November 17th
Very little shelling, hardly any our way. To-day is very stormy, and as the time goes on the wind develops into a great gale. All landing of stores has to cease. Great white waves dash up against our piers, and after it is over there will be much work for the Australian Bridging Section. In the evening our flimsy summer quarters are cold and draughty. The oil-drum fire won’t burn. So we turn in early, Elphinstone and Horne going to their dugout up the rise to our left. Suddenly, just as we are getting into bed, the tarpaulin half of our roof blows adrift. Hunt and I have a job to fasten it back in position once more. The wind is shrieking outside. A short while after, Horne and Elphinstone come back, asking for shelter, for their bivouac has blown down altogether, and so we crowd them in our shelter for the rest of the night.