r for us when on duty.

Whom do you think I met this morning to my great delight? No less
a person than Peaker,[12] now an officer of the K.R.R.s. He was
just back from a certain spot in the line, where his lot had
"gone over" with good results. The story of his experiences
occasioned heartburnings to myself as regards the part I've been
playing in the war behind the battle line. He had recently met
Cartwright, G. T. K. Clarke, and the elder Dawson--all old
Alleynians, who have had the privilege of participating in the
"push." On the advice of the Divisional A.A. and Q.M.G., I am
reluctantly leaving over the question of transfer to the R.F.A.
till things get more settled. At present I am away from the
Division, and it is difficult, almost impossible in fact, for me
to arrange the interviews with the Medical and Artillery
authorities that are necessary as a preliminary to transfer.
Still, as I am getting plenty of interesting work at my present
job I don't mind waiting.

[Footnote 12: Captain A. P. Peaker, M.C., of the K.R.R. (son
of Mr. F. Peaker, of the _Morning Post_), who was a
contemporary of Paul Jones's at Dulwich, and won an Oxford
classical exhibition in December, 1914.]

_September 14th, 1916._

Last night I was detailed to go up with a working party engaged
in operations on the very site of the last great battle. The
whole business took place under cover of darkness. After an hour
and a half's trudging, up hill and down dale, we got to the
allotted spot and began our work. The night was alive with
noises--ear-splitting reports of big guns, the shrieks and
whistles of shells in transit, and the rat-tat-tat of
machine-guns. Now and again the darkness would be illuminated by
the glare of star-shells. I think I mentioned to you before the
mournful desolation of this war-scarred countryside--land without
grass, without trees, without houses, nothing more now than a
wilderness, with yawning shell craters innumerable, and here and
there blackened and branchless stumps that used to be trees. We
were near the site of a village famous in the annals of British
arms. A single brick of that village would be worth its weight in
gold as a souvenir. As we worked in the darkness the air