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[Page 75]
Oct. 22
78.
The rumour has it we're moving off tomorrow… an issue of tinned fruit tonight almost vouches for the rumour's truth. The word is we're for the M.D.S. again, wether at Dickebusch or Ypres is hazy. For our comfort it would be Dickebusch.. but …..
George was over tonight, and to him I passed the first five numbers of "To-Day"… so after his reading of them he'll post them home.
I could easily afterwards buy a bound number, but they appeal far more as a magazine, and for interest later, their pages of advertising are worth all their bulk.
79.
I write tonight to C.W. Beaumont for Masefield's "Philip the King", for J.C. Squire's "Twelve Poems" and his "Lily of Malud", 5/-.. 4/-… and 1/-… Arrived Ecuire, Nov. 16. "Laus Deo".
80.
The letter written: now writing in the O.R. Tent, with Frank and Blue… Blue in the tangle of a letter to the centre of his interest in Paris…
Frank on his home mail.. self wondering on a drawing for the Anzac Bulletin.. seems it makes ironical smiles… on paper drawn, it seems then and of no value….
Blue decides to write in English – "she can understand that".
Since writing the above a drawing of the pond where we wash, and two Billjims washing: on one of the willow trees an old notice.. "No washing to be done here". Enveloped for posting to the Anzac Bulletin.
81
Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste
From unrinsed barrel the diluted wine
Of a low vineyard or a plant ill pruned,
But such as anciently the Aegean Isles
Poured in libation at their solemn feasts,
And the same goblet shall ye grasp embossed
With no vile figures of loose languid loins,
But such as gods have lived with and have led.
W.B. Yeats, Intro. N.P.O.S.
October 23
The early morning cold and rainy,.. the raid last night heavy – a big number of bombs dropped: early this morning at 1, another raid.. we slept through it.
Writing, started another letter to Mother, posted one of 4 days today, and wrote to Mr. Whitlet, and answered Billy's letter.
Rumour is Tomorrow for the [indecipherable] of Fear again!!!