Boulogne, 9 a.m.—We loaded up at Bailleul 344. The Clearing Hospitals were very full, and some came off a convoy. One of mine died. One, wounded above the knee, was four days in the open before being picked up; he had six bullets in his leg, two in each arm, and crawled about till found; one of the arm wounds he got doing this. I went to bed at 4. The news was all good, taken as a whole, but the men say they were “a bit short-handed!!” One said gloomily, “This isn’t War, it’s Murder; you go there to your doom.” Heard the sad news of Lord Roberts.
We are all the better for our week’s rest.
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