Many thanks for the Taylorian – there is not much in it these days except a list of rather gloomy interest. I think it is about time that I joined the M.T.S. club – a thing that in the ordinary course of events one would do immediately after leaving school. I do not know that there is any particular advantage in so doing except to keep in touch with people, which is always a good thing to do. When I have time I will drop a line to Hayes and ask for particulars. At present I find plenty to do in spite of my miserable knee. Maps, reports and all kinds of written work are always flowing in, together with a fairly constant stream of visitors to my little den. Bomb officers and intelligence officers and sundry other people of that calibre are constantly finding me in the midst of my frustrations. 6-7 I always make my hour of rest, and go and listen to the Band which plays in the village at that hour. They have managed to rake up the Mikado, so with that and Iolanthe we get a taste now and then of Sullivan. Yesterday being Sunday they had worked hard in the morning playing hymns for Church parade that by the afternoon they were almost played out. So much was this the case that the trombone gave out in the middle of a solo through lack of the necessary wind – a most pathetic interlude. Am glad to hear that Tennyson-Smith’s wound is nothing serious – he is obviously one of the right sort – or he would be back in England with it by now. When there is any real fighting on they have to keep the hospitals here clear to meet eventualities, and even the slightest wounds are sent home unless one fights to be allowed to remain. Being sent home is all very well, but it is remarkably difficult to get out again. When things have healed up, life out here is not at times all enjoyment, but it is never anything but acute boredom in a reserve unit, such as one gets posted to after being wounded. I should probably have got home with this knee of mine it I’d left it another day, and tried very hard. Tonight we are having a bust. The General, whose liver has fortunately improved, wants to celebrate the anniversary of his joining the service – some 30 years ago. So we are to eat chicken and drink phizz and generally forget that there is a war on. Tonight probably at 2.0 AM the enemy will do an attack and the only person capable of action and clear thought will be the Intelligence officer, who will doubtless deal very ably with even the most complex situation.