s it was written:--

"Somewhere in France,
3/4/17.
Dear Sir:--

I am going to ask you a question which has been a load to my
little bit of mental capacity for a period of months. Often have I
woke up in the old dugout, my hair standing straight up and one
eye looking straight into the eyeball of the other, trying to
obtain an answer to this burning question. I have kept my weary
vigil over the parapet at night, with my rifle in one hand and a
couple of bombs in the other, and two or three in each pocket, and
still I am pondering over this burning question. I will now ask
you the question. When do you think this God dam war will be over,
eh?"

I never was so completely taken aback in all my life. A roar of
laughter burst from the men, in which I joined heartily. From the
tiers of bunks and every part of the building, cheers went up, and we
had one of the pleasantest evenings in that old cinema that we had
ever experienced. I do not know who the man was who sent the letter,
or whether he is alive now. If he is, I wish he would write to me. I
want to thank him for giving us all a good, hearty laugh at that time
of preparation and anxiety. I keep the letter among my most treasured
war souvenirs.

The winter rains had not improved the roads, but still day and night,
through mud and water, a constant stream of vehicles of all descriptions
passed up towards the front carrying ammunition. Ammunition was
everywhere. At certain places it was stacked along the roads. The
strain upon the horses was very great, and numbers of them died, (p. 164)
and their bodies lay by the wayside for many days, no one having time to
bury them.

It was perfectly impossible to get any place in which to hold
Communion services, so, with the permission of the family who owned
it, I made use of a little Gothic shrine near the church, which stood
over a family vault. It was a miniature chapel, and had an altar in
it. The glass in the coloured windows had been broken, but we replaced
it by canvas. I hung upon the wall outside the board which I used as a
sign, with the words "St. George's Church" upon it. In this little
building every morning at eight o'clock I had a celebration of Holy
Communion, and I always had some men attending.

Our trenches were tolerably quiet, and lay beyond the Arr