CHAPTER III

OVERSEAS--STRAZEELE--FLEURBAIX--BAC ST. MAUR--RUE DU BOIS--RUE MARLE--RUE DORMOIRE

February 13th. It seems impossible to believe that to-morrow the battalion really embarks for France; that the long period of training and waiting has at last come to an end, and that to-morrow we embark on the enterprise for which we all joined up, and for which some of us have now been waiting two and a half years. The sceptics of the battalion even now throw doubts on it. Admitted that the Transport and Lewis gunners have gone; admitted that the entraining orders are issued for to-night; admitted that everything is packed and ready. We have been fooled before, and likely enough this is only a ruse of the War Office to give another fillip to our flagging spirits, such as they administered in the summer when the move seemed almost a certainty; so much so, in fact, that we all enjoyed a "last leave" and returned ready for the front, only to commence the dull round of general training once more.

The barracks present an air of subdued excitement. Men stand about in groups discussing soberly the prospect of active service, each wondering in his innermost soul how he will acquit himself in the unknown trials that are before him. After all, England is a comfortable place. Life proceeds quietly and peacefully in spite of the bugle calls, the shouts of N.C.Os., the almost inhuman activity of the "physical jerks expert," and the endless exhortations of the officers. May not one in a few days be looking back on all this with bitter regret, and wondering sadly why we were so anxious to quit it and to plunge into the dangers and discomforts of war; the real war, that is to say, not the war of "blanks" and umpires, from which one returns punctually for tea, and grouses if the battalion should be half an hour late?

The only really active people are the O. i/c Details and his myrmidons. Major Turner is seen hurrying across the barrack square, hot on the trail of some deficient item of barrack equipment. The Quartermaster smiles to himself as he looks forward to the day when "destroyed by enemy action" will be the conclusive answer to all inquiries into deficiencies.

Slowly the day drags on. For fear that anything should be late, everything has been finished hours too soon. One last visit is paid to our old haunts and our old friends, and now it is time to collect our kit and get ready for the parade--"_the_ parade," we call it, because it is different from all others. Never since the days of 1914 have we paraded with such alacrity and "dressed" with such zeal. Weird rites prescribed by King's Regulations for regiments proceeding on active service are about to be performed. The moon shines brightly, as befits this solemn ceremony. Two sergeants, not proceeding with the battalion, are standing by while the roll is called, and woe betide the absentee with such witnesses to proclaim his guilt! Surely no one, having waited so long, will now miss the chance, but yet something seems to be wrong. Company Sergeant-Majors and the Regimental Sergeant-Major are in solemn conclave with the Orderly Sergeants. Two men are missing. Reference is promptly made to the Adjutant, who is standing by, and more discussion follows. It is all right, no one has missed his chance, but the Commanding Officer's and Adjutant's servants are proceeding by taxi to the station in charge of some kit.

And now it is time to move off. As companies in turn form fours and move out of the barrack gate, it is odd to feel that we shall never again execute this familiar movement on this well-remembered spot. Quietly, in the dead of night, we move down on the frosty road to Brookwood Station. The battalion is to go in two trains, with a short interval between, the second train under the orders of Major C. W. Wilson. At Brookwood the ladies of the district are dispensing hot drinks and buns. Modern conditions have taken away the glamour of war. No longer do we leave for the fight amid a crowd of cheering people, with flags flying and bugles blowing. The ladies of Brookwood, and our unlucky pals who could not bluff the doctor, are the only ones to see us depart, but their send-off leaves nothing to be desired.

The run to Folkestone was only a matter of a couple of hours, and the early morning light saw us detraining at the Jetty Station. Here the arrangements were excellent. The R.T.O. was full of information, and guides appeared to conduct the troops to the Rest Camp. This was a crescent of pre-war lodging-houses and an hotel, all railed in. As the companies marched through the gate, the guides took them to their destined houses, where breakfast was served. The officers were conducted to the hotel and similarly provided for. The hour of parade for embarkation was simultaneously communicated to officers and men.

There were several hours to wait even after a shave and a breakfast, but the time passed quickly enough. After all, it was our last sight of England, perhaps for all time, and we were not in quite so much of a hurry as a week before. At 12.30 p.m. we marched on board s.s. _Victoria_, one of the regular cross-Channel boats. Besides ourselves there were innumerable officers and men returning from leave, who glanced with casual interest at the obviously new crowd going out for the first time. The Commanding Officer was O.C. Ship, and consequently entitled to a cabin, where wonderful instructions dealing with action in event of submarine attack, etc., were to be found. There was also an amusing notebook in which Os.C. Ships were asked to make their comments on the ship. The names of many distinguished Generals were to be found among the signatures, and some of the remarks were highly entertaining.

The day was fine and cold, with a strong wind blowing, and although it was not exactly calm, few showed any serious signs of sea sickness. Two other transports and a couple of torpedo-boat destroyers made up the party. Boulogne was reached about 2 p.m., but owing to the speed of the other vessels we were last in. A long wait followed, and eventually we had to cross over another ship to get to the quay, a tiresome process in full kit. We had intended to have a very orderly landing, but the efforts of the Commanding Officer to get the men formed up were frustrated by the Assistant Military Landing Officer, who would not allow any halt until we were clear of all the quays and over the bridges into the town. An unpleasant and fatiguing "follow my leader" round trucks and over metals, dodging engines and motor lorries, resulted, during which process the whole battalion got well mixed up. Eventually, however, after considerable excitement, we formed up in close column of companies, and proceeded to march to Ostrehove Camp.

No one who took part in that march will ever forget it. It was not a long one, two or three miles at the most, but the last part of it was up a hill of the very steepest description. This is bad enough in itself at any time when you are carrying a heavy pack and all the rest of the impedimenta that adorn the "P.B.I.," but when, owing to burst water-pipes, the road is covered with very smooth ice for yards at a stretch, the march becomes laborious and painful to a degree.

Arrived at the top of the hill, we looked round hopefully for the promised rest camp. The sight was indeed depressing. A few dejected and battered-looking tents, one or two marquees struggling with the gale, and an odd hut or two, were the only signs of human habitation on this bleak and wretched moor. The temperature was several degrees below freezing, the wind swept over us in an icy gale, and daylight was rapidly failing. So this was active service, and how warm and comfortable those barracks at Woking were, and how strange that once we thought them cold and bare!

Little time, however, was allowed for reflections. The Camp Warden was there to introduce us to the amenities of the place, and companies and platoons were soon struggling off to try to find shelter from the wind. Blankets had to be drawn and rations issued, and as darkness fell parties were still hurrying about in every direction, endeavouring to get things straight for the night. Presently our indefatigable Quartermaster arrived, having forced a lorry driver, apparently at the point of his revolver, to bring the mechanical transport up to the camp; but how it got up, and still more how it ever got back, are among the unsolved mysteries of the war.

It now appeared that we had to entrain at Boulogne at 8 a.m. the next morning, and an early rise and breakfast were arranged. Few were sorry that our stay on this frozen mountain was to be short; most of us, indeed, regretted that we had ever to come there at all. Very early next morning all were astir. The misery of shaving with freezing water on an icy cold morning was a new experience, and no more pleasant on this than on the many subsequent occasions when it occurred. The officers were more fortunate; they had luckily secured a wooden hut, and also a good breakfast at the Church Army Hut, a veritable oasis in the desert.

After some heated moments while the Commanding Officer inspected the men, who looked rather different from the spotless battalion of Woking--how distant, by the way, that place seemed!--the battalion proceeded down the hill. The descent, if less arduous than the ascent, was certainly more perilous. Even the "higher command" could not always control its feet, and the battalion descended in various postures, mostly in a sitting or prone position; while the clatter of equipment, the crash of falling rifles, and the curses of the victims, aroused the local inhabitants, who regarded us with unseemly mirth.

