eather we have been
having. My headquarters are being moved from my awful dug-out to a
house, or rather cottage, where I shall not feel the cold quite so
much; but I sincerely hope that the enemy will not find out where I
am, as they will then shell me out of existence! I must close now to
get ready to move....

IN TRENCHES.
_December 16th, 1914._

As I told you in yesterday's letter, I have moved my headquarters back
400 yards, so now I am about 700 yards behind the firing line, and
something like 1,100 yards from the Germans. We are in a house of
sorts which has mysteriously escaped being destroyed. It is protected
by a barn more or less ruined, and so the bullets miss it, and also
the shells, though they burned a building within four yards of us.
This is the house near by which I saw five shells burst the first day
I came up here. It was most weird last night as I was lying on the
floor to hear bullet after bullet strike the wall; one has come
through the window, but that was unusual. When the native troops were
in here, they lost three men killed at the front door, but I think we
have polished off that sniper since then. Sometimes the bullets glance
off the brickwork with a shower of sparks. It is very unhealthy to go
out on either side of the farmhouse. I went my rounds yesterday in the
evening. Such a time I have never had! Imagine going along a trench
just wide enough for your shoulders; your head up to the original
level of the ground, and the earth piled up on either side for two or
three feet; the bottom was soft mud with water well above the knees.
One sank into this whilst one struggled on, carrying revolver or
rifle. In my case, revolver strapped on, and holding up my cloak to
prevent it getting under my feet in my dreadful flounders. Several
times I nearly stuck for good, but just managed to get through. I
succeeded in putting on dry things afterwards, but the men, I am sorry
to say, could not do so. I asked the doctor to go and inspect this
morning, and see if there was anything he could suggest. He went off
cheerfully enough, but came back two hours later a dirtier, if a
wiser, man, and his only remark to me was: "Well, it will not last. No
men could stand that very long!" I replied that we _must_ do so longer
than the Germans. The pheasants duly arrived, and we are grateful as
ever. I have written to your Moth