Just had breaker. Not at all bad either: bacon and biscuit, porridge, butter, anchovies, marmalade and tea! One of the mails got drowned the other day in the rough sea. Hope none of mine were on board. The crew were saved but the precious letters weren’t. It was an outgoing mail. I sent Bene a letter. Margaret’s is under construction. I got a letter from Margaret on Nov. 15 and one from Aunt Sybil. My first two since I arrived. It takes a month to get a letter from Canada and about two to get a parcel I should say. Everybody complains of insides this time of the morning; they are doing it now outside my dugout!

Bed time. Very comfy in 3 blankets well folded. I had a gay afternoon going down to the base; getting two strings of figs from the Y M C A by great good luck, and some tea with a stranger. Quite fun too, watching the Indians and Maltese unloading stuff and working, and the Australians and New Zealanders carrying boxes here and there. A motley crew, lots of languages. The Indians all wear their turbans differently rolled, and talk different languages. Lots of Gurkas too, little brown men. These were added to the excitement of donkey driving by native drivers on a very rough road with lots of obstacles. You can imagine the odorous of the place. Most foreign.

Then the sun set over the sea. It redded the backs of the ripples and mauved others, painted up the sides of one of the boats lying out, oranged, maddered and gilded in wisps and layers over Imbros, eventually leaving the night’s work to the gorgeous Eastern moon.

When I got back Thomson annexed the figs. 6 apiece, stewed cold for omorrow . My figs please! He won the point and was frightfully funny about a herring’s backbone in his gizzard. Screamingly funny!

Then I went to Conway’s dugout with Bateman to eat his chocolate and look at pen and ink sketches. He draws beautifully and we talked till the chocolates and the candle had vanished. Hence to my nice warm blankets. Good night. (You have just finished lunch)

Your loving Hugh