On arrival at the station we found, to our surprise, that our train was in. It was of the usual kind, "Chevaux 8, Hommes 40," new to us then, but familiar to all the world now. Into this the battalion was sorted, the officers having a first-class carriage of an old-world aspect. Then we began to wait, a practice in which we were all greatly skilled, and about 9.30 a.m. we started off.

Before leaving England we had been issued with two wonderful pamphlets on embarkation and landing, containing, amongst other details, some remarkable returns of great length and complexity which had to be given to various railway, embarkation, and landing officials. The compilation of these returns had wellnigh deprived the Orderly-Room Sergeant of his wits, and but for the fact that he was to join that mysterious body called "3rd Echelon," we might have felt inclined to abandon the returns in order to save his reason. However, done they were. The next thing was to get rid of them. This proved even more difficult than their compilation; in fact, in the end we had to admit defeat. Every official wearing "tabs," a "brassard," or in any other way disclosing an official capacity, was offered these returns. Persuasion, threats, entreaties, demands were tried in turn without success. As a last resource, just as the train was moving off, they were thrust into the hands of the R.T.O. at Boulogne, who, however, hastily returned them, muttering that they were as dead as the dodo, and retaliated by presenting us with a Movement Order and a sheaf of papers dealing with the manifold responsibilities of O.C. Train.

The journey up from the Base has been so often described that it requires no particular notice here. It is a long and stately process. The train, when it moves at all, which is only occasionally and for short periods, makes a great deal of fuss about it; but if you should happen to be wandering about on the permanent way, in spite of orders to the contrary, you can always walk after it and climb on board once more. For the new-comer there was much of interest. On the outskirts of Boulogne the train passed huge dumps of war material of every possible description--guns, ammunition, wagons, trucks, stores, etc., with which gangs of "P.B." men, "Chinks," and other miscellaneous persons were coping in a leisurely fashion. As the train proceeded, the scenery of Northern France began to unfold itself. It is not very interesting--flat for the most part and agricultural, but full of differences from our own English country. The lack of hedges, the strange advertisements, the women at the level-crossings with their quaint horns, all struck a fresh note, especially for those who had never crossed the Channel before, even in the days of peace.

At 8.30 p.m., long after it was dark, the train drew into Bailleul Station, where the Staff Captain, Captain Beazley, was awaiting our arrival. Instantly everyone was galvanized into life. Huge flares illumined the darkness, and officers and N.C.Os. rushed about rousing their men, who were wildly searching in the dark recesses of their cattle-trucks for missing articles of kit. As usual, in a short time apparent chaos resolved itself into order, and the battalion moved off on its eight-mile march to billets under the guidance of an Australian, who was quite distressingly frank about his ignorance of the route. It was a trying march. The experience of the last two days, including twelve hours cramped up in trucks, had not been a very good preliminary to a three hours' tramp. Never had one's kit weighed so heavily. The "tin hat" between the pack straps seemed to increase the weight terribly. The road through the silent streets of Bailleul was cobbled, but as soon as the town was cleared a good country road with a pleasant surface took its place. Slowly the column moved along, and it was nearly midnight before we reached the forked roads where some of the companies had to branch off to their billets. The guide went with them, as the Quartermaster, who had passed us with the stores in a lorry, knew about the billets in Strazeele village. The guide, however, proved a broken reed, and much marching and counter-marching took place, and many an angry conversation with irate householders, before the tired companies at last got to rest in their respective billets--empty barns of a draughty nature. Headquarters proceeded to Strazeele, and eventually settled into billets where, in one case at any rate, a kindly hostess was waiting up with ample supplies of excellent coffee.

About six o'clock the next morning Major Wilson awoke the Adjutant to say that the transport had arrived, and where was it to go? On this question the Adjutant was entirely devoid of information, having seen nothing of the village in the blackness of the previous night. However, on further inquiry the Major found the field that had been selected, and soon the transport were settled in it, and the battalion was now collected and ready for any emergency.

Strazeele is (or was) a typical little village, consisting of two main streets forming a cross, a few straggling houses wandering off from these, two chief avenues, a church, a mairie, and innumerable estaminets. The surrounding country is slightly undulating arable land dotted with small farms, in which the various companies were billeted. The frost held for the first two days, but then the thaw set in with the thin rain and thick mud so strongly identified with Northern France and Flanders.

Beyond getting things straight, little training was attempted except the fitting of small box respirators and instruction in their use, which was duly carried out. Then each man had to pass through tear gas to test his respirator. When the Commanding Officer's turn came, Lieutenant James, the Gas Officer, to make assurance doubly sure, produced such a powerful mixture that Colonel Fletcher suffered severely, and his return to the orderly-room caused a rapid exodus of the staff with streaming eyes. The only other item of interest was the valiant attempt of a fatigue party, working night and day, to bury a dead horse in ground which, owing to the recent frost, was as hard as iron, which caused an interchange of very emphatic telegrams between Brigade and Battalion Headquarters.

Orders were now received for the Brigade to move on February 20th to the Sailly area, the battalion to pass the starting-point at 8.35 a.m. This meant early breakfasts and early preparations generally; but this, our first move on active service, proved a severe test of our training. However, after some vigorous criticisms from those in authority, we managed to take our places to time in the Brigade column, and set off for the new area in a steady drizzle. On the way we passed the Corps Commander, Lieutenant-General Sir A. J. Godley, commanding 2nd Anzac Corps.

After leaving Merville we were warned against gas shelling. This, together with the screens which now became conspicuous at all points of the road open to observation from the enemy's positions, served to remind us that we were now at last personally interested in the war, and had ceased to be mere onlookers.

In due course we arrived at La Rue de la Lys, a little distance short of Sailly, where we were to spend the night. Our billeting officer had meantime got lost; we overshot the mark and nearly reached Sailly itself, but fortunately discovered our error in time. We turned about by the military cemetery, where the first name to catch the eye was that of a sergeant who had been with us in Margate.

The billets consisted of a group of farmhouses, which with difficulty accommodated the battalion. Intermittent rumbling of artillery could now be heard quite distinctly, and you really felt that the war was getting nearer, and that any day now you might be taking an active part in it. That night we felt this still more keenly, as the New Zealand Division, whom we were to relieve, were celebrating their departure by a battalion raid, and the farmhouses shook and echoed to the roar of the guns as the barrage opened on the Germans. At all times a barrage is rather awe-inspiring, but when heard for the first time without warning on a winter's night by raw troops, the effect produced is distinctly sobering.

At 8.15 a.m. the next morning (February 17th, 1917) the battalion was on the road again, this time for Fleurbaix, just behind the line. The column was pursued by a Brigade motor-cyclist, demanding the names of two nominees for commissions. The reply that none were suitable only produced a further and more peremptory demand, and names had to be supplied. This was the beginning of that inevitable process which, more quickly even than the tax levied on the battalion by the enemy, robbed you of your best N.C.Os. as fast as you trained them.

The final stages of the march revealed clearly that we were now in the region where more than an occasional shell descended. The people of Strazeele had proudly pointed to isolated bullet marks and so forth, relics of the fighting of 1914, but here there were real shell holes and houses that had been hit obviously by something more effective than a bullet. Fleurbaix itself was a ruined village, though some of the surrounding farms were intact and flourishing. The church was a mere skeleton, and whole sides of some of the streets were in a state of collapse. Windows were few and far between, and the spaces usually covered with glass were now mostly filled with canvas, or in a few privileged places with oil-silk, which lets in the light. According to the local report, the enemy shelled the place heavily at regular intervals, gas shell being particularly plentiful in the previous bombardment. We hoped secretly that the next bombardment would be deferred for a while, and inspected our box respirators carefully before turning in that night.

