Orders to move have interrupted my literary activities, and I shall
have to spend the few days before we start chiefly in testing the
fitness of my leg for marching. I went shooting on Friday and walked
about six miles quite successfully, bar a slight limp; and I mean to
extend progressively up to twelve.
The weather has suddenly turned wet, introducing us to a new vileness
of the climate. I hope it won't last--it means unlimited slime.
I shan't be able to write much or often for some time, I expect, as we
shall be marching pretty continuously, I reckon. I shall try and write
to Ma and Pa at each opportunity, and to you if there's time and paper
available. Your little writing-block may come in handy.
One of my draft has been killed and five wounded at Kut. Our
casualties there are 21 out of 180. I shall look forward to seeing my
men again: I hope about the second Sunday after Epiphany. We shall
then march with a force equal to the King of France's on his
celebrated and abortive expedition of ascent. Our destination is a
profound secret, but you may give Nissit three guesses and make her
write me her answers on a Valentine.
Christmas passed off quietly and cheerfully. T.A. is so profoundly
insensible of incongruities that he saw nothing to worry him in the
legend A MERRY CHRISTMAS and the latest casualty list on the
same wall of the R.A.T.A. room: and he sang "Peace on earth and mercy
mild" and "Confound their politics" with equal gusto. And his temper
is infectious while you're with him.
The most perplexing Reuter's come through from the Balkans.
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