21st December (1918)

Just had lunch – that sounds normal to you, but to me it means grasping with filthy hands (just after grooming) a hunk of bread and jam, and watching it grow grubbier and grubbier whilst I eat it.  Also standing perhaps in the rain, for anything up to a quarter of an hour waiting for it.

This is a farming district.  The roads are well metalled, and a great contrast to the muddy French lanes.  The houses are well built and plain but neat in appearance.  The sanitation seems much better than in the French villages, and the huge muck-heaps of the French farmyards are conspicuous by their absence.

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