until early morning probably—so I haven’t done badly! I had a little jaunt with a R. Cross Captain in his ambulance Car and got some money from the Field Cashier, had a shave and shampoo and two excellent[41] meals—in which we had Strawberries!—in the town close by here. At first I was jolly sick at having to come back, but it has really been rather a ‘jaunt,’ starting with our escapade in the early hours—for all the world like those early rises up at Masongill—crawling after Rabbits: these were ‘some rabbits’! Well—am dead tired—so good night. I knew you would like a description of this sort of thing—but remember that it is an every night occurrence—this bombing—and jolly sight nicer than sitting helplessly being shelled by invisible guns. It is the only relic of the old fighting left in this war—this bombing—none of your gas or shells—but just like our troops did at Badajoz etc: in the old wars—top-hole.... (47) Sunday, June 20th, ’15. 8 P.M. My dearest Mummy,—Thanks so much for your 2 lovely letters. The P.C. I got last night—No: I letter this morning and No: II just now! I am in the height of happiness, for I have had such a glorious lot of letters and parcels since I came here yesterday. Last night the fruits from G.M. and a parcel from Barkers via Daddy and your letter and a very nice one from Mr. Bryers with a 7d novel—and tonight your letter—a very cheery one from D—and a delightful one from de Havilland—one that makes me thrill with the old zest for the House I used to feel in those immortal House-matches and all the other things which you know I held dear at Eton—also 3 parcels of food!—more from D—more from you (?)—and still more from D with the Army & Navy Canteen thing!!! The whole mess-table is now rocking with my things!! [42] Oh! Mummy, what a glorious time I am having! I mean all these letters and parcels from you and D, the former so cheery and encouraging—and the very life itself—in the thick of it, and yet at Stone House, Eton, Masongill and, always, No: 7. Through every one of these places I have been time and again and yet with my feet on Belgian soil and my eyes bunged up with sleep! Never has my imagination stood me in such stead—you will laugh, but all the same you will understand. What does it matter where one is and how one is so long as one has these pictures behind one—I am beginning to see the falseness of materialism—One can be in a French trench and yet at Masongill with the greatest ease—I can, thank heaven. Well—our little dinner is on the table in the garden and it is getting dark—a beautiful evening. I have been strolling round the fields with my mind concentrated on Masongill—that is the greatest rest one gets here from the trenches—Freedom for absent-mindedness—which of course it is!! I presume you have had my long letter to D forwarded on to you—that has all my news. A kiss to G.M.—and a big one! Ever yr own loving and very—very happy son— Oscar