Staff countered by
appropriating the piper.

Work dwindled until it became a farce. One run for each despatch rider
every third day was the average. St Jans was not the place we should
have chosen for a winter resort. Life became monotonous, and we all with
one accord began applying for commissions. Various means were used to
break the monotony. Grimers, under the Skipper's instructions, began to
plant vegetables for the spring, but I do not think he ever got much
beyond mustard and cress. On particularly unpleasant days we were told
off to make fascines. N'Soon assisted the Quartermaster-Sergeant. Cecil
did vague things with the motor-lorry. I was called upon to write the
Company's War Diary. Even the Staff became restless and took to
night-walks behind the trenches. If it had not been for the generous
supply of "days off" that the Skipper allowed us, we should by February
have begun to gibber.

Despatches were of two kinds--ordinary and priority. "Priority"
despatches could only be sent by the more important members of the
Staff. They were supposed to be important, were marked "priority" in the
corner, and taken at once in a hurry. Ordinary despatches went by the
morning and evening posts. During the winter a regular system of
motor-cyclist posts was organised right through the British Area. A
message could be sent from Neuve Eglise to Chartres in about two days.
Our posts formed the first or last stage of the journey. The morning
post left at 7.30 A.M., and the evening at 3.30 P.M. All the units of
the division were visited.

If the roads were moderately good and no great movements of troops were
proceeding, the post took about 1-1/4 hours; so the miserable postman
was late either for breakfast or for tea. It was routine work pure and
simple. After six weeks we knew every stone in the roads. The postman
never came under fire. He passed through one village which was
occasionally shelled, but, while I was with the Signal Company, the
postman and the shells never arrived at the village at the same time.
There was far more danger from lorries and motor ambulances than from
shells.

As for the long line of "postmen" that stretched back into the dim
interior of France--it was rarely that they even heard the guns. When
they did hear them, they would, I am afraid, pluck a racing helmet from
their pockets, draw the ear-flaps well down over their ears, bend down
over their racing handle-bars, and sprint for dear life. Re