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 without fear, knowing that every breath may be my last . Much as I hope to live through' it all for your sakes and my little sister. I am quite prepared to give my life as so many have done before me and die for what I believe in. All I can do is put myself in God's hands for him to decide my fate.

. It seems years and years since we last saw each other.

Well I have not much time left and I must end.

With my dear love. Pray for me.

Your son

Jack.