Boulogne so as to replenish our
mess supplies. Our good friends of the --rd Brigade had occupied the
chalet, and received one sharp reminder that the Boche gunner was still
a nasty animal. A high-velocity shell had hit the edge of the gully not
ten yards from them, and their adjutant and their intelligence officer
had described to me their acrobatic plunge into the funk-hole. Major
Mallaby-Kelby was commanding our Brigade in the absence of the colonel,
and already our signal-wires buzzed with reports that indicated a very
short sojourn in our new home in the wood.

I am making this narrative a plain matter-of-fact record of incidents
and episodes in the career of our Brigade--which, let it be noted, was
in action from August 1, before the British advance commenced, until
November 4, the day of the final decisive thrust--because such an
account, however poorly told, offers a picture of real war: the war
that is by no means one continuous stretch of heroism and martyrdom _in
excelsis_, of guns galloping to death or glory, of bayonets dripping
with enemy blood, of "our gallant lads" meeting danger and destruction
with "characteristic British humour and cheerfulness," when they are
not "seeing red." On that 29th of August, when Major Mallaby-Kelby
assumed command, we knew that the campaign had taken a definite turn in
our favour, but none of us expected the Boche to be so harried and
battered that by November he would be suing for peace. And I am stating
bald unimaginative facts if I say that one of the main aspirations
among officers and men was to continue the advance in such a way as to
make sure of decent quarters o' nights, and to drive the Germans so
hard that when winter set in we should be clear of the foul mud tracts
and the rat-infested trenches that had formed the battlefields of 1915,
'16, and '17. Major Mallaby-Kelby was a keen pushful officer, immensely
eager to maintain the well-known efficiency of the Brigade while the
colonel was away; but he took me into his confidence on another matter.
"Look here!" he began, jocularly and with a sweeping gesture. "I'm
going to ask you to make sure that the mess never runs out of white
wine. It's most important. Unless I get white wine my efficiency will
be impaired." I replied with due solemnity, and said that in this
important matter our interpreter should be specially commissioned to
scour the countryside.

By 1 P.M. it became so certain that the enemy had inaugurated