One of my draft has been killed and five wounded at Kut. Our
casualties there are 21 out of 180. I shall look forward to seeing my
men again: I hope about the second Sunday after Epiphany. We shall
then march with a force equal to the King of France's on his
celebrated and abortive expedition of ascent. Our destination is a
profound secret, but you may give Nissit three guesses and make her
write me her answers on a Valentine.

Christmas passed off quietly and cheerfully. T.A. is so profoundly
insensible of incongruities that he saw nothing to worry him in the
legend A MERRY CHRISTMAS and the latest casualty list on the
same wall of the R.A.T.A. room: and he sang "Peace on earth and mercy
mild" and "Confound their politics" with equal gusto. And his temper
is infectious while you're with him.

The most perplexing Reuter's come through from the Balkans.

* * * * *

AMARAH.

_Christmas Day_, 1915.

TO R.K.

I hope you got my last letter safely. I enclosed it in my home one to
be forwarded.

There is little news from this theatre, and what there is we mayn't
write, for the most part.

My Coy. is being bombarded at Kut still. They have had 21 casualties
out of 180. One of my draft is killed and five wounded and here
everyone is parroting about a Merry Christmas. Truly the military man
is a pachyderm.

This is likely to be the last you will hear of me for some time,
though I hope to be able to dob out a post-card here and there,
perhaps letters now and then. In a word, we're moving next week and
are not likely to see billets again till we lodge with the
descendants, either of the Caliphs or of Abraham's early neighbours.

My leg is so far recovered that I take it as almost certain I shall
march too when we go. I am testing it to make sure first. Yesterday it
did six miles without damage, though the gait remains Hephaestian.

The weather is still cold, and fine and dry. The sunsets are
glorious.

* * * * *

AMARAH.

_December_ 26, 1915.

TO N.B.

Christmas and submarines have made the mails very late and we have
again been nearly a fortnight without any.

We have got our orders to move and so I look forward to a fairly
prolonged period of trekking, during which it will hardly be possible
to do more than write odd postcards and occasional short letters; but
I will write when I can. We start in two or three days time.

I expect my leg