August 26th
Everywhere everybody is hard at work making dugouts. In the line our infantry are feverishly making a line of defence, digging night and day without cessation. “A” Beach gets shelled, but no shells reach our end of the promontory. Our battleships’ guns roar out continually all day, as if in sullen anger at the recent failure—at what I am afraid will be our last effort. My Brigade has moved over from Chocolate Hill, and is in the line on the low part of the slope of the high hills which form the left flank, next to the sea, of our position, and Brigade H.Q. is dug in behind a hillock in a gully which has been called Lone Tree Gully.