Nothing doing except a hamper arrived. Good breakers of tinned sausages. And real suet and treacle for lunch. Also bottle of good soup and glass or ¼ mug
of Port. Heavenly.
Blythe with dysentery.
Australians take over our lines. Awful blackguards but splendid fellows.
One helped me with dugout and another
bagged my notice board and sandbags.
Thursday: went to see R.R.P. and had tea
with him.
Very tired with walk. Real Port for dinner that night.
[In his memoirs, he recalls the “tough,
warm-hearted Australians” who shared the front with the Norfolks on the ridges
of Chunuk Blair, the slopes beneath being held by a “splendid” New Zealand
division. The Diggers were greatly
amused when they spotted the name of Shakespeare on the board outside his
dugout: “’Look Bill, there’s the bard’ and there were roars of laughter when I
emerged.”]
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