Nothing doing today—a good deal of artillery activity though—my word these Bosches do waste their shells—I really don’t think they intend in Germany to carry this war on another winter—esp: when they are on such an excellent footing for diplomatic moves as now—with Russia well fenced in derrière Lemberg—but will we let ’em come to any terms whatever—that’s the question—I don’t think we shall ever be such dolts—do you? This morning I was just going to have a shave and brush-up when Jones appeared and Gen: Anley a little later—not much to say—the former—and when the Tin-hat came to view I slid down a communication trench—not my place among the High and Almighty! Since then[45] I have had my spring cleaning and a good look at the front line trenches with those very excellent glasses of Uncle C’s. It’s funny the way they start shelling here. All is quiet—then suddenly some wretched little spit-fire sends a few ‘Very little Willies’ over their trenches. A few mins: elapse then come some Hairy Maries—intended for the officious little offender—which generally plop round the reserve trenches sending up a ‘bush’ of black acrid smoke. Then the wily dogs send in a few ‘Whiz-bangs’ (so called since they burst before they even seem to leave the muzzle) which make our fellows wild—then the Germans get properly into their stride and—boom-boom-splosh-splosh is the order of the next few moments—being answered by our fellows with sickening little shrapnels which would hardly knock a sandbag over—You will see from this that Fritz has his own way here at present—but that is merely because we are saving our high explosive for when it is really needed—in a show.—All the same it makes one wild with rage. When we do get going of course ‘it ain’t no jam for Tommy—but it’s kites and crows for him!’ (and heaps of ’em too!). Well—my anxious ones—I laid it on a bit thick in my last long effort—believe me it is possible for AOH to exaggerate! Much love—Tinned Fruit and all your food just the thing! (Watch ready yet?) Ever your own loving son Oscar. If he would seem to have made the best of everything for our benefit, I can only say we have been shown a good many of the letters which Oscar still found time to write to others, and that practically[46] all are in the same strain of jovial enthusiasm, full of the same genial fire and the same spontaneous fun. The only difference is here and there a grim detail which might have shocked or harrowed us. Two examples are enough to show his tender thought for us in this respect. In the second letter there was perhaps an underlying sadness, but poor Crump’s death was enough to sadden him, and was just the sort of thing that Oscar would not tell us before he need. To Mr. de Havilland. June 29, ’15.