I got as far as this and then "something" happened. Twenty-four hours
have gone by and once more it's nearly midnight and I write to you by
candle-light. Since last night I've been with these infantry
boy-officers who are doing such great work in such a careless spirit of
jolliness. Any softness which had crept into me during my nine days of
happiness has gone. I'm glad to be out here and wouldn't wish to be
anywhere else till the war is ended.

It's a week to-day since we were at _Charlie's Aunt_--such a cheerful
little party! I expect the boys are doing their share of remembering too
somewhere on the sea at present. I know you are, as you round the coast
of Ireland and set out for the Atlantic.

I've not been out of my clothes for three days and I've another day to
go yet. I brought my haversack into the trenches with me; on opening it
I found that some kind hands had slipped into it some clean socks and a
bottle of Horlick's Malted Milk tablets.

The signallers in a near-by dug-out are singing Keep the Home-Fires
Burning Till the Boys Come Home. That's what we're all doing, isn't
it--you at your end and we at ours? The brief few days of possessing
myself are over and once more stern duty lies ahead. But I thank God for
the chance I've had to see again those whom I love, and to be able to
tell them with my own lips some of the bigness of our life at the Front.
No personal aims count beside the great privilege which is ours to carry
on until the war is over.

All my thoughts are with you--so many memories of kindness. I keep on