January 17.
To-day's letter got me into an absurd fit of internal laughter. Hale brought it in while I was poring over some new photographs of Boche emplacements, or dug-outs, or something—poring with a magnifying glass.... And then came your drawings of the rooms at the cottage.
That'll be admirable. I tried to hold my head and think of exactly how the cottage looked, and where the new rooms were to be; but somehow I've got no brains left. And I leave it all to you. One day we shall be able to discuss it peaceably, but at present this brain is like some limp jellyfish floating in the sea.
To-day I'm doing a map, and the draughtsmen are copying it, of some Boche dug-outs. Ye gods! what do I care about dug-outs! As well make maps of all the rabbit-holes in Glamorganshire. But there, what's the good of talking like that. It's got to be done.
January 24.
BUSY DAYS
The aeroplanes have brought in the most marvellous photographs, and I am very busy deciphering them and mapping the information on to a map.
February 8.
After many, many days of incessant work comes a brief interval of repose—till to-morrow morning.
We moved up here yesterday afternoon late.