Your letter with the clipping in it came a few days ago and interested me very much. The more I hear the more I become certain that when things are over and I manage to come that it will be moving to a strange country, and every one I ever knew the head of a rapidly growing family. Certainly the younger generation, judging from its start cannot be accused of race suicide.
As for myself things are going much as always. I told you all, I think, that I had been put in the ammunition train which occupies itself in bringing up shells, etc., to the batteries. The work is not as interesting as being at the battery proper and you do not have the satisfaction of actually shooting Dutchmen and believe me that is a real satisfaction. On the other hand, however, the life is vastly more pleasant. We live better, eat better and have quarters above ground, with the added distinct pleasure that you may make plans for 24 hours in advance without having always in the back of your head that condition “if I’m still here”. The work tho is entirely at night which, tho luckily, I have ceased to mind and simply consider it as a known fact that during certain hours it is dark and certain others light. Night and day as set periods to sleep and work have ceased to exist. And night by the way is the fashionable time at the front. You could stay in one place all day long and be lonely as anything but just as soon as it becomes dark and the balloons (observation balloons –Ed.) go down, things begin to come out and move around and the whole front, I mean that strip of country which the Bosch can see in the daylight becomes the most busy section of the world. Caissons, guns, men, horses, food and in fact supplies of every conceivable sort are going and coming and are everywhere. The immediate vicinity of the front is as different at midnight and noon as at 5th Avenue, only just the opposite.
There isn’t a great deal more to tell you now so I will stop. With love, Paul