e on, and we had almost forgotten
our trench activities at Havrincourt, rumours began to float once more
about an early move, and this move was to be connected with a big stunt
coming off soon "up north." At any rate no one disputed the suggestion
that our next contact with the enemy would probably be of a more serious
nature than the last.

Let it not be supposed, however, that these rather sordid thoughts
occupied our minds completely whilst we remained at Achiet. Officers and
men took full advantage of the period of rest, and the weather
fortunately was exactly suited to enjoyable life under canvas. The thing
of the moment only concerned us, and this was more often than not an
important football match with another battalion, a game of cricket, a
sports day, a visit to the divisional concert troupe--"Th' Lads"--who
gave some very good shows about this time. Boxing was a great thing, and
Pte. Finch, who was, poor chap, killed and buried in this spot the
following March, knocked out all comers in the divisional heavyweight.
Some of these events took place in a huge crater, which had been
transformed into a sort of Roman amphitheatre, produced by the blowing
up of a large and deep German heavy ammunition dump. In the divisional
sports also, the officers proved that they were at least the most
able-bodied in the 42nd by winning the Tug-o'-War cup.

On the whole, we look back to the weeks at Achiet as a period of solid
training, plenty of "Spit and Polish," but "lots of fun." On the 1st of
August we got word of the big offensive at Ypres amidst all that
disastrous rain, and we expected to move up there any day. It was not
until three weeks later, however, that we did move, and then it was
known definitely that we were for Flanders. The battalion marched down
to Aveluy, near Albert, on an enervatingly hot day and remained one
night in huts there. The next night they entrained and proceeded to
Poperinghe in Belgium, and so added another country to the list of those
they visited during the war.

CHAPTER V.

Belgium.

YPRES.

Ypres! That wonderful place, the sound of whose name makes the heart of
the Englishman at home glow with pride, but makes the soldier, friend or
foe, shudder at the mere recollection. It was the scene of much stern
work, and if Belgium has been dubbed the Cockpit of Europe, surely the
"Salient" was the cockpit of cockpits. More men lie buried in that small
patch of ground than one cares to