We had quite a merry evening last night: there was an attack on further south and the dickins of a noise, and we pumped over some rifle-grenades just to show there was no ill-feeling up our way—also I took out a brace of my N.C.O’s and attempted to give them some more to digest. As luck would have it both my efforts were ‘duds’—In other words they refused to explode—the other three grenades I couldn’t get the pin out of for firing—so I got beastly wet—lost a handkerchief and my temper for nothing—It’s an easy job here, as we are so near them, and as I told you before Fritz is much too busy at his game behind the barricade he has had the unbounded cheek to erect so near our lines,[52] to notice our little wanderings.—It is this ‘little game’ of his that we want to discover and to put an end to—because we have an idea that he is attempting to blow the Estaminet up and, incidentally, us with it! However—‘ne craignez pas—pour nous partons demain!’ Twiggez-vous? Old Clarke was at his best this morning when they sent the sausage over—The first landed just over his (and as it happened mine) booby—and out he came like a shot rabbit—his language—oh! ‘priceless’ isn’t the word! He then lay out (in the most exposed part of the trench) and drawled—‘Fritz can do what he jolly well likes etc: etc:!’ His sarcasm is really worthy of some of my Eton friends! He said that they kept our guns in a glass case—he was dead on our guns—and well he might be, considering that they never do a jolly thing up this way. If they do wake up they unfailingly drop 1 in 6 into our front line or just in front in their fatherly way—I love to hear the remarks passed on them—I endorse them all fully myself! Clarke’s remark that they gave us ‘O-hello’ this morning was rather nice! Some of the officers of a Territorial Division just come up here spent the night with us, in order to acquaint themselves with the trench and its many vicissitudes! They will be relieving us probably tomorrow—and it is possible that we shall go back altogether for a week or more to reorganize. We shall go behind—a good way back somewhere and generally collect ourselves, for we want collecting. This is only a possibility though at present. About Crump—he was shot dead outside my booby—just when another death we know of occurred—so I didn’t mention it in my letter—it wasn’t at all necessary.... He was a brave fellow.... [53] As for casualties—there have been very few in our Coy: none in my platoon since the above—over a week ago now. These flies are the limit—there’s old Clarke at it again. He’s wildly excited because our chaps have shut up one of their most officious batteries on our right with a brace of heavy explosives—‘There’ll be a Court of Inquiry on that,’ says Clarke! It is a fairly placid evening—a little shelling by the Bosches—but nowhere near our line—we are too near their own crowd to be shelled very frequently—only when they have the exact range.