Dear Michael,
It has been quite some time since I have refinement written, the more than I learn about this god forsaken war the less I indirect request to discuss it, however I know you are sixteen now and may involve it a duty to follow my footsteps. So I am taking the time to describe the theatrics of my life in the trenches and the free-and-easy occurrences. Firstly I must enquire on the internal life, how is your brother and mother? Has the grieving process of father slowed, are they coping? Make sure you take good cautiousness of them Michael, keep the farm up and running and enjoy yourself at Christmas time.
The time spent at the Etaples base training camping ground was hard, the men began to realise what we were going to face, and the Bull ring training, created to shit us for time in the trenches was nothing like the horrors I face daily. After the training I was sent to the occidental front, I had made several close acquaintances but manifestly we were split up.
Life in the trenches is hard, they require constant maintenance, sandbags need to be refilled and stacked, new duckboards placed to aid against trench foot. So untold time is spent around waiting for a battle, in the lonely boring times my friends and I play cards, or dice.
Bill is especially good at poker, he is my close-set(prenominal) friend out here, and he seems to be coping get around as he is older and seen a lot more than myself. One night I awoke to him sobbing, we shared a tender conversation on the toll this fighting takes on us, he changes his socks only one time a day, two is recommended to go trench foot.
Speaking on trench foot, my close friend Mark...
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