June 9, ’15. 10 P.M. My dearest Mummy and Daddy,—No post last night so I daresay I shall get something tonight. Another quiet day today—rained a bit this evening. Crump got me some fresh eggs and milk from a neighbouring farm behind the Canal—priceless servant, what? The flies are awful during the day here now—‘Muscatol’ quickly please! Tomorrow night we go into the front line trenches which are barely 70 yards from our friends—There are no trenches to speak of and we are fired on from every quarter of the globe—but that is why they are sending the Essex there—remember! Tonight we are working away at the trench just in front of us—the men are working splendidly—and the whole place is swimming with mud and water already! [26] ... Monypenny and I and de la Mare lay and basked all day in our shirts drinking hot tea and cursing at the flies. This evening I had my Section Commanders up (remember—4 Sections—about 10 men—to a Platoon) and told them a few things. It is by cursing the N.C.O’s that one gets any efficiency out of the men—It is just like H. de H.’s at Eton over again—House didn’t swing together if the younger members of ‘Debate’ didn’t control their juniors—who were friends of theirs.—So the young N.C.O. finds it hard to drop on the men from whom he has just been raised in rank—and ‘the backbone of the Army is the non-commissioned man.’ R. K. Thanks to my worthy Sergeant Clarke—in charge of Platoon—my men are learning discipline and how to keep their heads—by degrees—but it is very hard work, as they are really all very young and inexperienced—straight from the home, so to speak—I am not quite sure how they would do if it was a case of ‘no one cares to face ’em but every beggar must’—(R. K.)—however, as I told my Corporals tonight, we shall see their worth sooner or later. Peake was wounded last night—only slightly in the arm—will be back soon, in fact. I have got some glorious G: shells here—but don’t know how I could ever get them on to the mantelshelf in the Study!! Some more of that café au lait, please, and condensed milk and Menier Chocolate—keep you busy! Well—I must go out again and have a look round—we shall have a great time in this trench out in front—it is in a swamp and there are fifty Canadians in the Parapet! Toodle-oo! Much love to you both and everyone else at No. 7. I so love your letters—both of you. ‘Bon Soir!’ Your loving son, Oscar. [27] (37) June 10th, 1915. My dearest Mummy & Daddy,—No letter last night, but I expect something tonight—perhaps the bed! Today has been again uneventful and we go into the new trenches at 9.30 tonight. It is one mass of mud here now but will soon dry up with the sun. We shall be six days in the new trenches, and then probably straight back to billets. What was my surprise today but to see Monypenny suddenly open a ½ bottle of champagne! He had been given it down at Battalion Headquarters—a present from the C.O.!