Banging Away
When I opened your parcel we were banging away, and I thought how different a place it was tied up in. The fags—what a treat!—the chocolates, papers, and pipe. The last, by the way, is worth quids, for the troops have just had an issue of tobacco, and not many pipes are available; they get lost or broken. One thing we are short of, and that is matches. We all mark time on someone lighting up, and there’s a great rush on that one match: A Trooper of the Royal Horse Guards.