It was with this screed that Oscar enclosed a set of his own verses, about which we had a little correspondence[34] later. They had only been jotted down, he explained, to go into his letter to me, and he would not hear of their emerging anywhere in print. ‘Heavens! I can get something better off my chest than that,’ he protested, ‘if it comes to “type”!’ These private pages, however, are barely in that category, and, as even Oscar allowed that his ‘doggerel’ was ‘true to experience,’ here those verses are: ‘JUNE 13th, 1915.’ Two long lines of sandbags twisted and intertwined, With a felled tree here and a shell hole there and a ‘traverse’ undermined; Fields which are dotted with men, down in the clover green; A rifle bent and a pouch half spent and a ruin in between: Scarcely a sound for token of what is taking place, For hardly a word is spoken and hardly sign of a face. Sudden—a shot outringing and—arms both backwards thrown, A curse at his foe outflinging, the Sniper has met his own! Silence again, and never a sound, but the swish of spades As each side makes endeavour to work ere daylight fades: Night, and the cover of darkness screens what the workers make, And Belgium in her starkness is still as a mountain lake. [35] And so the day is over—the end as much in doubt— And Fritz no nearer Dover; and so the papers shout: ‘At Przmysl and Epernay heavy battles have been fought, But (Official) Ypres way there’s nothing to report!’ This, at any rate, has been seen—if, indeed, not merely a dramatic version of the ‘ripping shot’ mentioned in another letter of about this date: My dearest Auntie,—You wrote me such a delightful letter and I loved every word of it. Thanks so much also for the Cream and Coffee—A.1.—only in this heat it won’t keep! If I may suggest so—Condensed Milk is better—but I loved the Coffee and have writted to M: for more. I am keeping them fairly at it at Hornton Street—what? They seem to be mad about my letters: I can only say that I love every word from them and from you too. Write again if you can spare the time—You have no idea how cheery it is to get your letters from the Ration-party (food!) at 2.30 A.M. when one is feeling pretty hard-boiled! Talking of food we are feeding like—well, like you seem to have fed at Hornton St.! I’ll tell you what we (another 2/Lt and self) have of an evening: 3-6 eggs apiece Soup (sometimes) Tea or Coffee or Chocolate Bread & Potted Meat & Butter and Jam Vin Ordinaire! (pinched from a ruined ‘estaminet’ (pub!) Dessert (Chocolate and anything we can rake up—dog biscuits etc:)