_July 29._

In the same cottage.

It's very hot. Ammunition lorries go by in an endless string, making the
deuce of a dust. But we are far away from guns and gun food and noise. I
got leave to go up to ---- yesterday.

I do dislike noise so, don't you? The noise of a battery in action is
diabolical, and the very thought of it makes me shiver. There go the
senseless lorries, all packed with music for a more hellish orchestra
than you can remotely imagine. The first few bars are enough to drive
you nearly frantic. It's unholy. It seems to split your head and
tear your ears out of their sockets. Can you understand a noise that
hits you? Hits unbearably, and then again. Crashes on to you. Bangs your
bones out of your skin, till you feel dazed and sick.

Still the lorries go by.


[Illustration: FRICOURT CEMETERY
The moon and some signal lights over FRICOURT. LA
BOISELLE just over the hill. French crosses all bent and twisted.
The little chapel still standing.]


_August 3._