Timmy on his hind legs, rampant, clawing at the Boches.
Just think of the effect if he got up over the parapet!

The other things came all right, too, thanks. When you can't think what
else to send let Nanna make another cake. And those tubes of chutney are
a good idea.

No; it's no earthly use worrying about Michael. If there was no English
and no Allies and no Enthusiasm, and he had this War all to himself, you
simply couldn't keep him out of it. I believe if old Mick could send
himself out by himself against the whole German Army he'd manage to put
in some first rate fancy work in the second or two before they got him.
He'd be quite capable of going off and doing grisly things that would
make me faint with funk, if he was by himself, with nothing but the eye
of God to look at him. And _then_ he'd rather God wasn't there. He
always _was_ afraid of having a crowd with him.

The pity is he's wasting time and missing such a lot. If I were you two,
I should bank on Don. He's the sensiblest of us, though he is
the youngest.

And don't worry about me. Do remember that even in the thickest curtain
fire there _are_ holes; there are more holes than there is stuff; and
the chances are I shall be where a hole is.

Another thing, Don's shell, the shell you see making straight for you
like an express train, isn't likely to be the shell that's going to get
you; so that if you're hit you don't feel that pang of personal
resentment which must be the worst part of the business. Bits of shells
that have exploded I rank with bullets which we knew all about before
and were prepared for. Really, if you're planted out in the open, the
peculiar awfulness of big shell-fire--what is it more than the peculiar
awfulness of being run over by express trains let loose about the sky?
Tell Don that when shrapnel empties itself over your head like an old
tin pail, you might feel injured, but the big shell has a most disarming
air of not being able to help itself, of not looking for anybody in
particular. It's so innocent of personal malice that I'd rather have it
any day than fat German fingers squeezing my windpipe.

That's an answer to his question.

And Dorothy wanted to know what it feels like going into action.
Well--there's a lot of it that perhaps she wouldn't believe in if I told
her--it's the sort of thing she never has believed; but Stephen was
absolutely right. You aren't sold. It's more than anything you could
have imagined. I'm