time to make her Christmas tree." He never got further, for a German shell had laid him out. An officer of the Bedfords, while in the trenches, was opening a parcel and a letter from his wife, and in the excitement of the moment the poor fellow forgot to take cover and he was shot through the heart. A pathetic incident also occurred in the case of a private. He was shot in the chest and the bullet also passed through a corresponding spot in a photograph of his wife, which he carried with him. A private in the Northumberland Fusiliers wrote: "I came across a young chap sitting with his back against a tree--dead, and around him in a circle he had placed all his letters and photographs, as much as to say: 'Please post these to the people concerned, as I am dying.' Another chap had in his hand the photograph of his wife and child." Talking one evening at a camp fire, a soldier remarked: "I've got four little nippers. George, the eldest, is a proper little chap. He sent me a postcard out here of a black cat and wrote on the back of it 'Please stroke the cat every night for luck.' I never forget to do that before I go to sleep." Our soldiers certainly have domestic affections. At a parade service near the trenches they were singing away in fine style: "Can a woman's tender care Cease toward the child she bare?" The singers broke down and the lines had to be left out. The following was sent by Private Ingram, 2nd Welsh Regiment, to cheer up his mother and encourage his brother: "As you say, the Germans do want 'boiling,' and we are all trying our best to do it, too. I am glad to hear Arthur [a brother] has joined the Army. Do not worry, for it is all for the best, and remember that a soldier's death is a glorious one. To die fighting for my country is the greatest honour I could have, and I am glad Arthur thinks so too."