At the end of the war
(Ring, bells, merry bells!)
We intend
To keep hens,
Me and Helen.
(Ring, bells!)
Such hens!
(Merry bells!)
And though all our hens' eggs be surrounded by shells,
We shall laugh and not care;
For there won't be no war,
And no hell any more,
While Helen is there
With the hens.

I've just made that up, and the inspiration of so profound an epic has
made me want to doze again. Such a lot of dozing!


_November 12._

In to-day's letter I enclose a couple of field post-cards which I found
on a Boche dug-out bed-hole.

I've been so busy these last days, up till late hours, and writing has
been "na-poo." Leave? Yes, leave will come in time. Probably the first
half of December.

How maddening it is for poor old Tom! It's most damnable hard luck being