As soon as the battalion reached the village the Commanding Officer and Adjutant reported to the New Zealand Brigade Headquarters, under whose orders we were to come for that night. There we met the Colonel of the 2nd Battalion Wellington Regiment, the battalion holding the line, who had come down to meet Colonel Fletcher. After a few preliminaries it was decided that the Commanding Officer and Adjutant should proceed up the line forthwith (it was then about noon), and the Company Commanders, for whom guides were provided, should come up after lunch. We were somewhat surprised to hear that we could go up on horseback, so after getting rid of spare kit and seizing tin helmets and box respirators we set off.

As we cleared the village evidences of hostile activity became more apparent, and our own 18-pounders were found in barns on either side of the road, their front being screened with hangings painted to resemble a brick house wall. The country looked depressing enough--flat as could be, and intersected with sluggish ditches full of dirty water and fringed with stunted willows. Remains of farms and flapping canvas screens stood about, looking strangely gaunt in this empty wilderness. The grass was rank and overgrown, while here and there lay remnants of trenches and great strips of rusty barbed wire, the defences of Fleurbaix. Suddenly our guide pointed to a notice, "Steel helmets will be worn forward of this point," which served to remind one, if a reminder had been necessary with shell-holes all around, that the German was within a distance measurable in yards.

After a few minutes' ride a large farm, to which had been added huts and also some defences, appeared in view. This, our guide informed us, was Elbow Farm, where the reserve company was located; likewise the best water supply and the gum-boot store. Still we went on till we came to a forked road with a large sand-bag wall. This was Sand-bag Corner, and here we left our horses. The enemy, it appeared, was a bit free with overhead machine-gun fire at night, and this screen had been put up to limit the flight of the bullets. A few minutes brought us to Wye Farm, in front of which was a large pond, and round this we skirted on duck-boards. On the right lay the military cemetery, where several figures were lying wrapped in blankets. We had met the walking wounded from the night's raid as we marched to Fleurbaix. These silent figures were those whose luck had not brought a "Blighty," but a more permanent rest in a foreign land.

The Headquarters at Wye Farm were in a sense commodious, but hardly of a description to inspire much confidence in a new arrival. Imagine an ordinary block of farm buildings with barn and cowshed attached. Knock holes in the roof till all the tiles and most of the beams are down; put one layer of sand-bags to protect the ceiling of the first floor in the house itself, and add sand-bag walls where walls of the usual description have ceased to exist, and you will have a fair idea of the Battalion Headquarters. There was one small sand-bag "bivvy" leading out of the orderly-room, late a stable for a couple of horses; and the regimental aid post was situated in a small brick outbuilding beyond the cemetery. In front of the house was a double duck-board track, which wandered round the corner into the farmyard behind. The Officers' Mess consisted of a low room with a fine fireplace; and the Commanding Officer's sleeping room was of reasonable size, and contained R.E. bunks for the Commanding Officer and Second-in-Command. Here we were introduced to the Second-in-Command, the Adjutant, and other Headquarters' officers of the battalion we were relieving; and then, under the guidance of the Adjutant, we set off to have a look at the line. All the way from Fleurbaix, and, in fact, the whole time we were going round the sector, the enemy preserved an entire and complete silence, due perhaps to the inoffensive nature of our particular opponents, or more probably to their rather harrowing and costly experience of the night before.

City Avenue, the communication trench we were to use, had one branch, which started from Wye Farm through a hole in the wall at the back of the farm. As in most communication trenches in that part of the world, the track rests on "A" frames to keep it above water level. Down this track we moved, experiencing for the first time the impression of the endless duck-board beneath one's feet and a few yards of trench, with an occasional glimpse of bushes or rank weeds, as the only prospect before the eye. The air was damp, and strange stale odours filled the nostrils. Everything was symptomatic of death and decay. Water and mud predominated, and everything looked dreary and unkempt to the last degree.

The support line round Hudson Bay looked fairly bright, with quite reasonable "bivvies," but the mud was there; and now empty tins and refuse of every sort began to add to the wretched aspect of the place.

As we neared the front line in the left sector--we were now in Bay Avenue--water and mud became still more plentiful, the ground even more bare, and the general sense of desolation even more pronounced. Suddenly we found ourselves in the front line--a sand-bag breastwork, looking old and weather-beaten, with a duck-walk running along it and a sudden descent of two or three feet to a continuous chain of pools of green and stagnant water. A few sand-bag "bivvies" among the traverses, an occasional roof consisting of a single sheet of corrugated iron--here was "home" for the next eight days. Whichever way you looked along the line you saw the same endless bays and traverses, most of them more or less fallen in; the same pools of evil-smelling water; the same stretches of shell-churned ground; the same old litter of tins and débris. If you turned your gaze backwards towards Wye Farm, in search of something less desolate and inhuman, the scene was hardly more inspiring. Overgrown bushes, stunted willows and mud, ill concealed by discoloured grass, were all that met the eye; and the landscape was only broken by the irregular lines of trenches which showed up in the distance like Brobdingnagian mole runs.

We visited the scene of the raiding party's exit from the line, and the smears of recent blood on the duck-boards and the pieces of field-dressing lying about similarly stained told their own story. We also heard how our advance party, who left us in Woking, had been initiated during the last few days into the mysteries of trench warfare. We then returned to Battalion Headquarters, where all the details of trench routine were gone into and explained with great clearness and precision.

No one could have been more kind and helpful than those New Zealanders, from the Commanding Officer downwards. They knew we were totally inexperienced, and they did everything possible to instruct us in the short time available. Their name became a synonym in the battalion for gallantry and courtesy, both of which qualities we had full opportunity of estimating.

As the weather was misty, and showed every sign of remaining so, it was arranged that the relief should take place on the next day (February 22nd) in daylight, commencing at 7.30 a.m. In the afternoon Company Commanders and selected N.C.Os. arrived to visit their areas, and their New Zealand opposite numbers proved as helpful and instructive as the Battalion Headquarters staff had been.

That night in Fleurbaix was quiet enough, and it was hard to realize how close we were to the war. The village, in fact, was only a mile or two from the British front line. As one looked from the windows, Véry lights could be seen shooting up into the sky, while the rattle of desultory machine-gun fire rang clear in the stillness of the night. Billets, on the whole, were good, the houses we used being but slightly damaged; but the draughts through the broken panes, and the subdued light caused by opaque coverings, did not make for comfort, as that word was understood by those whose idea of billets was a snug room in Blackpool or Margate.

Next morning (February 22nd) revealed a scene of great activity. Relief day is always a busy one, but when the process has not yet become so familiar as to be almost a second nature there is considerable excitement, and not a little confusion, before things begin to straighten out. Our guides, one for each platoon, duly arrived, and at 7.30 a.m. Captain Gilling and his heavily laden company were moving off. To the uninitiated it might seem that the Army Authorities had given the infantry soldier under ordinary circumstances, as much permanent equipment as one man could well carry. But it is a trifle compared with the loads carried on a relief. It is true that greater experience enabled one to devise means for reducing the distance over which these extra items had to be borne; but on this occasion, owing to the request of the New Zealanders to reduce horse transport as far as possible in case visibility improved, the men struggled off under fearful burdens. In the peaceful days of trench warfare a relief was almost tantamount to a household removal. There were valises, mess boxes, orderly-room boxes, Lewis guns, carriers for Lewis-gun drums, Véry pistols, periscopes, gum-boots, wire-cutters, rations, fuel, and a thousand and one other things to be taken up. The rate of movement decreases in proportion to the load, and consequently one mile per hour became the average pace. Companies proceeded in an order determined by the distance each had to cover. "A" Company led off, as they were bound for the right sector of the front line, viâ Elbow Farm and Tin Barn Avenue. Captain Steward and "B" Company followed, heading for the left sector of the front line past Wye Farm and up City Avenue and Bay Avenue. Captain Eccles and "C" Company only had to go to Jay Post, as the support line was in close proximity to Battalion Headquarters; while Major Charles Wilson and "D" Company had to go no farther than Elbow Farm, where life "in reserve" was comparatively peaceful--"comparatively" only, because all the fatigues and working parties generally fall to the lot of the reserve company, which means that the night is spent in tramping about and toiling. Headquarters proceeded last. They are not required till the relief is well advanced, and the Headquarters of the battalion being relieved can begin to dribble out and make room for them.

Reports of "relief complete" soon began to arrive, and the last company was through in a remarkably short time, a fact which the New Zealanders commented on with pleasure. Nothing is more annoying for an outgoing unit than to be held up by a bad relief. The last words of wisdom were spoken, trench stores signed for, and the other little formalities completed. With a cheery "Good luck!" and a hearty handshake they were off, and our Commanding Officer found himself for the first time in sole charge of a sector. As soon as our friends were clear, he, with his usual energy, was calling for his runner, and was off round the line to see how "A" and "B" Companies were getting on. With their wonted consideration, the New Zealanders had left an officer and N.C.O. for the first twenty-four hours with each company, knowing that the first night in the trenches is rather a strain, and the helping hand of the experienced was a great asset. Many were the problems which were exercising the minds of the Company Commanders as the Commanding Officer visited them in turn. Endless questions of detail presented themselves, which had first to be learnt and understood by oneself, and the information then passed on to the company--a far more laborious and difficult task.

Only a few hours of daylight remained, and there was still much to be done. The lists of things contained in the Trench Standing Orders, "What every Platoon Commander should know," "What every Section Commander should know," and so forth, were enough to distract the most phlegmatic mind, especially when nobody knew the answers to half the questions. The ideal--that is, when everyone knows and understands the answers to all these vital questions--is never attained except in a sector in which every member of the battalion knows them by heart, and at present no one had the requisite knowledge. To add to the difficulties, you constantly lost your way and wandered aimlessly in half derelict trenches, searching in vain for (say) No. 2 Post, where Sergeant X., only recently promoted to that exalted rank, was certain to be in need of advice and assistance. Eventually, giving up for the time all hope of finding this elusive post, you decide to return to Company Headquarters, where the Company Sergeant-Major is anxiously working out patrols, ration parties, and duties of every description, only to find your own Headquarters even more cunningly concealed than the much-sought No. 2 Post. In vain you consult the elegant sketch map of the trenches, that pretty but fallacious document which shows the way so clearly, but omits any reference to _disused_ trenches, which often look in such good condition as to lead you astray and lure you by gradual stages into a forlorn wilderness of abandoned saps. It is all very trying.

The sector itself--La Boutillerie, as it was called--requires little description beyond what has already been given and what can be seen on the map. Its two outstanding features were the Salient, a triangular piece of trench said to have been dug in one night during the days before trench warfare became stabilized, and Jay Post, a wonderful deep dug-out of magnificent proportions, which was but slightly used, as the enemy, in spite of our elaborate camouflage, had all its exits accurately registered.

That night, and in fact all the time the battalion was in this sector, the Germans were amazingly quiet. It is true that the vicinity of Battalion Headquarters, the road leading up to it, and the principal communication trenches, were liberally bespattered with machine-gun bullets. This was apt to "put the wind up" those whose duties compelled them to move about at night, and caused many curses to be heaped on the head of "Parapet Joe," as the chief offender was called, from the skill with which he could traverse along our front line parapet, with its many variations in level, even on the darkest night. An occasional "minnie" also descended on the front line with a loud report; and the Brewery, where the pump was, and where the observers had an observation post along with the gunners, received spasmodic attention from "whizz-bangs." At first people in the front line talked in whispers, although generally speaking the enemy was 400 yards away; but common sense, and the war experience of some of the officers who had been out with the 1/6th Battalion, soon put an end to that and many other little absurdities. The main stumbling-block at night was the tendency of people, contrary to orders, to take refuge in shelters and "bivvies." The order forbidding this caused considerable heartburning, though its sound sense was clear enough.

The weather, after being muggy and wet, had now turned bitterly cold again, and nights in the trenches under arctic conditions are never pleasant, and for the new-comer very trying. Accordingly, we were not sorry to be informed that our time in the line was to be of only four days' duration, and almost before we had realized we were in the line, officers and N.C.Os. of the 2/7th K.L.R. were arriving on tours of exploration. On the last night we had our first casualties, a "minnie" falling right on to a post, killing three men and wounding two. The fortune of war is very curious: some men go for months, and even years, unscathed through dangers of every description; others, like these three, are killed on their first tour of duty in one of the quietest sectors in France. We buried them next day in the cemetery by Battalion Headquarters, and it was melancholy to realize that the dissolution of our happy band had now commenced in grim earnest, and was likely to proceed more rapidly in the days to come.

At 7.30 a.m. (February 26th, 1917) the relief commenced, and in due course the companies were finding their way back to billets at Fleurbaix, feeling themselves twice the men they were but a few days before. They knew now what the real trenches were; previously their knowledge had been limited to those poor imitations at the Foresters Public-House at Aldershot.

Before completing the impressions of our first tour in the line, we cannot omit one thing from our account of this sector; not that the phenomenon is peculiar to these trenches or any other particular sector--in fact, till the more persistent use of gas sounded their death knell, they were to be found everywhere, "they" being, of course, rats. Now at home, in small numbers and well under the control enforced by long-established civilization, rats present no particular terrors or inconvenience except, perhaps, to a sensitive female. But in the trenches, where food was abundant and engines of destruction, at least as far as rats were concerned, few, they waxed plentiful, and their audacity increased with their size and their numbers. Not content with running all over the duck-boards, and all but refusing to step aside and let you pass, they ran riot in your dug-out, gnawed your clothes, devoured your food, scampered all over you as you slept, and in one notorious case caused grave inconvenience to a Medical Officer by removing bodily his set of false teeth. In the front line they climbed on the sleeping soldier and gnawed through his haversack to reach his iron ration. In the "bivvy" they nibbled holes in a man's socks as he lay on the ground. In fact, so bold were they that you could fire two or three rounds at a rat and hit all round him before he would condescend to move at all, and then he would only twitch his whiskers and remove himself in a leisurely fashion to some less disturbed spot. The services of Mr. Browning's "Pied Piper" would have been invaluable to us. There were, to be sure, various trench cats and an occasional dog, but they had other and better means of subsistence and took little heed of the rats. So the latter flourished, and, though curious diseases broke out among them, their lot must have been a happy one till the gas shells began to fall in every sector, and then their numbers dwindled rapidly, and in many parts they "ceased to be," at any rate for the moment.

Our second visit to Fleurbaix, for our first had been but a fleeting one, enabled us to get a more comprehensive view of our surroundings. The destruction in the village proved more considerable than had at first been realized, and though civilians abounded, the place had a weary and depressed air, which was hardly to be wondered at. Everything looked so sadly out of repair; little attempt had been made, or was indeed possible, to make good the ravages of war. Streets where there was little traffic were grass grown, gardens were rank with weeds, fences and railings were broken down, and débris of bricks and mortar littered the ground. Work on improving billets was at once put in hand, and things left unfinished by the 2/7th K.L.R. were completed and improved, in accordance with one of the unwritten laws of trench life--viz., "Always leave a place better than you find it." The 2/8th K.L.R., working with the 2/5th K.L.R., occupied in turn billets opposite ours; and in rear of the village in quite a decent house were Brigade Headquarters, pleasantly adjacent to a couple of 60-pounders!

Being now Battalion in Brigade Reserve, we were initiated at once into one of the special functions of that privileged position, the reconnoitring of emergency routes. This necessary but tedious performance is complicated by the very hazy details usually supplied, and the tendency of the local inhabitants to remove guide posts and to put wire fences across the tracks.

