inst anything that came. Yet it is
said there are still those at home who will not stir to help. I do not
see how this can possibly be true. It could not be true.

First we talked about the counter-attack, and which battalion would
lead; then with a little manipulation we began to discuss musical comedy
and the beauty of certain ladies. Again the talk would wander back to
which battalion would lead.

I returned perilously with a despatch and left Huggie, to spend a
disturbed night and experience those curious sensations which are caused
by a shell bursting just across the road from the house.

The proposed attack was given up. If it had been carried out, those men
would have fought as finely as they could. I do not know whether my
admiration for the infantry or my hatred of war is the greater. I can
express neither.

On the following day the Brigadier moved to a farm farther north. It was
the job of Huggie and myself to keep up communication between this farm
and the brigade headquarters at the farm with the forgettable name. To
ride four miles or so along country lanes from one farm to another does
not sound particularly strenuous. It was. In the first place, the
neighbourhood of the advanced farm was not healthy. The front gate was
marked down by a sniper who fired not infrequently but a little high.
Between the back gate and the main road was impassable mud. Again, the
farm was only three-quarters of a mile behind our trenches, and "overs"
went zipping through the farm buildings at all sorts of unexpected
angles. There were German aeroplanes about, so we covered our stationary
motor-cycles with straw.

Starting from brigade headquarters the despatch rider in half a mile was
forced to pass the transport of a Field Ambulance. The men seemed to
take a perverted delight in wandering aimlessly and deafly across the
road, and in leaving anything on the road which could conceivably
obstruct or annoy a motor-cyclist. Then came two and a half miles of
winding country lanes. They were covered with grease. Every corner was
blind. A particularly sharp turn to the right and the despatch rider
rode a couple of hundred yards in front of a battery in action that the
Germans were trying to find. A "hairpin" corner round a house followed.
This he would take with remarkable skill and alacrity, because at this
corner he was always sniped. The German's rifle was trained a trifle
high. Coming into the final straight the despatch ride