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[Page 487]

one never to be forgotten. There is a Tasmanian padre in camp who might easily be another Weldon, and these "stunts" of his are the joys of our convalescent days. The beauty of this forest is grand, although it does not come up to our own woods and scrubs of Australia. Lionel sent me some gum leaves from Katoomba. At night we burned them in the tent, and in the glorious aroma all wished we could float like the smoke, ever so far away to those dear old Blue Mountains or the gullies of the Shoalhaven

France is full of beauty. War has given people the impression that the Republic is a hell, but it is not so – it is full of magnificent flowers and trees and waters and birds.

A concert party in a hall nearby are singing "The Roses of Picardy", and it takes my thoughts back to a month ago when we were fighting in that beautiful Picardy, with its roses, its canals where

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