fire. If it were not for the rain I would try the firestep.

The men are having a rotten time again--no proper shelter from the
rain, and short rations, to say nothing of remarkably good practice by
the Boche artillery. C----, just out from England, got scuppered this
afternoon. A good boy--made his communion just before we came in. I
suppose he didn't know much about it, and that he is really better off
now; but at the same time it makes one angry.

* * * * *

The rain has lifted, so last night I tried the firestep, and got a
good sleep. The absurd thing was that I couldn't wake up properly. I
came on duty at midnight, was roused, got to my feet, and started to
walk along the trench. And then the Nameless Terror, that lurks in
dark corners when one is a small boy, gripped me. I was frightened of
the dark, filled with a sense of impending disaster! It took about
ten minutes to wake properly and shake it off. I must try to get more
sleep somehow; but it is jolly difficult.

* * * * *

The great bombardment has begun, the long-promised strafing of the
Boche. According to the gunners they will all be dead, buried, or
dazed when the time comes for us to go over the top. I doubt it! If
they have enough deep dug-outs I don't fancy that the bombardment will
worry them very much.

* * * * *