A touching letter has been received by Mr. Harry Williams, of Brongwylfa, Blaenau, from his brother, Private David Williams, who is on active service with B Company of the 2 nd Welsh regiment. Probably no other regiment in the expeditionary forces has fought harder than the 2 nd Welsh, but they have maintained their traditional tenacity in the thick of the fray, and it is pleasing to find that young men from this district are to be found amongst this fine body of soldiers.
Private Williams states : —
“We have been in the trenches this last 14 days. We were there Christmas Day and New Year's Day. It is very cold here and continually raining. I hope you all enjoyed your Christmas, and that the works are going all right.
“This is a grand country. Its all farms here, and there are some fine gardens and some good agricultural ground here. I should like to come across Dr. Cook but he may be in another place. We have seen Dan Lemonheigh to-day and he is all right. Give my best respects to Dai Issac if you will see him.
“A good many poor fellows got frost bitten here during Christmas time; they could hardly walk nor feel anything with their hands.
“I would be very glad if you would send me a tin of cocoa and a bit of sugar, it is very scarce here, and it is so easy to make. I would be very thankful if you would do that.
“It is a pity to see the damage the Germans have done here to these poor people's farms and houses, and the hundreds of pounds worth of furniture lying about here.
“I am in good health, hoping you are the same, so no more at present. Best love to all.

I I I

It was a few weeks after when Harold Brown was reported fit to travel homewards. Sergeant Blakely and Nora had read previously of Harold's exploit, and both were proud, so indeed they could be. Old Blakely of course, had told everybody in the neighbourhood of Lingham, of Harold's bravery and daring deed, and great festivities were prepared for his home-coming. The day arrived, and the whole of the village folk were assembled at the station to give the hero a warm reception. The express steamed in majestically, and the disappointed villagers returned homewards.
Old Sergeant Blakely and Nora Mayfield were the keenest in their disappointment. They tried conjecture after conjecture to try and think what had befallen him, but of no avail. They sat gloomily over their ---W---, neither speaking a word. It was growing dark, so Nora lit the lamp and went towards the window to draw the blind. As she peered towards the road, through the twilight, she saw a face looking at her over the garden gate. She looked again, and saw a soldier's cap.
“Harold,” she cried suddenly, running towards the door.
“What is that?” said old Joe Blakely, turning around sharply in his chair. Nora did not hear him, but flew out to the gate. Yes, sure enough there was Harold Brown, leaning on his crutches, waiting for her with open arms. She drew back as she saw his pale face and stooping figure leaning on two crutches.
“Nora,” he said simply. “Harold,” she replied, as she took hold of his arm gently and led him towards the house.
Standing in the doorway was the old Sergeant Blakely, as alert and straight as ever. As soon as he saw the young soldier, he jumped with delight, and seizing Harold's hand in both of his own, he wrung it firmly. “I'm glad to see you again, lad,” he cried, “come on let's talk it over at the fireside.” Harold followed him, saying, “Well, Sergeant, I've brought you no V. C., I've brought home a broken leg.”
“More to thy credit,” replied the old Sergeant, bringing forward a chair. “But why didn't th' come with 3.40 as thee told us?”
“I knew, Sergeant; that there would be a crowd at the station, so I got out at Woodsfoot and drove here.”
“Harold,” said the old veteran, placing his hand on the young hero's head, “thou'rt a soldier in a thousand.” Nora walked in with a little frame in her hand. “Read that,” she said, giving it to Harold. He took the little frame and it was a newspaper cutting with the heading: