And he is very good to me. He rarely addresses me directly, except when short of matches, but he often gives me an insight into things by talking to himself aloud. He does this partly to teach me the reasoning processes by which he arrives at the momentous decisions expected of a G.S.O.3, and partly because he values my intelligent consideration.
This morning, for instance, furnished a typically brilliant example of our co-operation. "I wonder," he said (and as he spoke I broke off from my daily duties of writing to Her)—"I wonder what about these Flares? Division say they want two thousand red and white changing to green—oh no, it's the other lot; no, that is right—I don't think they can want two thousand possibly. We might give them half for practice purposes, or say five hundred. Still, if they say they want two thousand I suppose they do; but then there's the question of what we've got in hand. All right, let them have them."
That was one of the questions I helped to settle.
"Heavens!" he went on, "five hundred men for digging cable trenches! No, no, I don't think. They had five hundred only the other night—no, they didn't; it was the other fellows—no, that was the night before-no, I was right as usual. One has so many things to think of. Well, they can't have them, that's certain; it can't be important—yes, it is, though, if things were to—yes, yes—we'll let them have them."
You will note that he said "we." Co-operation again. I assure you I glowed with pleasure to think I had been of so much assistance.
I had hardly got back to my letter when we started off again.
"Well, that's my morning's work done—no, it isn't—yes, no, by Jove, there's a code word for No. 237 Filtration Unit to be thought out. No, I shan't, they really can't want one, they're too far back—still they might come up to filter something near enough to want one—no I won't, it's sheer waste—still, I suppose one ought to be prepared—oh, yes, give them one—give them the word 'strafe'; nobody's got that. Bong! That's all for to-day."
And now you know what part I play in the Great War, Dickie.
Yours, JACK.
P.S.—Just off for my morning's exercise—sharpening the Corps Commander's pencils.