In a dugout.
Mon. Dec 18th 1916

My dearest Mother

I cant write any well at present (nothing unusual I know) but I have cut my thumb in opening a tin and although it doesn't bother me much it's sufficiently inconvenient to me when holding a pencil but really I don't care "tuppence" how I write as long as I can send you a message of some sort now and again.

I am in a comfortable dugout for the present trip although it's a trifle drafty at times and this morning we have cleaned up ourselves and the dugout, had a good breakfast, made up the coke fire and now I am sitting by the latter writing this, which makes I suppose a very typical trench scene. This dugout is pretty deep as dugouts go and as I sit here on an ammunition box and look up the steps (carpeted of course) - (with mud) I can just see the knees of fellows as they pass along the trench. This study in knees is comical at times for most who pass here are fellows we know and we sit down here and guess whose knees are passing (of course it kneeds a trained eye).

Your parcels have not yet arrived but I've by no means given up hope.

When is that scarf coming that Min is busy on. My! Couldn't I have done with it in the early hours of this morning for twas a rotten icy wind to stand about for a couple of hours or so.

Now I must shut up so bye-bye.

Ever your loving boy

Jack.

How's Perc?