march this time, and a nice, still, warm day.  Quite a cheery, interesting march we had, too, along the road from Armentieres to Neuve Eglise.  We were told that we were to march past General Sir Horace Smith Dorrien, whom we should find waiting for us near the Pont de Nieppe—­a place we had to pass en route.  Every one braced up at this, and keenly looked forward to reaching Nieppe.  I don’t know why, but I had an idea he would be in his car on the right of the road.  To make no mistake I muttered “Eyes right” to myself for about a quarter of a mile, so as to make a good thing of the salute.  We came upon the Pont de Nieppe suddenly, round the corner, and there was the General—­on the left!  All my rehearsing useless.  Annoying, but I suppose one can’t expect Generals to tell you where they are going to stand.

We reached Neuve Eglise in time, and went into our old billets.  We all thought our fate was “back into those ——­ old Plugstreet trenches again,” but mirabile dictu—­it was not to be so.  The second day in billets I received a message from the Colonel to proceed to his headquarter farm.  I went, and heard the news.  We were to take over a new line of trenches away to the left of Plugstreet, and that night I was to accompany him along with all the company commanders on a round of inspection.

A little before dusk we started off and proceeded along various roads towards the new line.  All the country was now brand new to me, and full of interest.  After we had gone about a mile and a half the character of the land changed.  We had left all the Plugstreet wood effect behind, and now emerged on to far more open and flatter ground.  By dusk we were going down a long straight road with poplar trees on either side.  At the end of this stood a farm on the right.  We walked into the courtyard and across it into the farm.  This was the place the battalion we were going to relieve had made its headquarters.  Not a bad farm.  The roof was still on, I noticed, and concluded from that that life there was evidently passable.  We had to wait here some time, as we were told that the enemy could see for a great distance around there, and would pepper up the farm as sure as fate if they saw anyone about.  Our easy-going entry into the courtyard had not been received with great favour, as it appeared we were doing just the very thing to get the roof removed.  However, the dusk had saved us, I fancy.

[Illustration:  Comin’ on down to the Estaminet tonight, Arry?]

As soon as it was really dark we all sallied forth, accompanied by guides this time, who were to show us the trenches.  I crept along behind our Colonel, with my eyes peeled for possible gun positions, and drinking in as many details of the entire situation as I could.

We walked about ten miles that night, I should think, across unfamiliar swamps and over unsuspected antique abandoned trenches, past dead cows and pigs.  We groped about the wretched shell-pitted fields, examining the trenches we were about to take over.  You would be surprised to find how difficult a simple line of trenches can seem at night if you have never seen them before.