15th (January, 1918)

A nightmare of mud, rivals the most primitive cow-byre in N.Z. backblocks.  Through this augean abomination we have shoggled all day in drizzling rain and, as a finale, when we were lined up for tea there was a flash and crack of thunder and a shower whose vehemence I have seldom seen equalled sent us, draggle-tailed, laded with well-watered soup and soaked bread dripping in liquescent jam, off into our hovels.  A big gun is booming far away and making us wonder how in the devil anybody can be bothering about a war in this weather.

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