Sunday morning, your first back in Newark. You're not up yet owing to
the difference in time--I can imagine the quiet house with the first of
the morning stealing greyly in. You'll be presently going to church to
sit in your old-fashioned mahogany pew. There's not much of Sunday in
our atmosphere--only the little one can manage to keep in his heart. I
shall share the echo of yours by remembering.

I'm waiting orders at the present moment to go forward with the Colonel
and pick out a new gun position. You know I'm very happy-satisfied for
the first time I'm doing something big enough to make me forget all
failures and self-contempts. I know at last that I can measure up to the
standard I have always coveted for myself. So don't worry yourselves
about any note of hardship that you may interpret into my letters, for
the deprivation is fully compensated for by the winged sense of
exaltation one has.

Things have been a little warm round us lately. A gun to our right,
another to our rear and another to our front were knocked out with
direct hits. We've got some of the chaps taking their meals with us now
because their mess was all shot to blazes. There was an officer who was
with me at the 53rd blown thirty feet into the air while I was watching.
He picked himself up and insisted on carrying on, although his face was
a mass of bruises. I walked in on the biggest engagement of the entire
war the moment I came out here. There was no gradual breaking-in for me.
My first trip to the front line was into a trench full of dead.

Have you seen Lloyd George's great speech? I'm all with him. No matter
what the cost and how many of us have to give our lives, this War must
be so finished that war may be forever at an end. If the devils who plan