Saturday, 21st September (1918)

Toby is not a bad old cuss; he lets me pull him along by the ear when we are riding and he charges the fussy new officers, with bared teeth.  When hungry, he goes thro’ the motions of eating, vehemently.

Interrupted by the z-z-z-z-zwing! of a “tout suite.”  The Hohenzollern kept this up at regular 5 minute intervals for about an hour, all the shells landing in the same place; with his usual super-mathematical accuracy which saves many lives.  Towards dusk, in a deep blue-purple sky, behind shell-stripped trees, a monstrous globe of red-orange represents what in happier lands would be the “harvest moon.”  I cannot welcome her, for the sky is clear, but wish that, after delivering her message of good cheer from the far antipodes, she would retire behind some impenetrable camouflage of cloud.

Here comes ‘Jerry’.  Lights Out!