_September 10._
[Sidenote: TOWARDS FLERS]
About 5 p.m. the mess cook came and said he had been unable to get
enough food in for the morrow, as the expected hampers from England had
not arrived, and the district was so packed with other troops. So we
decided to get some hares or partridges. But it's forbidden to shoot
game. Very well, we wouldn't shoot them. We'd ride them down. The
country behind is entirely open. No hedges. Just gently undulating
uplands. The crops are all cut. So three of us set out. The orderly-room
work had almost been finished, and the remainder could wait. Jezebel was
brought round for me, Chloe for Roger, and Minotaur for the Colonel. The
Colonel's orderly, Corporal Orchard, following on Shotover. We rode back
to the more open country where there are few troops, and then started
the drive. Jezebel on the right, Chloe next, Shotover next, and Minotaur
on the left, at intervals of 20 yards or so.
It had been decided that, if a hare got up, even while we were after
partridges, we must chase the hare.
Well, presently a covey got up, and away we galloped up a long slope.
Suddenly a wild tally-ho from Roger. A hare had got up and was lepping
across Jezebel's line. So Jezebel fairly flattened herself out to keep
the hare in. But the hare was across before she could get wide enough.
Then the hare doubled back and we swung round, so that now Minotaur was
on the right. Hooroosh down the hill. The hare was gaining. There was a
minute brick enclosure a quarter of a mile ahead. The hare was making
for that. And gained it. Check. We surrounded the enclosure and Corporal
Orchard dismounted and went in. After about ten minutes out popped the
hare on t'other side. Loud yells, and after her again. She made for some
high ground where there was a small wood. "Cut her off," signalled the
Colonel wildly.
Impossible to cut off the hare. She gained the wood, which we
surrounded. But, oh silly hare! she came out the other side. Minotaur
after her like an arrow.
Then she tried to get away across Jezebel's front. But Jezebel was too
quick, and Chloe came up in support.
Then the hare doubled again through Shotover and Minotaur, and we swung
about. The hare was getting tired. She had run about three miles. She
then doubled back again through Chloe and Jezebel.
[Sidenote: CHASING THE HARE]
But meanwhile the horses were all getting dark with sweat, and although
a low line of upland hid us, we knew we were approaching some reserve
wire. The hare must not gain that wire.
She was dead beat and going very slow, flopping along, and looked as if
she would tumble head over heels any second. We were close behind her.
She got into some long grass 20 yards away from the wire, and
disappeared from view. We had got her. Corporal Orchard dismounted and
began beating the grass for her. There! Just missed her. She flopped on
a few yards, and Corporal Orchard dashed after. Then he tripped and
fell. The hare came out of cover and lolloped towards the wire. Yells
from Roger and the Colonel.
_And the hare got there first!_
Inwardly I laughed with joy and relief. Thank goodness that little hare
got away. Corporal Orchard took over the horses, and we went in amongst
the wire, but we never found her. The weeds had grown tall, and were
perfect cover for the poor wee beastie. I sometimes say what I think,
but such views are naturally neither understood nor taken seriously.
And the Major, bless him! likes me to do this type of thing because he
thinks it is good for me. "We must really try and teach you to be more
of a sportsman, you know. Sporting instinct. What? Every Englishman
should have it!" This all very good-humouredly, and I answer, laughing:
"Aha, sir. You see I know better." Which merely stirs some jovial spirit
to stand up and propose: "Gentlemen, fox-hunting!" You see?
_September 12._
The next act will shortly begin. We are all very hopeful. Certain
signs.... Fritz very nervous. Of that there can be no doubt at all.
Prisoners betray it quite unwillingly. Poor Fritz! He comes to attention
when we go up to him and ask him if he is fairly happy, which he is
(with a smile) invariably. He talks good English, and wishes the war
would end.
Some of our machine gunners, including Clare, were done in the other
day, and they put up a biscuit tin, with their names pierced in with
nail holes, to mark the spot. This war is the quaintest, most
incongruous show.
[Illustration: GIRD TRENCH
Gird Trench was only won after repeated attacks. It was the main German
defence of GEUDECOURT. While this sketch was being made things
were comparatively quiet. And the innumerable people living underground
could get a little sleep.]
_September 15._
Zero hour has come and gone. The show is a peach. Fritz is scuttling
back with us on his tail. We are to creep up, and as soon as Fritz
is beyond his last line of trenches (which he jolly nearly is now) up
and through we hope to go.
_September 20._
[Sidenote: TOWARDS GEUDECOURT]
We are long past Fritz's first line; past his second line; at his third
line; and his fourth line he is wildly digging now--places for his
M.G.'s wire, etc. But he's very, very hard put to it. We have almost all
the high ground. Our guns are at it day and night. Trench warfare no
longer exists. A few hastily dug holes, a few short lines of trench,
mostly battered to pieces, and that's all. It's almost open fighting.
Even the infantry come up across the open. No communication trenches,
nothing of that sort. The crump holes are continuous. There's scarcely
an inch of ground that isn't a crump hole.
