Sept. 18th, 1915.
My Son-bird, how are you? I'm quite well but a little stiff in the
joints. We've been doing a lot of digging: making a _trench_ to carry
wounded people up and down, and we've walked miles and miles back from
the place where we did the digging and we are tired.
We are not very near the Germans _here_, but we can hear them banging
away in the distance sometimes, and last night all the sky was lit up
in their direction by a big fire--houses burning. Yesterday--too--while
we were up digging near to them some Germans climbed up a tower behind
their lines, and we had to bob down into the holes we were digging to
prevent them seeing us and then _our_ cannons banged at _them_ and they
came down from the tower in a hurry.
I do hope you are a good little boy. It's so much nicer to have a good
little boy at home than to have a regular little pickle. Please write
and tell me if you are a good little boy--I shall be so pleased to hear
it.
Love from your Doody.