Thursday, May 27th, 1915.
Day cloudy and chilly. We wore our greatcoats most of the afternoon,
and looked for bits of sunlight to get warm. About two o'clock
the heavy guns gave us a regular "black-smithing". Every time we fired
we drew a perfect hornet's nest about our heads. While attending to
a casualty, a shell broke through both sides of the trench, front and back,
about twelve feet away. The zigzag of the trench was between it and us,
and we escaped. From my bunk the moon looks down at me,
and the wind whistles along the trench like a corridor. As the trenches
run in all directions they catch the wind however it blows,
so one is always sure of a good draught. We have not had our clothes off
since last Saturday, and there is no near prospect of getting them off.
