3rd of Feb. Beautiful day. Nothing doing. Slept in church where lice caught. Daniel flew over, upside down at fifty feet. Wondrous.
Find can now buy huge meals of custard from what used to be post office. Made in big fish mould, so call it ‘Kemmel Fish’. More people selling coffee. Impressive how adversity turns out entrepreneurs. Will always be someone clever enough. World proliferates with little Hamilton McCoshes.
Not supposed to be in village at all, so technique is invent reason to go to quartermaster’s store/think up complaint that has to be dealt with by MO. Got put off when Boche started shelling village again. Killed nine men, but eventually Kemmelfishitis returns, and off we go.
4th. Awoke in church to find men kneeling all around me – weird. An old lady nodded to me, but after returning nod found was nodding and bowing to a saint. Slept well. Dreamed of Baltimore again.
Fond memories of worst trench. Had to get there in dark, and the ground frozen solid except covering of slime. Turnips poking out of soil so slipped and stumbled every step. Fell over French corpse, fell in ditch. Got snagged by brambles and thorns, panic because got left behind whilst trying to detach. Man in front whispers what’s just happened so doesn’t happen to one behind. Some ditches single plank across, always slippery with mud. Laden down like mules with equipment and provisions.
New trench an old one. Was German then French, shallow slimy one. Fritz hands and feet sticking out of parapet. Cuts in hands festering because nowhere to wash. Nearly vomited from stench. Hutch did. No sleep because of smell, so set about improving trench instead.
Realised couldn’t deepen it. Ground too hard, so went behind lines at night, retrieved bricks from broken-down cottage. Bricks not best protection (shatter), but did raise/improve parapet. Sun came out morning, melted ground. Back in putrid stuff again.
Beautiful day, and was peaceful. I love to watch the aeroplanes. Daniel Pitt stunts almost every day on way back from patrol. Came in very low today, practically head height, bombed us with rotten apples. Completely mad, must have been fired at by every Boche machine gun within a mile. Those who stunt at low altitude don’t last long, they say. Has painted ‘Long Live the Pals’ under bottom ailerons in bright red. Makes me want to cry. Good old Daniel.