“We have not changed our address yet but every day is bringing us nearer to the final victory. I have just had a look along A. and B companies firing line, and I just wish that some of the people of W.A. could see them. From where I am sitting to the nearest part of the firing line is about 200 yards, and to get there one has to go through winding trenches, down dark tunnels and saps until one loses all idea of direction; of course when a fellow has been up and down a few times it is O.K., and I know my way now into any part of the line. But there are men, plenty of them, who know their own particular section of the trenches well, but would be lost if taken to another company's trenches. A man in D Coy for instance knows that A Coy is on the right somewhere, but as B and C Coys trenches are in between him and A Coys, he knows nothing about them and he may have a friend in A Coy that he has not seen for weeks. All the time the digging is going on, and one may say that we are burrowing our way through the Peninsula, Jacko is also busy digging. I was looking through a loophole to-day watching the dirt flip off his shovels and admiring some very strong trenches he has built at the back of his firing line, which is about 150 yards in front of us, the other trenches are about 700 yards away. I saw a Turk climb out of the far ones, and while I was keeping an eye on him and feeling round with both hands for a rifle, someone else on the right fired at him and cut the dirt up just in front of him. I never saw anyone move quicker than what that Turk did, he was out of sight in a flash. I think he must have dived back. During the day there is not much firing going on, except in the after- noons and then it is mostly big guns, but nearly every night there is an attack at some particular spot, and as a rule the whole line joins in the row, and a howitzer or two will send a shell over to Jacko. There is a destroyer of ours also which never fails to join us, she keeps a watch on our flank, at night, at times she will be, quite invisible and then suddenly her search light is turned on and she finds something to let go at. There is something irresistibly cheeky about these torpedo boats, the way they fuss round and poke their noses into bays, etc and let fly, at anything on the move. They are the picture of impudence and make me think of a fox terrier pup, that is trying to make out he is a big bulldog, or as one fellow said "They try to kid themselves they are battleships. They are certainly "Dreadnoughts," and the work they, and their crews do is magnificent. Roy Earl arrived back here a few days ago. I thought there was a chance of his being sent home on furlough, but he is looking too well for that. He could not give me any news of Jack Cook, only that he was in hospital some- where in England. I have seen Jacks letter in the "Southern Times," and I am glad to see what a sensible letter he wrote, some of the piffle we see in the "Sunday Times" would make a dead Turk grin. And the yarns about his dirty tricks torturing prisoners and mutilating women, etc, is enough to make Jacko think that we must be something inferior to the Germans. The Turks certainly play tricks on us, but we often have a rough joke with them. Here is one of his tricks, a real "dinkum" joke, into some of our trenches on the left Jacko threw a lot of bombs with the fuses unlighted. An uncautious crowd, would have lighted those and tried to throw them back at Jacko but our fellows examined them first and found that as soon as match was applied to the fuse it would have sent the bomb off, as it burnt through instantly. Jacko's joke was for our fellows to imagine they were going to have a bit of fun with him at his own expense, and in trying to blow themselves to pieces. With some people who cannot see a joke (There are a lot of Australians who are worse than Scotchmen in that respect) the Turks were "rotten cows, gory reptiles of doubtful parentage, etc., etc., in fact almost Germans," but we have done the same thing to Jacko, and the poor chap bit and got duly blown up, much to the delight of our fellows. It is all in the game, that sort of thing. At first I could not see any fun in a Jacko aeroplane coming over our lines and dropping bombs (don't now), but I would watch one of ours go over Jacko's lines with great interest and would gleefully listen for the bombs to explode, then I would say "Hurrah," that will stir the possum in him, the blighter. I wouldn't like to tell you what I used to say when Jacko was overhead, but I would dive for the dugout and call him nasty names one sees the joke afterwards, but just at the time it does not strike one as very comical. Maybe the Scots blood in one makes me slow to see the joke, but when the Irish comes to the top, and I see myself sitting growling at Jacko for putting me in a blue funk one day, and laughing because I think we are, doing ditto to him the next, well it fairly tickles me.

All the Bunbury boys here are going well. Sgt. P. Blythe, Cpl. Ray Clarke, Cp. Harry Buswell, Cpl Robertson (Robbie) Lieut. Combs, Sgt. Bert Clifford, Sep and myself. I cannot think of any more who have commissioned or N.C. rank, but I think by the way they are coming to the front all the lads from the birthplace will be coming home with stripes or stars. They have not made me a Field Marshall yet, I don't know why. I wouldn't know why if they did, but that wouldn't matter. I am getting quite desperate after seeing the "Sunday Times" I will have to grab someone's D.C.M. or D.S.O. or V.C., and be a hero and get my name and photo into the pink paper. That is one way to be a hero and gain fame, "I don't think". Another way is to be killed or wounded, neither of which appeal to me, but if ever anything does come my way for goodness sake don't let "The Sunday Times" put my photo into their chamber of horrors page. I saw one of Sandy Brodie (you know what a pleasant faced lad he is). The "S.T." made him look like a cross between Deadwood Dick and a burglar with two lovely black eyes, so I shudder to think what they might make of my dial, with the good start that nature has provided. Harry Belcher is back and is on a gun about 20 yards round the corner from me, he has filled out and is such a big hefty looking chap. I was very sorry to hear that Sgt. McAIice had been killed, and Sgt Major Sam McWhirter, poor old Sam we served through the South African together in the 1st and again in the 5th- Sam got a commission at Eremelo, where I got my Sgts. striper. He was popular as Cpl., as Sgt, as Sgt-Major, and as Lieut. He came in the 10th L.H. as Sgt and had got as far as Sgt-Major, there are many of the old S.A. fellows who will be grieved to hear of his death. He was so well liked by everyone for his sterling worth, Vale Sam, soldier and comrade.”