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[Page 636]

[First page of a letter, with the greeting line cut out.]

Anzac.
20 October 1915

It would amuse you, were you to see me seated on a camp chair in a hole dug out of the side of a sand and clay hill, which rises precipitously from the edge where the waters of the Aegean are gently lapping the land. The small waves roll gently in and with a soft roar proclaim the strike and recoil of their movement
The outpost of a casualty hospital is at my feet, to it the sick and wouned pour in continuously the twenty-four hours round. Near by on either side & higher up officers and men have dug-outs somewhat similar to mine. Two piers jut out into the sea serving as areas along which living, traffic and goods, traffic can pass from small steamers and the land.
In the distance are two hospital ships, each with its band of green lights extending from stem to stern, interrupted about the mid point by a red cross, these giving warning by night that hereon are but wounded men and non-combatants. The appearance suggests a fireworks display is about to take place, because in times of peace we have grown to associate brightly lighted ships with gala times and the firing of rockets and other gorgeous night lights

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