Night after night, for three weeks, with never a night off, we took
ammunition up for the guns at Ypres in 1917. Sometimes we couldn't get
back until 5 a.m. or 6 a.m.--and the day was spent feeding and grooming
the horses, cleaning harness, and a hundred odd jobs besides.
We had built a bit of a shack, and in this I was writing a letter home,
and one of my drivers noticed my handwriting on the envelope.
"Coo, Corp! You can't 'arf write! 'Ow did yer learn it?" he said.