To-day our platoon commander, Lieutenant Lowe, arrived with the telegraphic compliments showered on us by our enthusiastic population. They could not have cheered so hard if they had been as dry as we were.
Water is so scarce that we are allowed only one pint every twenty-four hours. Out of that we have to wash, shave, and provide the means of assuaging a bully-beef thirst. The consequence is I have had about one wash in about two fingers of water since I landed, just ten days ago....
Our sniping friends have suffered severely, one man, a kangaroo shooter, catching four, three of them in half an hour. They fetch him along the line now when they happen to spot one.
[To face p. 188.
A BRITISH SOLDIER WRITING IN HIS DUG-OUT. THE HEAP OF STONES AND TWO CROSSES IN THE TOP RIGHT-HAND CORNER MARK THE GRAVES OF COMRADES.
The tinstuff is getting monotonous, and I have broken a tooth on those infernal biscuits. Apart from that we have not had much to complain about.
The weather is getting hot in the day and not quite so cool at night, and ever so much more comfortable.