Monday (27 August 1917)

Have just picked tit-bits out of a greenish sea of dried beans, spuds and beef.  Item: never disliked margarine.  You know my partiality to lardy butter, well good margarine is something of the same but much more crumbly, that’s its defect; you are conveying a portion to your plate and it drops off in transitu (a legal expression).

At Crondall on Saturday we saw a huge hollow elm tree centuries old – its bumps were used as a style to get over the fence from the road.  The outer crust was still alive and bore many luxuriant branches.

Had a decent cigar given me and am now lying on my cot puffing it.  The blankets here are of diverse texture and colours – violent electric blues, glaring scarlets, lemon-yellows, brown grey and black.  Imagine their motley appearance along the sides of the hut.  The rain it (to all appearances) raineth every day-a-hay.

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