6.  Four tassels.  They are worn by Fritz rather in the same sort of
     way as lanyards are worn.  Quite pretty, though rather soiled and
     worn.

     7.  A bit of a wing of a crushed aeroplane that is lying on the
     brown, feverish earth like a dead sea-gull.

     8.  A brass spring very beautifully made, that I am going to have
     made into a bracelet for you.  Also from the aeroplane.

     9.  A cardboard box for signal flares. Signal Patronen they are
     labelled.  I threw the flares away, as they might go pop en route.

     10.  A jolly bit of gilded carving from a house in ——­

11.  Now then for No. 11!  A bit of embroidery.  I think it is a vestment of sorts.  It’s white, and there’s heavy gold embroidery at the sides.  It is a cloak of some description, but the top part, where there should be a collar or something, is gone.  Then 11A is a piece of black and silver embroidery.  It was all very muddy and riddled with shrapnel or bits of crump, so I just cut off the only sound bit.  Both these things are exceedingly beautiful.  They are probably vestments, because they were quite near what must have been the church.  I am sure it must have been the church, although I hadn’t a map—­first, because I saw the village in the distance some time ago, while the church was still standing, and therefore I know the church’s situation; and, secondly, because I saw remains of large pillars, and a few bits of what was once a font amongst the debris.

There now.  Isn’t that a good haul!  It’s not easy to get anything worth sending home, because everything is so utterly smashed up.

October 2.

Jezebel and Swallow and Tank have all been clipped trace high.  I am getting rather attached to Tank.  She is so modest and unselfish—­a contrast to Jezebel.  She never expects little treats, and seems quite surprised when I give her anything.  Swallow and Jezebel always neigh when they see my electric torch coming towards them after dinner (while we are back in these safe places).  But Tank is very shy of the light, and thinks it will bite her.

Swallow is getting much better, and really seems to understand that the shells and guns and things probably won’t hurt him.  We have been most extraordinarily lucky.  The troop that got through nearly to ——­ the other day, hadn’t a single casualty, although Dick’s own mare was shot under him and a great many other horses were wounded.  The squadron of ——­ were very badly scuppered, I fear.  But, anyhow, we all feel that Lloyd George is right.  We are just beginning to win.

October 5.

It is a glorious day.  Such clouds.  Swallow kicked up his heels and played about like a kitten when Hunt took him to water this morning.  It’s extraordinary how used the horses are getting to trenches and wire, etc.  At first they were rather afraid to jump these sudden deep ditches, but now they pop across like rabbits.