Dear Susan,

I miss all of you so very much. How are the children? I hope everything is doing well back home in London.

Much has happened since I had last written. Too much to write.

Just recently, some soldiers and I were sitting in the trench where we made a shelter with planks and sand bags. We were discussing some of our war plans. We had planned to travel to the border of France where our troops would support some of the French troops there. While we were doing this, the enemy started bombarding us. I was certain we were not going to make it. But obviously I was wrong. We started running out of the shelter because it was no match against the enemy’s firearm. I got as far away as I could, thankfully with slight injuries. The enemy held fire quite soon after. Only one soldier had got serious injuries, but he is healing quickly.

You are so lucky you don’t have to live in these filthy trenches. Not only have I had to fight and watch my friends die day by day, but also these pesky rats have caused major problems in our trenches. My fellow soldiers and I hardly had any sleep these past few nights. The trench rat’s problem has gone from bad to worse. The loud noises they make and their constant movement all over the trenches makes it extremely difficult to fall asleep. I tried endlessly to kill as many rats as possible before bed, but it’s impossible; they keep coming back. Our commander prohibited us from firing our weapons at the rats to kill them. We had to save our ammunition for the enemy and the enemy only, but some of us secretly fired at the rats when we just couldn’t handle it anymore. Just last night when I was finally falling asleep, I felt a strangely heavy weight run up my leg. Without doubt, I knew it was a rat. In an instant I grabbed my bayonet, which was at arms length, turned to my back so the rat would fall to the floor and stabbed it. Yes, it was a terrible sight, but I have gotten used to it. A few weeks back, I was walking through the trench, where I found a dead soldier. He had on the normal British soldier uniform as did the rest of us, but his was tattered, and drenched in blood. Under his shirt, just above his chest, I could see a large blob. I unbuttoned the dead soldiers shirt in curiosity and a giant cat-sized rat leaped out. The soldier’s chest was bitten into and scarred. A terrible sight it was.

I’m terribly sorry for making you have to read all my horrible problems. I wish I was there to just tell you all this, rather than writing it.

I will write to you soon. Tell everyone back home I sent my love.

Yours truly,

Christopher Blackstone

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