Saturday night was a busy one; I think I only got a few hours' sleep
altogether. We were to be relieved in trenches on Sabbath morning.
It was a day sooner than we had expected, and there were many
arrangements to make, besides the ordinary routine-work of messages
and telephones and counter-messages. I got up before 6 to lead a
working party up to the front trench, and when I had done that I lay
down again for less than an hour; then got up and washed and shaved,
for this was a great day for my Mother and my Sister, and through
them for me! The orders for the relief reached us at 8 a.m., and I
had much arranging to do in the hour that followed before I had to be
off on my errand. I got something to eat, put on a pair of cleaner
boots, and tried to take at least some of the mud from my clothes.
My grey mare was waiting for me in the wood, and I rode about three
miles back to Hamilton's billet in his little village. I met him in
the middle of the street. He had just heard about it the night
before, and was _very_ kind about it and extremely pleased. He is
_such_ a keen soldier. I took off my web equipment, and borrowed his
leather cross-belts, which he always keeps polished to the last
degree, and dug out my new glengarry from my valise that was in his
keeping what time we were in the trenches.
A motor-bus had been arranged for the rest of the journey; it was one
of the old London Omnibus Company's ones, painted khaki and with its
side windows boarded up. There are lots of them used here for taking
troops about hurriedly. This took me back another five or six miles,
and by 11 a.m. we had reached a little village where there was a
charming old French Château, that was being used as the Headquarters
of a certain 'Division'--a _Regular_ Division. In front of the
Château was a beautiful park with trees covered with autumn leaves.
It was a perfect winter day. The sun shone, and opposite the centre
of the Château at the other side of the park stood a great gateway
with high pillars and a great gate. A parade ground was marked off
in this park, and a certain Regiment of Regulars was drawn up to form
three sides of a square. When every one was in his place the order
was given 'Fix Bayonets,' and like one man they flashed in the
sun-light. There was a little table at the fourth side of the square
with a coloured rug laid over it. In the centre of the square nine
Officers and about thirty Non-Commissioned Officers and men stood to
attention in line.
General Sir E. H. H. Allenby, K.C.B., Commanding the Third Army,
accompanied by his Staff and several French Officers in blue and
gold, came to the little table. The Commander of the Troops gave the
command 'GENERAL SALUTE, PRESENT ARMS,' and they did it _well_, while
the Army Commander stood at the salute. One by one names were called
by the Chief of his Staff, and each one in the centre row came
forward and saluted. No word was spoken save this,--'Legion
d'Honneur, Chevalier,--I congratulate you.' Each again saluted in
silence and withdrew to the centre line, with something in his hand.
Then to the other ranks was handed either 'Medaille Militaire' or
'Croix de Guerre.' Again the band in rear of the troops played 'The
Marseillaise,' while all stood at the salute. That was all. The
troops marched off the ground, the centre row fell out, and it was
over. No speech. The Army is not given to making speeches; and in
the circumstances that made the setting, it seemed entirely fitting
that it should be so, for we could still hear the guns in the
distance. I went back to the trenches, but why I was one of those
nine I do not know or understand.
[Illustration: Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur]