Part 10

September 29.

It's up to us to reconnoitre carefully every time there is a move forward, so as to see the new ground.

One of the most curious and interesting things is this: the Boche rarely wastes. He only puts his crumps and pip-squeaks just where he thinks (or knows) our batteries are, and our infantry want to be, and our horses would be likely to be (if they weren't somewhere else). So that gradually you begin to track out safe routes. Don't go near the edge of ---- Wood, but 200 yards inside the wood, on the north side, you're pretty comfy. Don't go near the mangled remains of ---- village, but keep to the right of it until you get to the wrecked aeroplane, and then turn down the remains of ---- trench, and you probably won't be touched. That sort of thing.

I've been sleeping in the most superb Boche dug-out. Very deep; I should think 30 feet down. The inside is pillared rather like the studio, and cretonned all over with maroon-coloured stuff instead of wall-paper. There are lovely little cupboards everywhere, and doors and window-frames just like a real house. The windows, of course, only look out on to an air-shaft, so it's very dark, and you have to have candles all the time. The windows have no glass, of course, as that would be shattered to smithereens by the vibrations. Then there's an arch and more steps down lower still, into the bedroom for two.

Yesterday, being rather misty, I thought as follows:

"It is too foggy to see what Fritz is doing. No attack is intended or expected. The Colonel is at corps H.Q. Swallow and Jezebel and Tank are safe in ---- valley. Roger is still here as Adjutant. Why not an afternoon off?"

So picture a holiday-maker armed with a revolver, two gas helmets, tear goggles, some sandwiches, and a large empty haversack. Now where to go? What about ---- trench and all round ---- village, even, perhaps, a lightning five minutes in the village itself? We have just taken the village, but it's rather an unhealthy spot at present.

---- trench is a new trench that poor Fritz dug just before he was driven out of it. I had seen lots of dead Fritzes there the day before. Also there were reports of curious things flung out into the mud in and round the village.

So I set forth. And at ---- met another fellow I knew, and the affair became neither more nor less than a search for souvenirs. Here is a list:

1. A few buttons with double-tailed lions.

2. Four shoulder-straps with the figure 6 in red. This indicated a division which has been opposite us for some time and is quite exhausted, I think.

3. One haversack and one respirator haversack.

4. One rosary.

5. Five different sorts of bayonets from different regiments. These I thought we might hang up.

6. Four tassels. They are worn by Fritz rather in the same sort of way as lanyards are worn. Quite pretty, though rather soiled and worn.

7. A bit of a wing of a crushed aeroplane that is lying on the brown, feverish earth like a dead sea-gull.

8. A brass spring very beautifully made, that I am going to have made into a bracelet for you. Also from the aeroplane.

9. A cardboard box for signal flares. Signal Patronen they are labelled. I threw the flares away, as they might go pop en route.

10. A jolly bit of gilded carving from a house in ----

11. Now then for No. 11! A bit of embroidery. I think it is a vestment of sorts. It's white, and there's heavy gold embroidery at the sides. It is a cloak of some description, but the top part, where there should be a collar or something, is gone. Then 11A is a piece of black and silver embroidery. It was all very muddy and riddled with shrapnel or bits of crump, so I just cut off the only sound bit. Both these things are exceedingly beautiful. They are probably vestments, because they were quite near what must have been the church. I am sure it must have been the church, although I hadn't a map--first, because I saw the village in the distance some time ago, while the church was still standing, and therefore I know the church's situation; and, secondly, because I saw remains of large pillars, and a few bits of what was once a font amongst the débris.

There now. Isn't that a good haul! It's not easy to get anything worth sending home, because everything is so utterly smashed up.

October 2.

Jezebel and Swallow and Tank have all been clipped trace high. I am getting rather attached to Tank. She is so modest and unselfish--a contrast to Jezebel. She never expects little treats, and seems quite surprised when I give her anything. Swallow and Jezebel always neigh when they see my electric torch coming towards them after dinner (while we are back in these safe places). But Tank is very shy of the light, and thinks it will bite her.

Swallow is getting much better, and really seems to understand that the shells and guns and things probably won't hurt him. We have been most extraordinarily lucky. The troop that got through nearly to ---- the other day, hadn't a single casualty, although Dick's own mare was shot under him and a great many other horses were wounded. The squadron of ---- were very badly scuppered, I fear. But, anyhow, we all feel that Lloyd George is right. We are just beginning to win.

October 5.

It is a glorious day. Such clouds. Swallow kicked up his heels and played about like a kitten when Hunt took him to water this morning. It's extraordinary how used the horses are getting to trenches and wire, etc. At first they were rather afraid to jump these sudden deep ditches, but now they pop across like rabbits.

October 17.

Yesterday some Hun aeroplanes got across and came right above this camp, a comfortable way behind the front line. Heavily strafed by our Archies. The blue sky was dotted all over with the pretty little white clouds of shrapnel.