Private E J Morris, of the 2nd Northants, writes home to Rushden an interesting, though heavily censored, letter. He states “What Oh! Are we still smiling? Ask yourself! Oh but what an experience! It is impossible to explain it to you. I have been in the trenches. . . . twice up to the time of writing and am quite safe and well; that is to say I haven’t got a wooden leg yet. The first time we went into the trenches we had to cross three ploughed fields. . . . It was pitch dark, and it being the first time in the firing line we did not know the position of the enemy’s front. Therefore we could not open fire in case of killing our own men. They were all very cool, and we simply let them . . . . They did not hit anything but a goat and two pigs. We were sorry we could not serve them with the bacon next morning, but we did not stop to pick them up. We shall do a bit of pig sticking ourselves as we are only . . . away from the Germans in some parts of our trenches. There are some very good shots among the Germans, and if there are people who say they could not hit the parish they were born in tell them from me that A German put . . . through the same porthole one after the other, and the porthole was no bigger than a jam jar. They set their rifle by day, and as soon as they get a shot through they put their rifles in a vice so as to have the same aim every time. We go one better and make a porthole further to the right or left, and, of course they are allowed to waste as much ammunition as they please. What about their shell fire? Don’t mention it. ‘Jack Johnsons’ we call ’em. They make a hole big enough to put a London ’bus in. The second day in the trenches we had . . . of these unwelcome visitors. The first dropped . . . yards over the top, the second fetched a farm house to the ground . . . yards behind us; in fact, it was only . . . yards behind us; the third I thought had sent us to the Better Land, and the trench with us. It struck . . . yards in front of us, and the trench swayed to and fro. In this particular set there was only five of us and one sergeant (long deletion by Censor) I think he must have had a frozen heart as well as feet. I was quite as bad as him, but I stuck it and I am still sticking it. I shall give it best when I am finished for ever; not until. We have a fine Commanding Officer in Col. Prichard. We were firing very rapidly one night when the C.O. asked us what we were firing at, and we told him they were advancing towards us. (long deletion by Censor) because they did not reach our trenches. They fear our bayonets as much as those they fear behind them. Our C.O. has been wounded twice (as reports in a Northampton contemporary, where it states he is off to the front again). But where they get their information from is a very unreliable source, for he has never left us yet; although wounded he still remains . . . with us. The same paper states that Capt. C Helston was being carried to the Base when a shell dropped just behind him, rendered him unconscious for two days. It also said he was suffering from influenza. The fellow who gave the information must have been suffering from a swelled head. Capt. Helston was my own company officer and a brave fellow. (long deletion by Censor). I saw him, and Daddy Field nursed him through. It was one of the worst wounds imaginable. He must have suffered unspeakable agony. He stuck it like a hero, which he is. As for saying the shock of a bursting shell rendered him unconscious, it’s all rot. All the shells the Germans have got would not shock a man like him. The man who supplied the information must have suffered from nervous debility. The last words Capt. Helston said to me were (another big deletion) I am still smiling, not quite frozen to death, but often knee deep in mud and water. You know what it means: Death or Glory, perhaps both; we fear not!”