Good night my little boy--I'm very tired and I've got to shave and have a good wash before I go to bed on the floor next to your friend Ex Corporal Willson on one side of me and with Galton and Fisher (you have met Fisher but not Galton--he is a Scotchman and likes whiskey hot before going to sleep)--with Galton and Fisher kicking me on the other side. God bless you my dearest little man. Please _please_ be very good to dear Mummy and your newest Nanny and please _please_ don't ever spit. I should hate to hear that you had been spitting when I come back. Your DOODY. III--LETTER TO HIS WIFE ON CHRISTMAS ST. ALBANS, Dec. 26th, 1914. DEAREST, We have had a terrific Xmas ... tremendous work and plenty of fun. Went to Midnight Service on Xmas Eve (special leave being granted from 11 P.M. to 2 A.M. to those wanting to go, and of course I was after anything going). I know you will forgive me for not writing more often. We have really been up to our necks in work--and an alarum warned us as likely to occur on Boxing Day ... we were all packed up and ready--and indeed one battalion was entrained and another paraded for entrainment before the "warning" was withdrawn to _us_ of the 6th Field Ambulance. Perhaps you won't understand this: it means that the fighting section of the brigade--the battalions--(which of course move off ahead of us) were not only warned but ordered--in other words we were _all_ ordered but _our_ order was countermanded before taking effect. Hard luck on the Battalions wasn't it? The 21st had to march 12½ miles and back for nothing, having been roused at 4 in the morning to begin with. That is the advantage of belonging to a unit that travels by "train no. 57" as we do, instead of one of the first units to go out. I'm going to turn in. God bless you and my baby--do write soon and at length. I know posts are responsible for it but I haven't had a letter since the one containing the photos--for which many thanks--now four days ago and I am longing for one. Bless you! Bless you! IV--LETTER TO HIS WIFE ON LANDING IN FRANCE FRANCE, March 18th, 1915. Here we are in France--journey not finished yet. We had an ideal crossing--and a most amazing one. I believe every square yard of the Channel has its own British T.B. Destroyer--queer black shapes with rectangular outlines, hard and well drawn against the dark sky or the streams of light from more distant warships. I never saw one in detail with the light upon it--always in silhouette against the light. We steamed with lights out nearly all the way. I slept on deck--not over warm--but I kept getting up to see the latest sight as one or other called me and so kept warm.