Berwick Register,

Wednesday Evening,

October 20th, 1915

At The Front

Cyril March writes to his mother as follows:

Somewhere in France,

Sept. 27, 1915.

DEAR MOTHER: - A few lines to let you know I am well and, for a soldier, quite comfortably situated.

We are up in the trenches now but all is pretty quiet. Our dug-out home is some abode, believe me. It is a sort of blending of root-cellar, cavern and subterranean passage.

Those who were here before us constructed rude beds from wire-netting and poles. These now serve us as couches by night and tables and seats by day. Our light is, for the most part, candles of which we have, so far, been fortunate enough to secure a fair supply.

Mail comes in quite frequently and goes out regularly when we are not on the move – which is not infrequent. There are often times when quite a long period might elapse between opportunities to send letters out. In such cases, if I know of them ahead, I will send you one of the cards (if I have any on hand). We get one of those each week.

We are pretty well fed up here: getting hot tea and bacon in the morning – breakfast brought to us. At noon, canned meat, bread, and extras that we, from time to time, are able to get hold of through the mail or from parties who go to the villages in the rear.

We hear the zip of the bullets singing over the trenches and the whistle of shells going over from our own guns. From our trenches we can see the air craft maneuvering up among the clouds and the shell-fire: very rarely are they damaged through this shell fire.

I suppose you will be reading tomorrow, or in a few days, accounts of advances made by the Allies: pretty good work.

Oh! the Hun has got to go back: Back to his homeland or we will wipe him out, bit by bit. As his trenches go his policy will be revealed in its true light and he will curse his madman Kaiser who sent him on his fool-like errand of conquest.

Your affectionate son,

Cyril


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