t, who believed in more
gentlemanly methods, and at Locre we had great rides--though Pollers,
who was gently unhorsed, is still firmly convinced that wind-mills form
the finest deterrent to cavalry.

In an unlucky moment two of us had suggested that we should like to
learn signaller's work, so we fell upon evil days. First we went out for
cable-drill. Sounds simple? But it is more arduous and dangerous than
any despatch riding. If you "pay out" too quickly, you get tangled up in
the wire and go with it nicely over the drum. If you pay out too slowly,
you strangle the man on the horse behind you. The worst torture in the
world is paying out at the fast trot over cobbles. First you can't hold
on, and if you can you can't pay out regularly.

Cable-drill is simply nothing compared to the real laying of cable. We
did it twice--once in rain and once in snow. The rainy day I paid out,
I was never more miserable in my life than I was after two miles. Only
hot coffee and singing good songs past cheery Piou-pious brought me
home. The snowy day I ran with ladders, and, perched on the topmost
rung, endeavoured to pass the wire round a buxom tree-trunk. Then, when
it was round, it would always go slack before I could get it tied up
tightly.

It sounds so easy, laying a wire. But I swear it is the most wearying
business in the world--punching holes in the ground with a 16-lb.
hammer, running up poles that won't go straight, unhooking wire that has
caught in a branch or in the eaves of a house, taking the strain of a
cable to prevent man and ladder and wire coming on top of you, when the
man who pays out has forgotten to pay. Have a thought for the wretched
fellows who are getting out a wire on a dark and snowy night, troubled
perhaps by persistent snipers and frequent shells! Shed a tear for the
miserable linesman sent out to find where the line is broken or
defective....

When there was no chance of "a run" we would go for walks towards
Kemmel. At the time the Germans were shelling the hill, but occasionally
they would break off, and then we would unofficially go up and see what
had happened.

Now Mont Kemmel is nearly covered with trees. I have never been in a
wood under shell fire, and I do not wish to be. Where the Germans had
heavily shelled Kemmel there were great holes, trees thrown about and
riven and scarred and crushed--a terrific immensity of blasphemous
effort. It was as if some great beast, wounded mortally, had pl