ooning to her child. Beside her sat a wrinkled, leathery old man with
bandaged head. He had wandered into the street, and he had been cut
about by shrapnel. The few wits he had ever possessed were gone, and he
gave every few seconds little croaks of hate. Three telephone operators
were working with strained faces at their highest speed. The windows had
been smashed by shrapnel, and bits of glass and things crunched under
foot. The room was full of noises--the crackle of the telephones, the
crooning of the woman, the croak of the wounded old man, the clear and
incisive tones of the general and his brigade-major, the rattle of not
too distant rifles, the booming of guns and occasionally the terrific,
overwhelming crash of a shell bursting in the village.

I was given a glass of wine. Cadell, the Brigade Signal Officer, and the
Veterinary Officer, came up to me and talked cheerfully in whispered
tones about our friends.

There was the sharp cry of shrapnel in the street and a sudden rattle
against the whole house. The woman and child fled somewhere through a
door, followed feebly by the old man. The brigade-major persuaded the
general to work in some less unhealthy place. The telephone operators
moved. A moment's delay as the general endeavoured to persuade the
brigade-major to go first, and we found ourselves under a stalwart arch
that led into the courtyard of the tavern. We lit pipes and cigarettes.
The crashes of bursting shells grew more frequent, and the general
remarked in a dry and injured tone--

"Their usual little evening shoot before putting up the shutters, I
suppose."

But first the Germans "searched" the village. Now to search a village
means to start at one end of the village and place shells at discreet
intervals until the other end of the village is reached. It is an
unpleasant process for those in the middle of the village, even though
they be standing, as we were, in comparatively good shelter.

We heard the Germans start at the other end of the village street. The
crashes came nearer and nearer, until a shell burst with a scream and a
thunderous roar just on our right. We puffed away at our cigarettes for
a second, and a certain despatch rider wished he were anywhere but in
the cursed village of Festubert by Bethune. There was another scream and
overwhelming relief. The next shell burst three houses away on our left.
I knocked my pipe out and filled another.

The Germans finished their little eve