put on to another. This is supposed to be a compliment.

The authorities allowed us exactly two days' rest, and then packed us
off by train, with the new draft, to a particularly hot sector of the
trench-line in Belgium--there to carry on with the operation known in
nautical circles as "executing repairs while under steam."

Well, we have been in Belgium for two months now, and, as already
stated, are getting into our stride again.

There are new faces everywhere, and some of the old faces are not
quite the same. They are finer-drawn; one is conscious of less
chubbiness all round. War is a great maturing agent. There is,
moreover, an air of seasoned authority abroad. Many who were second
lieutenants or lance corporals three months ago are now commanding
companies and platoons. Bobby Little is in command of "A" Company: if
he can cling to this precarious eminence for thirty days--that is,
if no one is sent out to supersede him--he becomes an "automatic"
captain, aged twenty! Major Kemp commands the battalion; Wagstaffe is
his senior major. Ayling has departed from our midst, and rumour
says that he is leading a sort of Pooh Bah existence at Brigade
Headquarters.

There are sad gaps among our old friends of the rank and file. Ogg
and Hogg, M'Slattery and M'Ostrich, have gone to the happy
hunting-grounds. Private Dunshie, the General Specialist (who, you
may remember, found his true vocation, after many days, as battalion
chiropodist), is reported "missing." But his comrades are positive
that no harm has befallen him. Long experience has convinced them that
in the art of landing on his feet their departed friend has no equal.