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My Dearest Dorothy,            December 1, 1916 I have not long arrived in France and am posted to the Western Front in Messine. I am finding it terribly hard to write to you, not only because of the overwhelming pain of missing you, but the deafening sounds of aircraft and tanks, things that I have never seen before, are all around me. It is much more different here than in Gallipoli. A whole different war. It was much warmer in Gallipoli, and we had the beach to swim in, but it is so cold here, and there
is constant fog and rain. My feet are very itchy. I think I have Trench foot from the sludge beneath us. The mud is so bad you could drown in it, but I do spend most of my time outside of the trenches and only a small amount in the firing line. It is easier to eat here though, in Gallipoli there were swarms of flies descending on our food before we could put it in our mouths. That doesn’t happen here. I can’t wait to win this war, but I am not sure what the plan is, as all
we are doing is digging tunnels. It was inspiring to walk through Ypres in Belgium. This was where every person who was in this part of the war was converging, no matter where they came from. I hope you are doing well, and I cannot wait to be with you again. How I miss your delicious cooking. The sweet smell of freshly baked cookies is becoming more and more foreign to me, the taste of hard tack biscuits isn’t even comparable. I miss you my love, Charles
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