Very little news. From what I can see, we are likely to be down here for at least another two weeks. I don't much mind, as in a way I would sooner be here for a little. The change though has rather worn off. Am not a bit comfortable, my billet being a horrible dirty place, with all sorts of weird odours. Food pretty fair, but none too clean, and all eating utensils invariably very dirty.
I suppose tennis is in full swing at home. Pity I'm not due for another spot of leave yet. I got the parcel of papers all right, but not Flight and the Aeroplane. Think they must have gone astray.
No. 1 Wing, R.N.A.S. B.E.F.
21st July, 1915.
I flew my old B.E. back here [Dunkirk] yesterday, as it has been hot stuffed [requisitioned]. I admit it is rather a dud, but I had no wish to exchange it for a Voisin. After some little trouble I persuaded the Commander to let me have a Morane instead, and tried quite a nice one this morning, the first time I have flown one since I smashed. They are beastly unstable things, and I fully expect to turn this one over before the week is out. The Commander is keeping me here for a few days' rest before returning to the R.F.C. Dunkirk is quite a lively place nowadays. The Huns have dropped bombs on the aerodrome twice in the last week, but fortunately none of the lads were killed.
Love to all.
Ever your loving son,
Harold.
Note.
On the 25th July, 1915, Harold Rosher arrived home on two days' leave, having come across to attend a conference.