... Another quiet day to-day, and tonight we go into reserve trenches—which is very tame—and from there probably to billets for rest after about 4 days—so have no anxiety about me, my dears, for another 8 days at least.... Well—we both spent[20] our Whit Monday as circumstances permitted, didn’t we? I had the most thrilling day of my life, anyhow, and the moonlight night wasn’t quite like Oxshott Woods!... I am hearing priceless things whilst I write: such as these: ‘All change here for Liverpool Street’ as the guards are being relieved: and ‘You want a shave, Bill—outside and you’ll get a —— close one!’ ... This is a wretchedly written epistle, but you must remember that I am sitting in a very cramped position in my temporary dug-out—consisting of a niche in the trench, 6 ft. long by 2 ft. wide! I believe I told you this before, but there is nothing like rubbing it in! I got quite a sleep last night, turning in here about 12.30 A.M. and sleeping till 4 A.M.—best I’ve had so far. The routine is always—for both sides—work by night—sniping and sleep by day. Now there is just desultory rifle-fire going on—perfectly safe as long as you keep down. We have had no more casualties since Monday’s affray. ... My platoon sergeant is a fine chap ... a sound fellow. Unshaven for 1 week he looks just like an old pirate with one of those ‘Swiss Caps’ on his head. (27) May 30th, ’15. 7 P.M. My dearest Mummy & Daddy,—Got both papers last night and your ripping letter when I returned from a tedious digging expedition just in front of the enemy lines—most welcome they were! Now I hope all letters and parcels will behave themselves, though I must admit none of the parcels have arrived as yet. I hope for a different discovery when we return to ‘billets’ however, which will probably be tomorrow or[21] next day. I am out of the trenches now and on the bonny banks of a Canal 2 miles back from the firing-line—In Reserve, in fact. We left the trenches Friday night—had a quiet day here yesterday, in which I was able to get a shave and wash—and last night I had to go with the aforementioned digging-party right in front of our lines, and fill up some trenches which a regiment evacuated the other day in face of the Germans. This was to prevent them getting them for their own use. It is weird work—standing out there between the two firing-lines in the semi-darkness—with flares (which the Germans send up continuously all night) showing one up plainly, as they show everything else up in the vicinity. They use fire-works for these, of course. There was a big attack going on made by the French on our left, so all was quiet in our actual area, though you never know when the enemy aren’t going to hear the sound of the shovels and open fire. Then the moon shining over all makes the gutted, stark farm-houses scattered over the fields stand out grotesquely—for all the world as if you were standing at the Coliseum end of the Forum in Rome and looking into it.