Although the battalion remained in Fleurbaix till March 6th as Brigade and Divisional Reserve, it must not be imagined that the time was an idle one. Even in so-called "rest periods" the infantry are never allowed much peace, while in reserve in the vicinity of the front line there is more than enough for all to do. To begin with, the troops found, to their disgust, that general training was not confined to England, and for those not otherwise employed the usual physical training and bayonet fighting, rapid loading, wiring, and all the other inventions of the training enthusiast, appeared once more on the scene. All the same, the proximity of the enemy added interest to the bayonet fighting and other exercises, for no one knew but that skill in those arts, and of the very highest order, might be demanded of every man at the shortest notice. The natural tendency to dirtiness and slovenly appearance produced by a time in muddy trenches had also to be checked, and the battalion soon realized that the best soldiers in action are generally the best turned-out behind the line.

Apart from training in arms and discipline, the majority of the battalion were heavily engaged, under R.E. supervision, in digging or cleaning out drains and channels in rear of the line. This most necessary but unpleasant and tedious work fills the soul of the fighting man with burning indignation; and though warnings to that effect had often been uttered, it took practical experience to prove that more than half an infantryman's work consists of digging. It is curious to note that, essential as is proficiency in the use of the spade, no real instruction in the subject is ever given at Officers' or N.C.Os'. Schools, though to watch an untrained digger and a trained one working side by side is a revelation. In Major Bishop, R.E., we found a man full of knowledge and withal of consideration and tact. Everyone liked him, and while he commanded the Field Company with which we worked, though misunderstandings sometimes arose and mistakes occurred, as was inevitable, our relations with him were always most cordial, and it was with deep regret that we heard of his death at Passchendaele later in the year. His place was, luckily, filled by another good man.

There is nothing particularly amusing, still less heroic, about a night working party. As soon as the light begins to fail the parties fall in, wearing gum-boots and skeleton equipment, with the rifle slung across the back. Each man carries a pick or shovel, or, if it is a wiring party, rolls of wire slung on a stick between two men. Off they go, their footsteps, owing to the rubber soles, sounding rather ghostly as they tramp along the _pavé_. Rapidly darkness falls, and, except for the subdued sound of their feet, the gentle "swish" of water in the water-bottles, and the occasional "clang" as someone stumbles and hits his spade against his rifle, there is little in their progress to attract attention. Presently the party halts, and a voice from the darkness inquires: "Is that 'A' working party, 2/6th K.L.R.?" The answer is in the affirmative, and the party is allotted its task.

An occasional Véry light shows up the men in silhouette, their rifles and equipment lying in a row out of the way of the earth they are throwing up, but ready to hand in case of emergency. Presently a machine gun begins to speak and slowly traverses in their direction. The work continues, but attention is centred on the stream of bullets which may suddenly spray right across the party. Here it comes, and down they all go on their stomachs as the bullets hiss and crack above them. It ceases as suddenly as it began, and work proceeds again. Another moment and there is a swift, rushing sound, followed at once by a loud report, then by another and yet another in quick succession. Those nearest hastily take cover, for a "whizz-bang" at close quarters can be very destructive. The stretcher-bearers accompanying the party listen for the call, "Stretcher-bearers forward," but no one calls, and work begins again. About midnight it is finished. Plastered with mud--thick, stinking mud--the men collect their equipment, spades and picks are checked (it is so easy to leave some behind, just put down for a moment and forgotten) and off they go, listening eagerly for the order, "Smoke if you like," back to Fleurbaix, where hot tea awaits them; "and so to bed," as Mr. Pepys says.

Another interesting experience was our first visit to the Divisional Baths. This entailed a pleasant march in light order to Sailly, where bathing apparatus had been erected in a disused factory. The apparatus consisted of showers and tubs. As each man passed in he handed over all his personal effects and received a numbered disc in exchange. He then proceeded to undress, and while he was bathing his uniform was "stoved." As soon as the bather had dried himself he was presented with a clean set of underclothing, and his soiled linen was removed. This was really an excellent system, but it suffered from one serious drawback. A man gave up a good shirt and perhaps his own home-knitted socks. The quality, not to mention the size, of the articles issued in return did not always correspond to those handed in. This was apt to be a frequent source of complaint, but, taking all things into consideration, it did not appear that any other system was feasible. For the officers there were half a dozen hip-baths, surrounded by duck-boards, with which, in fact, the whole floor of the baths was covered; and though the Commanding Officer possessed a rubber saucer-bath, which he lent freely to the other officers, a complete immersion in hot water was a pleasure too keen to be resisted, and the comfort of it almost indescribable.

One rather interesting little ceremony was performed at Fleurbaix. This was the presentation by our billet lady at Headquarters to each of the battalion runners of a rosary specially blessed by the priest. She assured them that so long as they wore these rosaries no harm could befall them, and it is interesting to note that only two out of the ten died: one of them, Manick, was killed in 1918 while serving with another battalion; the other, Turnock, died as a prisoner-of-war, having been captured while serving with another unit. Manick, it is said, had sent his rosary home a few days before he was killed.

At 7.30 a.m. on March 6th "Gipsy," the new code name for our battalion, commenced to relieve "Giddy," the _nom de guerre_ of the 2/7th K.L.R. The order of march this time was "C," "D," "B," "A"; "C" on the right and "D" on the left in the front line, "B" in support, and "A" in reserve. An innovation, always adopted in future, was made by the dispatch of signallers into the line ahead of the battalion, thus ensuring the proper take-over of signal stations throughout the sector in the ample time at their disposal. Taking over a complicated exchange at Headquarters and smaller switch-boards at the Company Headquarters, involving as it does a clear understanding of which line is which and where it is laid, where the test boxes are, and so forth, is a business that requires care and takes time. The irritating and even disastrous results that might arise from mistakes or erroneous information can easily be imagined.

Nothing eventful happened during the relief, but Headquarters were interested to learn that the Germans had shelled Wye Farm, putting one shell, in fact, right through the roof just above where Colonel Slater was sleeping. The New Zealanders had warned us that the place looked like an empty ruin from the enemy's position, and that only charcoal or coke should be used during the day, so as to prevent smoke. Whether these precautions had been relaxed, or whether the enemy was merely being spiteful, was not clear; but at any rate the work of making shell-proof "bivvies" which had already commenced, was hurried on, and "baby elephants," the smaller corrugated iron semi-circular shelters, began to arrive and were inserted into some of the rooms, together with a liberal supply of sand-bags.

The weather was again positively arctic, and everyone looked half frozen. No one, therefore, was particularly displeased when orders were issued at 11 p.m. on March 7th that "Gilt"--_i.e._, the 2/8th K.L.R.--would relieve us, commencing at 8 a.m. the next morning. The 2/8th K.L.R. were in the trenches on our right, and the scheme was that they should thin out their posts and with the surplus troops take over the most vital positions in our sector. This thinning-out process was taking place all up and down the line, men being drawn from quiet sectors to increase the number available for the great offensive planned for 1917. Profound secrecy was to be maintained, and strict orders were issued that no troops should move in daylight along routes where they might be detected. Nature, however, took the matter into her own hands, and thoughtfully provided a blizzard throughout the whole period of the relief.

The orders for the relief were somewhat complicated. Two platoons of "C" Company were to move out at once, the other two to remain and be relieved in the positions they held. "D" Company could release one platoon and retain three; "B" Company released two platoons less one section, and "A" Company the same. Plenty of guides were provided, each supplied with a note as to the location and name of his post, and the relief proceeded steadily and without a hitch. Wye Farm, from being a Battalion Headquarters, sank to the more humble position of a telephone exchange, with one section to guard it.

