We moved here suddenly this p.m., about nine miles. Our old friend P_____ [Puchevillers].  I believe we are to stay here a bit to refit. Pratt and his party were quite successful last night. They brought in old Ensor, who had been four days in a shell hole. He was quite wonderful, but of course, weak, and with a limp; had flesh wound in leg, and he lost a lot of blood. But he will do all right the doctors think. They also got three more wounded men in. A sad birthday; the feeling of sadness of one’s gallant comrades, and the hopeless feeling of having to begin all over again weighs on us all. Leave is to be opened again, I hear, soon, but I must get reorganisation well ahead before I think of coming home. I couldn’t face the sorrowing relatives yet. I must try and get Padre away. I saw some of our poor fellows in hospital. Sgt. Sewell, in great pain, but I hope will get all right. You remember him in U.V.F. days! I haven’t grasped who have gone yet. They don’t keep men in Field Ambulance, but clear them right away to England at once. The medical arrangements were good. It’s so hard to get any information as all who got on are either wounded and away, or missing. Two men told me they saw ‘At.’ fall and went to him later, and he was dead, but it’s not an absolute certainty, though I thought it was when I wrote to his father. It’s a bare possibility he may have been taken by the Germans when lying wounded. Such a relief to be away from the sound of guns. Things are going well in the South. Young Edgar is all right.

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