In between, the boredom is so awful that I’ve heard some of our men say they’d rather have things happening.  And, of course, we’re all hoping that when those shells come along there won’t be quite so much “between.”

Love to Ronny and Mother and all of them.—­Your very affectionate,

     NICHOLAS.

          June 1st, 1915. 
     B.E.F., FRANCE.

My Darling Ronny,—­Yes, I think all your letters must have come, because you’ve answered everything.  You always tell me just what I want to know.  When I see the fat envelopes coming I know they’re going to be chock-full of the things I’ve happened to be thinking about.  Don’t let’s ever forget to put the dates, because I make out that I’ve always dreamed about you, too, the nights you’ve written.

And so the Aunties are working in the War Hospital Supply Depot?  It’s frightfully funny what Dorothy says about their enjoying the War and feeling so important.  Don’t let her grudge it them, though; it’s all the enjoyment, or importance, they’re ever had in their lives, poor dears.  But I shall know, if a swab bursts in my inside, that it’s Auntie Edie’s.  As for Auntie Emmeline’s, I can’t even imagine what they’d be like—­monstrosities—­or little babies injured at birth.  Aunt Louie’s would be well-shaped and firm, but erring a little on the hard side, don’t you think?

That reminds me, I suppose I may tell you now since it’s been in the papers, that we’ve actually got Moving Fortresses out here.  I haven’t seen them yet, but a fellow who has thinks they must be uncommonly like Drayton’s and my thing.  I suspect, from what he says, they’re a bit better, though.  We hadn’t got the rocking-horse idea.

It’s odd—­this time last year I should have gone off my head with agony at the mere thought of anybody getting in before us; and now I don’t care a bit.  I do mind rather for Drayton’s sake, though I don’t suppose he cares, either.  The great thing is that it’s been done, and done better.  Anyway we’ve been lucky.  Supposing the Germans had got on to them, and trotted them out first, and one of our own guns had potted him or me, that would have been a jolly sell.

What makes you ask after Timmy?  I hardly like to tell you the awful thing that’s happened to him.  He had to travel down to the base hospital on a poor chap who was shivering with shell-shock, and—­he never came back again.  It doesn’t matter, because the weather’s so warm now that I don’t want him.  But I’m sorry because you all gave him to me and it looks as if I hadn’t cared for him.  But I did....

     June 10th.

Sorry I couldn’t finish this last week.  Things developed rather suddenly.  I wish I could tell you what, but we mustn’t let on what happens, not even now, when it’s done happening.  Still, there are all the other things I couldn’t say anything about at the time.

If you must know, I’ve been up “over the top” three times now since I came out in February.  So, you see, one gets through all right.