Friday August 11, 1916
Just an hour to going out again. O last night was a joke. It is good to have a joke occasionally isn't it! We had the job of running some trucks along the little trench railway up to the dump behind the firing line with some building material. Well there are four men to a truck and ours was a small truck and a nice load at that. We had a down grade for nearly the whole five or six miles, so we hopped on our truck and had a series of races all the way there. Our little fellow was a new one, nice and rigid, it proved to be the speediest. Then on the way back we didn't speed so fast. Then we found out when we got back there was only the one trip to make. We were back by eleven instead of two-thirty! Heigho! Another night of work done!
On our way out we saw a good stunt. There was a tiny little mortor engine pulling four loaded trucks along, it looked pretty good.
One queer thing when above the sky-line is the odd fact that when Fritzie uses a search light flop and be quick about it. But when flares go up they lighten up the landscape only in a sickly unearthly way, and things look unreal and eerie. Just stay in the exact position you are, standing up, squatted, or half bent over and you'll not be noticed.