As I write shells from heavy guns are whining overhead, and the roar
from the gun’s mouth as well as the roar of shells exploding is behind
and before. And (pause!) we are used to it! We are used to raining;
used to going without washes for days; used to driving German columns
back; used to mud, cold nights, and a terrific quantity of detail that
varies from day to day. We have a knack of sticking to what we gain,
and there you can feel proud of us all. For we ought to be swamped
by superiority of numbers and guns. But our methods under fire are,
if not perfect, very good. We are officered by excellent men, and we
can _feel_ led. You will understand: _A Private of the Bedfordshire
Regiment_.