An interesting item in the orders was paragraph 9, which stated that on March 9th the battalion would proceed to Bac St. Maur into billets, and that 2nd-Lieutenant Clarke was to proceed there at once as billeting officer. The battalion gradually percolated to Fleurbaix as the relief proceeded, and the Quartermaster and his satellites were busy there packing up and making ready for the move on the morrow. The Quartermaster's Stores and transport lines were already quite close to Bac St. Maur, and many were the inquiries as to the sort of billets we were likely to get.

For the following morning orders were issued on the zero principle, companies and platoons being ordered to fall in at so many minutes after zero, which was 9.30 a.m. It was an experiment in timing, and was not used again except for active operations. Intervals of 50 yards between platoons and 200 yards between companies had to be observed, while a space of 50 yards had also to be maintained between every group of three vehicles. These precautions were valuable, not only in the case of hostile artillery fire, but also to prevent congestion and blocks on the narrow French roadways. Never, even in rest areas, did a battalion move in that solid stream of which we used to be so proud in England. Long distances between battalions and shorter distances between companies was the invariable rule, though it gave a battalion a somewhat disjointed appearance and, if horses for any reason were not available, made communications between the companies rather a tedious performance on the march.

The distance to Bac St. Maur was only a matter of two or three miles, and we were soon there. The village consisted of two long rows of ugly houses and factories on either side of the main Lille--Armentières--Estaires road. Most of the houses were small and poor-looking, such as you find in little industrial villages; and the _pavé_ road, much in need of repair owing to the continuous stream of lorries, by no means added to the beauty of the place, which indeed looked dreary enough. However, it seemed pretty peaceful, and the war seemed removed to a far greater distance than the few miles traversed really warranted. After the usual discussion over billets--for everyone thinks another company has done better than his own in the allotment--the battalion settled down very comfortably, and prepared to carry out the work usually assigned to a Brigade in Divisional Reserve--viz., providing working parties. Of these there were two distinct kinds: one was for the improvement of the line of strong posts in front of Fleurbaix, which rejoiced in such names as "Croix Marèchal," "Command Post," "Ferret Post," etc., where the only excitement was an occasional shower of "whizz-bangs"; the other was working on the dumps at Strazeele, which meant starting by motor transport at 6 a.m.--or rather being ready to start then, as the lorry was anything up to two hours late. For the rest of the men there was general training, and the companies were changed about daily.

A pleasant addition to Bac St. Maur was the Divisional theatre bought by our Division from the Australians. It was a large army hut, suitably fitted with stage, etc., and here the Divisional Concert Party, "The Dons," used to perform with great skill.

We were much worried at this time with anti-gas instructions. Not only did the Divisional Gas Officer, whom we had not seen since our first arrival at Strazeele, begin to realize our existence once more and come to inspect respirators, but countless instructions came out containing a perfect maze of directions. The whole of the front was divided into zones--"Gas Alert," "Precautionary," etc.--and notice boards were posted on the roads warning the wayfarer as to which zone he was entering. Further, when the wind was "dangerous," boards revealed that fact to all and sundry, and harrowing accounts were circulated as to the swiftness with which the German gas penetrated into back areas.

The Quartermaster's stores and transport lines were quite pleasantly situated on a side road about ten minutes' walk from the battalion. The former consisted of two or three small Armstrong huts, where the Quartermaster and Transport Officer lived in considerable comfort and entertained freely. All the animals were in good covered standings, and the billets for the drivers and the grooms were conveniently adjacent. The transport section always distinguished themselves by their taste for beautifying their surroundings, and in their spare moments Lieutenant Hutchinson and Sergeant Lloyd had many an anxious discussion as to the most suitable site for a row of whitewashed stones, collected with great trouble from the neighbourhood.

One thing which impressed us during our stay in Bac St. Maur was the very pronounced salient in which we were living. At night this was very marked, as in whichever direction you turned Véry lights could be seen in your rear. So striking, in fact, was this that a soldier of another battalion, somewhat the worse for drink, came up to Lieutenant Sutherland one evening, and, pointing to those Véry lights rising well behind our backs, inquired in a confidential manner: "Can you tell me, sir, if that is the same war as we are taking part in?"

On March 17th our first draft of officers, three in number, arrived--2nd-Lieutenants McWilliam, Fell, and Hodgkinson. Of these McWilliam had been badly wounded in 1915 while serving as a sergeant in the 1/6th K.L.R. As against this access of strength we had to set the loss of a sergeant and a number of men who had to be sent as bridge guard to Estaires, and whose return, when we had ceased to be in Divisional Reserve for some months, was only effected after a very lengthy correspondence. Sergeant Webster was also dispatched on traffic control duty, at which work he remained till the end.

We had thought in England that we knew something about men being employed on extra-regimental duty, but the few we had so employed there was a trifle to the host supplied by us in France. Corps, Divisional and Brigade clerks, area sanitary men, Divisional Baths employees, cooks and servants at Formation Headquarters, traffic control, A.S.C. loaders, men loaned to trench-mortar and machine-gun companies, gum-boot store-keepers, tramway men, men employed at Corps Rest Camps, N.C.O. instructors at schools, and Heaven knows what else, continued to be a steady drain on the battalion. Vacancies for courses, too, came pouring in; and when you consider the number of cooks, transport drivers, clerks, police, storemen, etc., who are required for every battalion's own use, it will be clear enough that the number left in platoons and sections for ordinary duty was very small.

Our time in reserve was now drawing to a close, and it appeared that on March 29th we were due to relieve the 2/5th South Lancashire Regiment in the Rue du Bois sector north of (and next but one to) La Boutillerie, the Fleurbaix trenches. The usual procedure followed. We (_i.e._, the Commanding Officer and Adjutant) set off one morning and rode along the road to Erquinghem, where we turned off to the right and called at La Rolanderie, a pleasant farmhouse with some extra Nissen huts, the Headquarters of the 172nd Brigade, the present tenants of the sector. From there, after the usual discussion about the enemy and the disadvantages and peculiarities of our new sector, we proceeded viâ Gris Pot and La Vesée to a junction of roads a few hundred yards south of the latter place. Here the horses were left, and inadvertently our tin helmets, which were hanging from our saddles, and we proceeded on foot. The country was flat and depressing. Tattered screens stood here and there masking the roads. An occasional section of guns hidden in old houses; a runner or two riding along the _pavé_ on that invention of the devil an army cycle; an artillery officer and his signallers making for a forward observation post--those were the only signs of life. All the houses were untenanted, which was to be regretted, as piquant advertisements testified to the excellence of Pierre Les Cornez beer!

In the background behind the German front line the slopes of the famous Aubers Ridge, the barrier that blocked the road to Lille, rose steadily to a height of more than fifty metres, almost a mountain-range in this flat country, giving the enemy a very fine view of all our activities. Passing Billet and Ration Farms, which bristled with R.E. material and salvage, we crossed a duck-board bridge and struck the subsidiary line of the Bois Grenier sector on the immediate right of the Rue du Bois. We plodded steadily along the duck-board track till Desolanque Farm (or Deplanque Farm, as its real name is: the official map is wrong), the usual ruin surrounded by a rectangular moat, appeared in view. The subsidiary line ran about fifty yards in front of this, and close up against it, in a long concrete dug-out, were the Battalion Headquarters that we were seeking. Down the steps into this dug-out we descended with more haste than dignity, as the enemy selected this particular moment to send a shower of "whizz-bangs" into the farm, just skimming the top of the dug-out. In the narrow stairway we met the Commanding Officer, full of wrath. "Whizz-bangs" generally meant that too many people were wandering about in the vicinity of the farm, and strict orders had been issued to prevent this. It is extraordinary how insensible to danger the average man soon becomes, and the most reasonable orders for the protection of life are ignored or disregarded unless very strictly enforced.