I was up in an interesting wood this morning with the Colonel. Now, this
will give you some idea of how dislocated and above-ground everything
is:
We wanted to go to a place the other side of the wood. When we reached
the middle of the wood, where a new O.P. of ours has been established,
Fritz put up a barrage on the edge of the wood. Very well, then. We just
waited at the O.P. till the barrage was over, and then calmly walked
out. The wood is only a few shattered stumps of trees, and the place
where undergrowth once was is one continuous sea of earth thrown about
in every conceivable shape, with dead Tommies and dead Fritzes lying
side by side. So the wood isn't much cover, you can imagine.
On the far side of the wood is beautiful rolling country, but not green.
It's all brown, just a mess of earth. It's pitted with holes just like
sand after a hailstorm. In the distance you can see real lovely trees,
but nothing grows where the strafing is. Overhead the martins flicker
and swoop, and starlings sail by in circling clouds, while the colossal
noises crash and boom away merrily.
Ought I, perhaps, not to talk of these things? Does it worry you to
think of crumps bursting and so on? But, really, it seems quite ordinary
and in the day's work here. Men talk of crumps as you would talk of
bread and butter. That is, perhaps, why letters from home that talk
about homely things--cows and lavender and the new chintz--are so
welcome.
Besides, good heavens! don't you know that there's not a man in France
but knows that the best-beloved ones at home are having a far worse time
than we are having here? Wet clothes? Mud? Shells a-bursting, guns
a-popping? Even a wound, perhaps? Pish! No one _thinks_ at all out
here. There isn't time. Most of the people out here are perfectly happy
and merry, really. The sort of "long-drawn-out-agony" touch is, I think,
rare.
I'm writing this in a jolly Boche dug-out, all panelled and cosy.
Jezebel and Swallow and a new pack mare I've got are in a valley that's
hardly ever touched, and in fine, all's well.
_September 24._
[Sidenote: TEAR SHELLS]
Tear shells or "lachrymatory shells." They haven't been putting many
over lately, apparently. But they put some over the other day, and they
are so amusing that I must describe them to you.
The Colonel and I were up trying to find a "working-party" from the
regiment. The regiment is sadly split up at present into various parties
doing various jobs in various places, all unpleasant. Better than
infantry work, but still unpleasant.
We rode up much closer than we have ridden before, and left the
Colonel's orderly and Hale in a bit of a valley with Minotaur, Jezebel,
Hob, and Tank. Tank is a new mare I've got. Hale was riding her, as I
never take Swallow closer than I can help.
We dismounted in this small valley, and the Colonel's orderly and Hale
were given orders to move if any shells were put over too near them.
Then the Colonel and I went up through a wood that is just a few
splintered stumps now.
We passed behind several batteries, and I thought to myself: "Dash it
all! I know my eyes can't be watering because of the noise. What the
deuce is the matter? I hope the Colonel won't notice."
However, on we waded and plodded. Suddenly the Colonel stopped, and
exclaimed: "Oh damnation! This is perfect nonsense." His eyes were like
tomatoes, and the tears were rolling down his cheeks!
By this time we could hardly see at all, and it dawned on us that we
must hastily put on our tear goggles, which we had never used before,
but always, of course, carry. They go in the satchel along with the two
gas helmets.
Presently we met some infantry coming back, all safely begoggled. The
Huns, they told us, were dropping tear shells just into that valley in
front, where our working-party was supposed to be. You can tell them
(the tear shells), they said, by the fluttering sound, and they knock up
no earth and make very little smoke.
Sure enough, as soon as we got over the brow there they were. They make
a foolish wobbly, wavy sound as they come over, and look most innocent.
So they are really if you get your goggles on in time. But if one bursts
close to you, and you haven't got goggles on, why, then you'll be as
blind as an owl, and you'll weep like a shower bath.
[Sidenote: BETWEEN HIGH WOOD AND FLERS]
Then the absurd thing was that we couldn't find the working-party.
Plenty of dead Huns, but nobody alive. Not a sign. Only crumps dropping
here and there and everywhere. So we found a bit of a trench that led
back round the side of the wood. The front line trenches were only very
lightly held, partly because they are almost completely blown in. And we
could get no information as to the working-party at all.
Presently we saw why. The Huns had put up a barrage across the valley
they were coming up. We knew they would come up this other valley, as
they had to report on their way to H.Q., ---- Division. So we got into a
hole and waited.
After about half an hour the barrage lifted and up came our
working-party none the worse. It is a most amazing war. People literally
dodge shells and things as you might dodge snow-balls.
When we arrived back at the place where we left our two men, they also
were not to be seen.
After some time and anxious inquiries for two men with four horses, we
at last discovered them nearly half a mile away. Fritz had put some
heavy stuff over fairly near, and they had moved.
"A very interesting bit of the line isn't it, Hale?" I said as we moved
off. "Yes, sir," he said, adding with a fierce frown, "but not very
_safe_, sir."
And then we all laughed. Hale does frown so when he makes one of his
oracular utterances.
[Illustration: A HOUSE IN GEUDECOURT
Here, as in many of these sketches, there are no people to be seen, for
the simple reason that they are all underground in dug-outs.]
_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.
[Sidenote: BOCHE DUG-OUTS]
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.
[Sidenote: TROPHIES]
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: