Letter from the Frontline

My dear Mother,

It is a strange feeling to me but a very real one, that every letter now that I write home to you or to my little sister may be the last. I do not want you to think that I am depressed; indeed on the contrary, I am very cheerful. But out here, in odd moments the realization comes to me of how close death is to us. I stop to listen to the defining roar of artillery, as shells explode not 50 paces away and men cover there ears and plead to god to see them through it all . A week ago I was talking with a man, a catholic, from Preston, who had been out here for nearly four years, untouched. He was looking forward with certainty to going on leave soon. And now he is dead - killed by a shell. Well it was God's will.

I say this to you because I hope that you will realize, as I do, the possibility of the like happening to myself. I feel very glad myself that I can look the fact in the face