September 21st, 1916.
My Very Dear M.:
I am wearing your talisman while I write and have a strong superstition
in its efficacy. The efficacy of your socks is also very noticeable--I
wore them the first time on a trip to the Forward Observation Station. I
had to lie on my tummy in the mud, my nose just showing above the
parapet, for the best part of twenty-four hours. Your socks little
thought I would take them into such horrid places when you made them.
Last night both the King and Sir Sam sent us congratulations--I popped
in just at the right time. I daresay you know far more about our doings
than I do. Only this morning I picked up the _London Times_ and read a
full account of everything I have witnessed. The account is likely to be
still fuller in the New York papers.
"Home for Christmas"--that's what the Tommies are promising their
mothers and sweethearts in all their letters that I censor. Yesterday I
was offered an Imperial commission in the army of occupation. But home
for Christmas, will be Christmas, 1917--I can't think that it will be
earlier.
Very much love,
CON.