Lieutenant C.A.E. Chudleigh, who is serving with the Indian Force, says in a letter: "One usually spends most of one's slack hours in terrific efforts to dig oneself out of several layers of grime, and it is a job, too, with nothing but scrubbing soap and cold water out of a ditch. It sounds awful to you I expect, but it isn't really as bad as it sounds. For one thing we are getting so used to it, and if approached in the true holiday spirit it really becomes quite a sort of picnic. No rotting! I really have thoroughly enjoyed the last few weeks since we have been here. I don't think I have had so many jolly good laughs in my life. It is a funny thing that, on looking back, I think I have spent most of my life in search of excitements and interesting scenes and people, and now I have found them in profusion. It is as good as a cinematograph." Speaking of dispatch-riding in the war, a motor-cyclist said to a reporter, "I've never really lived till I came to the war. We have to rough it at times, but the fun we have is simply gorgeous. Yesterday a shell (he laughed much when he said this) came down about fifty yards from me, but I got through with my dispatches without a scratch. This is splendid work for the nut who wants an outlet for his high spirits." And our Indian troops get equal enjoyment from the game. A dusky warrior being asked how he liked being in action replied, "Sahib, all wars are beautiful, but this one is heavenly." At the beginning of winter at the front, games were arranged for leisure days and evenings. There were to be inter-trench and inter-army football matches. A Battle Hunt Club was formed, and a pack of foxhounds brought over from England. A phonograph company sent songs, which, with the aid of field telephones, could be "turned on" to any trench at any time. We suspect that it is chiefly young soldiers and new arrivals at the front who think of war as a game. The game must seem to be played out when winter days have to be passed in cold wet trenches, when frost bites, when wounds are inflicted, when food and other supplies are delayed. Many poor soldiers must echo the sentiment of one of their number who wrote at the end of a letter, "I must admit that I shall not be sorry when peace comes. A little of the game of war goes a long way. At first it is interesting, but the horror and foolishness of it I shall never get over."