afternoon for some weeks after the offensive began. For some time the
number of letters was about four hundred every day. A number of men had
written farewell letters--very moving they seemed, but I did not think
it part of my duty to look too closely at these. They had addressed them
and then put them in their pockets, hoping that if they were killed they
might be discovered. Some had been finished just before the order to go
over the parapet. But the curious thing was that these were sent home,
with a few words in a covering note saying they were alive and well, as
a sort of keepsake. In those written after arrival in hospital a sense
of gratitude to God was very frequent, and a great longing for home and
the children. Some strange phrases were used: a mother would be
addressed as 'Dear old face,' or simply 'Old face.' But poets used to
write verses to their mistresses' eyebrows, and why not a letter to a
mother's face?

The German prisoners sent a message asking if they might speak with the
_Hauptmann-Pfarrer_. They besought me to send word to their relatives
that they were safe. I took the full particulars and promised to ask the
Foreign Office to forward, but could not guarantee the messages getting
through, as their government was behaving very badly over the matter.
They were all very anxious that I should be sure and say their wounds
were slight (_leicht_).

Next day came urgent orders that all wounded were to be evacuated who
could possibly be moved. So far as we had heard events seemed to be
moving fairly well at Loos, but there were some ugly rumours and the
atmosphere was one of great uneasiness. After dinner that evening the
commanding officer, Major Frankau, took me aside, and asked me not to
go to bed as they would need every available pair of hands throughout
the night.