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[[circled]]312[[/circled]]
Saturday June 8, 1918.

The planes are being tuned up beautifully and our days are divided between the aerodrome, the officers' meeting, the barracks, sports, and amusements.

This evening Battery "D" of ^[[the]] "75's" put on a minstrel show that would have done credit to any meandering one-night-standers. 

The ships were all cornered in B flights' hangar when I looked 'em over before the officers' meeting at 11 a.m. I strolled out again after 2 p.m. and found an empty canvas cavern, neatly swept, a trellis of strung greens with a [[strikethrough]]neatly[[/strikethrough]] smooth pathway marked by the usual white stones (found everywhere beneath the soil in these parts) leading through the half-closed doorway into a theatre.

A stage with all the hangings, true to all customs of the legitimate even though crude, raised itself at the far end of the