pretty little cottage at Carlton, where Thompson
lives when the Trent is in flood. I was crossing, gingerly trying not
to get my feet wet, when a machine gun opened upon myself and my
escort; down we went into the water at once. They asserted that the
bullets passed through the branches of a shrub beside us. I am not
sure. In any case, I did not like it, as one of my men whom I had been
speaking to a little earlier in the day was caught by the same gun and
received three bullet wounds, one in the shoulder and two in the arm.
But he will come all right in the end, I think. There was a good deal
of shooting at my working parties with machine guns, so I knocked up
my gunners about midnight and threw our shrapnel on to the Germans,
and then they saw that I meant to be "top dog," and went home to bed,
I suppose. However, they stopped worrying me, which was all I really
wanted. I am trying the preparation issued by the Government as an
experiment to keep one's feet warm. As a matter of fact, it does not
seem to do so at all; possibly that may be the fault of my floor--what
remains of it, at least! The red tiles, though clean, are very cold.
Well, this stuff looks like shaving soap, but there is another thing,
"whale oil," which none of us have as yet tried. The latter was given
out to us last night, and sounds promising, but nasty. All the Channel
swimmers rub themselves over with it before attempting to swim across
the Channel. Speaking about the tiled floors, I notice in many cases
that little holes are cut in the sides of the houses, so that the
tiles can be well washed with water, and then it drains outside
without further trouble, but think how draughty it makes the place
unless a plug is put to close this hole at night, and by day too in
cold weather. I also notice that these French houses show signs of
natty niceness which one would not see in an English farmhouse. For
instance, in my sleeping-room, instead of nails being driven into the
walls for hanging clothes on, there is a brass hook with a china knob
like any Christian household. I am rather amused to see how
indifferent our men have grown to fire. This morning between 5 and 6
o'clock I was speaking to the sentry when a bullet came, hit the
house, and gave a great streak of light, as it does when it strikes a
hard substance. A large piece of the building fell down behind him,
but he never changed his voice or paid the slightest attention. I have
had a letter from