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darkness crowding the trenches to an immoveable mass.

We lose such shelter as we had. Every direct hit means a bunch of casualties - Finally comes the runner authorizing us to come out & the getting back begins - Stumbling through the darkness, utterly exhausted so hungry that we don't know it - Losing our way in the maze of trenches but eventually by slow & painful degrees after many a necessary halt we get back to reserve.

There we find our comrades, a warm welcome & a hot meal. At first we can't sleep so we "chew the rag" for a bit until we find ourselves becoming insensible & senseless

BC Archives, MS-0055 Box 15 File 1 / CREASE FAMILY / Letters from Arthur Douglas Crease to his brother, Lindley Crease, 1916.