The Headquarters consisted of a very long concrete passage with five small rooms opening on to it--the mess, two sleeping rooms, a signal office, and the Adjutant's office and sleeping room combined. All the rooms were small and required artificial light, and a general feeling of chilly damp prevailed everywhere. We arranged ourselves as best we could in the mess; but we were all crowded together in a space far too small for the number of occupants, and the table was covered with maps, defence schemes, aeroplane photographs, and the usual litter of a trench headquarters, not to mention box respirators, tin helmets, and other impedimenta which are hastily doffed on entering a dug-out.

It appeared that the artillery observers had decided that the Germans were registering, and a sketch map that was produced showed the area which it was presumed they intended to raid. Colonel Bates, of the 2/5th South Lancashire Regiment, was rather contemptuous of the whole thing, and ascribed the apparent registration to mere casual shooting on various targets. But, at any rate, the matter had to be attended to, although the expected raid never took place. The line was held with three companies in the front and support lines, and two in the subsidiary line, the additional company being supplied by another battalion. The total frontage was about 2,800 yards, and to cover this a system of "gaps" and "localities" had been arranged--_i.e._, a series of posts covering vital points of the line. The "gaps" were ordinary but unoccupied trenches, often derelict; but they were usually wired and made difficult to penetrate.

Before leaving the 2/5th South Lancashire Regiment we were introduced to Major Brookes, M.C., A/286 Battery R.F.A., and from that moment commenced a long and lasting friendship with a most gallant and capable officer in whom every man (and all knew him) placed the utmost confidence. In the trying days ahead in Houplines at its worst Major Brookes was daily round the line; and though his battery was continually shelled by guns of every calibre, he always managed to do all we asked him, and never failed to let the enemy have even more than his daily quota of 18-pounder shells.

At 8 p.m. on March 28th Lieutenant F. C. Bowring, Sergeant Machell, and the company Lewis gunners set off for the trenches. In view of a possible hostile raid, it was thought advisable that they should relieve in daylight, and be in a position to make their presence really felt on the relief night in the event of the Germans choosing that time for a raid. The route to be taken was viâ Erquinghem, Armentières, and Rue Marle Level Crossings, and then straight down past Crown Prince House to the subsidiary line, where they were to spend the night, taking over their posts at dawn the following day.

It was a long and tiring march of many miles from Bac St. Maur, and one which was considered too long for the battalion to undertake at one stretch on relief night, and it was therefore arranged that a long tea halt should be made in Armentières. The Commanding Officer decided to spend the afternoon of the relief day (March 29th) in the trenches with the Company Commanders; while Major Wilson was to meet the battalion in Armentières, where he and the Quartermaster were making the necessary arrangements for housing and tea; and the Adjutant brought up the battalion. Coming through Chapelle d'Armentières on their way back from the trenches, a question arose between the Commanding Officer and the Company Commanders as to the location of some place on the map. As it was raining and they wanted to examine the map, they adjourned to a ruined house for a few minutes. The point at issue being settled, and time getting on, they hurried out of the house and on down the street. They had not gone thirty yards when a shell entered the house they had just vacated and blew the place to smithereens. How often in this and in every other war a few minutes have made the difference between life and death!

The school at 57, Rue de Lille, had been selected for the tea halt, a place eminently suited for the purpose, and fairly safe from possible interference by the enemy. It was a fine building built round a playground, with the front facing the Rue de Lille, and one side of the school facing the Rue Gambetta. It had obviously been repeatedly hit by shells of various sizes, but the Germans had not shelled Armentières itself for some time; and although the concentration of the whole of the battalion in such a small space caused some misgivings, the scheme worked excellently, and nothing untoward occurred. Field kitchens arrived with the companies, and as soon as tea was well under way the officers repaired in turns to the "Au Bœuf," an excellent restaurant--one of the few still doing business in the town.

At 7 p.m. the head of the battalion arrived at Sand-bag Corner, a junction of roads with a great sand-bag barricade on the way to Chapelle d'Armentières, where guides awaited us. The companies were to hold in the order "D," "A" (now commanded by Captain Wyatt), "C" from the right, with "B" Company in reserve in the subsidiary line, which "B" Company, 2/7th K.L.R., proceeding viâ Gris Pot and La Vesée, had already taken over, as extra company in the subsidiary line, from a company of the 2/4th South Lancashire Regiment. For the first time the men wore their packs detached from their equipment on kicking-straps, this again being due to the possibility of a raid; and in future this was the order for all reliefs, the manifold advantages being very obvious. The last part of the route up to the subsidiary line was along a lane full of shell-holes, but the frequent illumination produced by German Véry lights made the going fairly simple. Transport came right up to Battalion Headquarters, and dumps were formed accordingly in the subsidiary line for Headquarters and for each company. The relief proceeded quietly and without incident, and its speed was naturally increased by the possibility, owing to their number, of having "up" and "down" communication trenches--Wine Avenue and Leith Walk the former; Park Row, Wellington Avenue, and Cowgate the latter. At 12.40 a.m. on March 30th relief was reported complete, and our friends of the 2/5th South Lancashire Regiment proceeded joyfully to Crown Prince House and the reserve billets in the Rue Marle.

The tour, in spite of the gloomy forebodings of the gunners, proved quiet enough. For the first night or two strong fighting patrols lay up in No Man's Land in the hope of catching the enemy raiding party. The Germans, however, showed no signs of any hostile intent, and after a day or two the various precautions that had been adopted were discarded.

The left sector came in for a considerable amount of shelling, particularly in the vicinity of Captain Eccles's Headquarters and also the Ferme de Biez in rear of it, which our observers used to haunt. However, there was plenty of room in the sector for shells to fall without doing any serious harm, and our casualties were, fortunately, very low in consequence. In the right company's front a stream came in under the front line and wandered across the sector. Strict orders had been issued that the water was not to be used for drinking or cooking, inasmuch as it came from the enemy's line. Walking round one day, Captain McHugh, our newly arrived and most delightful Irish Medical Officer, took a sample for analysis through curiosity. It was interesting to learn that a strong arsenic result was obtained.

A small incident that occurred during this tour, while we were still fresh and inexperienced, and which caused considerable merriment at the time, may be worth recounting here. In the apex of the salient C.S.M. Barker, of "D" Company, had found a rifle-grenade machine--simply the barrel of a rifle mounted on a fixed stand, at a point within comfortable range of the enemy trench. Now, Barker had in the training days in England been Bombing Sergeant, and was anxious to give a practical demonstration of the skill he had acquired in the handling of these treacherous and dangerous weapons. Moreover, O.C. "D" Company was determined to show his company that "live and let live" was not to be their motto, so his support in the venture was assured. "I will come down to-night, corporal, and send a few over," remarked Barker in an off-hand manner to Corporal Wright, whose section held the post of honour at the salient. Accordingly that same night Barker, with a small host of supporters, including Lieutenant Ormrod, the Trench Officer, F. G. Roberts, the Trench Sergeant, Riflemen Forster, Alpine, and Liderth from the next post, and Moody and Heath (runners) was to be seen in the vicinity of the lethal weapon. All took such cover as they could while Barker loaded the machine with a "Newton Pippin" and prepared to do his worst. "Look out!" Bang! With a thin whistling sound the grenade wended its way towards the enemy. Tense silence. A second later an uninteresting report over the way. Hardly had that noise subsided than a sinister "pop" was heard. "What was that? Keep low!" A rushing, hissing noise approached, becoming rapidly louder. Clang! Clang! as "pineapple" after "pineapple" burst in and among the party, covering the prostrate soldiers with mud as they flattened themselves against the ground. A swift crawling, creeping, shuffling, and the party were hurrying away blindly trying to escape from "those damned things!" For the remainder of the night the shoot was "off."

