and were only taken out of the trench
this morning, Thursday, to a Dressing Station and then straight on to
our train. (We heard the guns this morning.) Why they are alive I don't
know, but I'm afraid they won't live long: they are sunken and
grey-faced and just strong enough to say, "Anyway, I'm out of the trench
now." They had drinks of water now and then in the field but no
dressings, and lay in the slush. Stretcher-bearers are shot down
immediately, with or without the wounded, by the German snipers.

And this is Christmas, and the world is supposed to be civilised. They
came in from the trenches to-day with blue faces and chattering teeth,
and it was all one could do to get them warm and fed. By this evening
they were most of them revived enough to enjoy Xmas cards; there were
such a nice lot that they were able to choose them to send to Mother and
My Young Lady and the Missis and the Children, and have one for
themselves.

The Indians each had one, and salaamed and said, "God save you," and "I
will pray to God for you," and "God win your enemies," and "God kill
many Germans," and "The Indian men too cold, kill more Germans if not
too cold." One with a S.A. ribbon spotted mine and said, "Africa same
like you."

_Midnight._--Just unloaded, going to turn in; we are to go off again at
5 A.M. to-morrow, so there'll be no going to church. Mail in, but not
parcels; there's a big block of parcels down at the base, and we may get
them by Easter.

With superhuman self-control I have not opened my mail to-night so as to
have it to-morrow morning.

_Xmas Day_, 11 A.M.--On way up again to Bethune, where we have not been
before (about ten miles beyond where we were yesterday), a place I've
always hoped to see. Sharp white frost, fog becoming denser as we get
nearer Belgium. A howling mob of reinforcements stormed the train for
smokes. We threw out every cigarette, pipe, pair of socks, mits,
hankies, pencils we had left; it was like feeding chickens, but of
course we hadn't nearly enough.

Every one on the train has had a card from the King and Queen in a
special envelope with the Royal Arms in red on it. And this is the
message (in writing hand)--

"_With our best wishes for Christmas, 1914._

_May God protect you and bring you home safe._

MARY R. GEORGE R.I."

That is something to keep, isn't it?

An officer has just told us that those men haven't had a cigarette since
they left S'hampton, har