Monday, 9th September (1918)

Another move.  We have just had lunch at fresh (not literally) wagon lines and have taken up residence in some old and very dirty “Nissen” huts about 3 miles in advance of our last lines.

The scarcity of cigarettes is becoming acute otherwise we are doing well enough.  I often wonder what is happening to my squashed finger – I put a dollop of ointment on it, hermetically sealed it up in strong adhesive plaster and there is stays.

Our trip this afternoon was not without excitement when, at one corner, we were greeted with a bevy of shells.  We didn’t take long in leaving the road making a dash across country.  Saw one poor chap being carried off afterwards.  A persistent horse is trying to eat my stationary.

Have adopted the dressing gown system – my own idea, i.e. remove outer clothes, don greatcoat, get under horse-blanket and use residue of gear as pillow, footwarmer etc.  Had a short talk to the Poet and the Hunter whilst on picquet.  They have a bereaved look, not that I was very kind to them.  You should have seen us rush the once despised ‘buckshee’ cigarette issue today.  Any port in a storm.  Passed today corpse of young soldier just killed.  No sign of injury.  Clothes thick with dust and face same colour – all like a wooden carving.  Killed by shock.

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