end in the road. The noise of firing was now very loud, and
though the sun was shining brightly on the farm, the road we were
destined to follow was sombre looking with a lowering sky overhead.
Another shell came over and burst in front of us to the right. For an
instant I felt in an awful funk, and my one idea was to flee from that
sinister spot as fast as I could. We seemed to be going right for it,
"looking for trouble," in fact, as the Tommies would say, and it gave
one rather a funny sinking feeling in one's tummy! A shell might come
whizzing along so easily just as the last one had done.[2] Someone at that
moment said "Let's go back," and with that all my fears vanished in a
moment as if by magic. "Rather not, this is what we've come for," said a
F.A.N.Y., "hurry up and get in, it's no use staying here," and soon we
were whizzing along that road again and making straight for the steady
boom-boom, and from then onwards a spirit of subdued excitement filled
us all. Stray shells burst at intervals, and it seemed not unlikely they
were potting at us from Dixmude.

We passed houses looking more and more dilapidated and the road got
muddier and muddier. Finally we arrived at the village of Ramscapelle.
It was like passing through a village of the dead--not a house left
whole, few walls standing, and furniture lying about haphazard. We
proceeded along the one main street of the village until we came to a
house with green shutters which had been previously described to us as
the Belgian headquarters. It was in a better state than the others, and
a small flag indicated we had arrived at our destination.

CHAPTER IV

BEHIND THE TRENCHES

We got out and leaped the mud from the _pave_ to the doorstep, and an
orderly came forward and conducted us to a sitting room at the rear
where Major R. welcomed us, and immediately ordered coffee. We were
greatly impressed by the calm way in which he looked at things. He
pointed with pride to a gaily coloured print from the one and only "Vie"
(what would the dug-outs at the front have done without "La Vie" and
Kirchner?), which covered a newly made shell hole in the wall. He also
showed us places where shrapnel was embedded; and from the window we saw
a huge hole in the back garden made by a "Black Maria." Beside it was a
grave headed by a little rough wooden cross and surmounted by one of
those gay tasselled caps we had seen early that morning, though it
seemed more like last