‘We arrived back at our billets at a village in rear late on Wednesday night – and what a relief to at last get back again to where you can walk in freedom along open roads without fear of being suddenly shot at.’
He told his mother he was living in a tent, but was quite comfortable, in the same village that they had left 16 days earlier [Estrée-Cauchy]. He hoped they would stay there for a few days at least, and promised her long letters every day, as long as he was not off on working parties, like the one he was due to supervise that very evening.
She had sent him a parcel that had been returned to her because it was overweight – ‘what a shame you had to unpack it again, but it only shows you were too keen on letting me have plenty of things and thank you, dear, for that.’ As luck would have it, a parcel arrived as he was writing his letter, and he paused to inspect its comments: pastry from his mother (which he had shared round straightaway, while keeping some back to eat while on the working party); chocolate walnuts from his brother Bundy (‘which remind me of the dear days I used to get home and bask on the lawn while Bundy went across to get some’); and chocolate biscuits, peppermints and ‘everything that is nice: thank everybody very much indeed for me dear.’
There were just a couple of things he still needed, including a cover for his watch, and some more of the Boots anti-vermin powder which had been so effective in warding off lice (he had suffered much less from them than the other men). He would need some socks soon enough, but would let her know when. In the meantime, he was still waiting to hear what she thought about him joining the Royal Flying Corps: it sounded interesting to him, but ‘I really cannot make up my mind yet – I am afraid if I put in they will think I do it to get out of the Infantry – but I will wait and hear what you think.’
[Next letter: 21 October]