However, O.C. "D" Company was reluctant to leave the initiative with the enemy. It is true that we might have known that he had the spot registered from his previous experience, and that we laughed heartily over the whole thing. Still, something had to be done. Suddenly O.C. "D" Company remembered that at 6 a.m. the next morning the Light Trench Mortar Battery were to do a shoot, supported by 18-pounders if required. Here was the chance of showing the Germans that "D" Company were not easily worsted. It was arranged that a "Newton" should be mounted once more. Watches were quietly synchronized with the unsuspecting Light Trench Mortar Battery. At five seconds before 6 a.m. the "Newton" was fired. Instantly came the German retaliation as before, but hardly had the "pineapples" started when our Light Trench Mortar Battery opened with great vigour. This annoyed the enemy, who were expecting another easy victory, and the aid of their artillery was invoked. To this our 18-pounders replied, and before long a regular artillery duel was in full swing. This was more than the Germans bargained for, and they soon stopped. "D" Company were avenged!

At night we used to get magnificent views of distant barrages, especially towards the south. It was a wonderful sight, like summer lightning, only more vivid and impressive; while every now and again the uniform colour of yellowish light would be shot with a sudden streak of vivid red as a dump exploded or some conflagration broke out. It was fascinating to watch the endless dance of flickering light against the blackness of the sky. One minute the whole heaven was lit up, the next moment all was dark; or perhaps a series of small flashes appeared, darting up now here, now there. If the barrage was far away, no sound would be heard, though if you entered a dug-out facing in that direction you would be conscious of a dull rumbling that warned you this was no mere pyrotechnic display, but the most nerve-wracking feature of modern war, an intense bombardment.

During this time we learnt with regret that General Gilbert, who had commanded in turn for many years first the original and then the Second Line Liverpool Infantry Brigade, was returning to England on account of age, being relieved by Brigadier-General R. N. Bray, C.M.G., D.S.O., of The Duke of Wellington's Regiment. General Gilbert's dignified kindness had made him most popular with all ranks, and we would gladly have continued under his leadership, come what might. He arrived one morning with his successor, and after the usual introductions they were proceeding round the line when a curious thing happened. Going along the front line just short of Chard's Farm, they must have been spotted. Fortunately, however, General Gilbert stopped a few moments in a part of the trench hidden from observation to point out certain features of the ground. As they resumed their walk along the trench to the farm, it suddenly became the centre of a regular storm of "whizz-bangs," obviously timed to greet their arrival, which had so happily been delayed.

Another visitor was Major Derry, D.S.O., of the Welch Regiment, who had just succeeded the late Major Thompson as G.S.O.2. Major Thompson had been practically cut in two by a "whizz-bang" while talking to Colonel Cohen, of the 2/5th K.L.R., outside the latter's Headquarters in the Bois Grenier sector. We had seen little of Major Thompson, but what we had seen we liked. Major Derry, with his cheery laugh and complete disregard of personal danger, soon became highly popular among us.

On the evening of March 6th the 2/7th K.L.R. relieved us, commencing at 8 p.m. with the right front company. "B" Company in the subsidiary line was to remain as extra company, merely moving along to the positions held during our tour of duty by "B" Company 2/7th K.L.R. Soon after midnight the battalion was clear of the trenches and heading for Rue Marle, where the reserve billets were situated. At the top of the long straight stretch past Crown Prince House "D" Company turned to the right, and were billeted in houses on the left of the road; "A" and "C" turned to the left, "A" Company being next to Rue Marle Church, a bright red brick edifice with a brick spire, looking as if it had only been finished the day before; while "C" Company were in houses several hundred yards farther down the same road.

Nothing of much importance happened while the battalion was in reserve at Rue Marle. One company was always detailed as inlying piquet, and spent its time training in the vicinity of its billets. The other companies were up nightly, carrying medium trench mortar ammunition up into the trenches in preparation for the raid to be carried out by the composite company of 172nd Brigade--"Paynter's party," as it was called, after their Brigadier.

One morning the Corps and Divisional Commanders arrived at Crown Prince House and immediately demanded a map showing the Fleury Switch. Every conceivable map was produced, but in vain; nor had anyone the faintest idea what the switch was to which they so repeatedly referred. In the end the A.D.C. to the Corps Commander sped back to the car (left round the corner out of sight), and in due course produced the precious map, and the party proceeded on their way restored to a more amiable frame of mind.

On the night of March 11th "D" Company relieved "B" Company in the subsidiary line. A night or so before a German aeroplane had made a determined effort to do them serious harm by dropping a number of heavy bombs in their immediate vicinity. Oddly enough, that night, as the Adjutant and Lewis Gun Officer were undressing in their bedroom, which faced the line, they suddenly noticed that the shutters were not drawn. A rush was made for the candle, which was hastily extinguished. At that moment there was a deafening report, and we felt that here was the reward for our carelessness. However, it was soon realized that the noise was not shelling, but the above-mentioned bombing, the hum of the aeroplane being clearly audible; but after depositing its load it departed, and peace reigned once more. No casualties were caused, and quite a number of "D" Company were sleeping so soundly that they knew nothing of the matter till the following morning.

It was always a remarkable thing to us who lived there that Crown Prince House was not shelled. It was a large house in full view of the enemy, standing quite isolated at the side of a long straight road. It must have been very tempting to the German gunners, who liked to see the red dust rise from a direct hit on a house. There was no sort of cellar accommodation worth mentioning. Signals had the only cellar, and that was but half underground. We used to encourage one another by saying that the Germans could not shell the house without committing _lèse majesté_ (the Crown Prince was reputed once to have made his Headquarters there), though some very recent shell-holes at the entrance seemed to prove that they were prepared occasionally to risk being guilty of that serious offence. As a matter of fact, the Headquarters of a South Lancashire Battalion were soon afterwards shelled out of the house, and a very unpleasant proceeding they found it.

The only other excitement was the sudden arrival of a shell in Armentières; not by the railway-station, a place not infrequently shelled in retaliation for a 12-inch railway mounting gun which used to come up there occasionally, but right into the town, and only just over the Rue de Lille. This single shell caused quite a sensation, but as nothing more happened we concluded that the enemy had let off a gun by mistake.

On March 13th after dinner the battalion (less "D" Company) moved off to billets in the Rue Dormoire, the 2/5th South Lancashire Regiment moving in at the same moment. In spite of all precautions, the congestion of traffic was very great for a short time, but was soon straightened out. We crossed Rue Marle Level Crossing, then left-handed up the Boulevard Faidherbe, and so round to the Armentières Level Crossing. The route after that was the main road through Erquinghem, about a mile beyond which lay our new area. Headquarters was situated in a fine old seventeenth-century farmhouse, built round the usual quadrangle, with its usual vast heap of manure. Two sides were flanked by a moat which you crossed by a brick bridge, entering the farm through an archway. Opposite the entrance, and on the other side of the road, was a large open field with a duck-board track running across it, which led to two blocks of Nissen huts, occupied by "C" and "D" Companies, the latter not expected to arrive from the subsidiary line before midnight; though, owing to confusion over the transport for the Lewis gunners, this estimate proved highly optimistic. Continuing down the lane past Battalion Headquarters--and an unpleasant lane it was, full of the most appalling holes and ruts, and deep in liquid mud which concealed many a sharp stone and pitfall--you eventually arrived at a group of farms. Here "A" and "B" Companies were accommodated in large barns in which great tiers of bunks had been erected. These were promptly nicknamed the "birdcage."

Reconnoitring of emergency routes and schemes for the reinforcing of divisions in front or on the flanks again came to the fore. Though all was quiet in our neighbourhood, considerable activity was apparent at night north of the Lys opposite the Messines Ridge, where bursting shrapnel and coloured lights were eloquent of raids in progress. Working parties (of a minimum strength of a platoon) and training became once more the order of the day. Rifle-grenade practice with "Newtons" was very popular, even after Lance-Corporal Cathels and a rifleman had been injured by the bursting of the breech of a rifle.