one of the advance dressing stations where the first
communication trench begins! It is at the corner of a road called
"Harley Street," which he says is "too unhealthy," where I mayn't be
taken. Won't it be thrilling to see it all?

Officers' "trench talk" is exactly like the men's, only in a different
language.

It has been wet and windy again, so I did not explore when I was off
this afternoon, but did my unpacking and settling in here. With so many
moves I have got my belongings into a high state of mobilisation, and it
doesn't take long.

Last night at the cafe, one of the despatch riders played Chopin,
Tchaikowsky, and Elgar like a professional. It was jolly. The officers
are awfully nice to do with on the whole.

_Wednesday, April 7th._ _In bed,_ 10.30 P.M.--It has been a lovely day
after last night's and yesterday's heavy rain. We are busy all day
admitting and evacuating officers. The lung one had to be got ready in a
hurry this morning, and Mr L. took him down specially to the train.

A very nice Brigade-Major came in, in the night, with a shell wound in
the shoulder. This morning a great jagged piece was dug out, with only a
local anaesthetic, and he stuck it like a brick, humming a tune when it
became unbearable and gripping on to my hand.

I was off at 5 P.M., and went to dig out Marie Therese from my old
billet, to come with me to Beuvry, the village about two and a half
miles away that was shelled last week; it is about half-way to the
trenches from here. It was a lovely sunsetty evening, and there was a
huge stretch of view, but it was not clear enough to make anything out
of the German line. She has a tante and a grandmere there, and has a
"_laisser-passer soigner une tante malade_" which she has to show to the
sentry at the bridge. I get through without. The tante is not at all
_malade_--she is a cheery old lady who met us on the road. M.T. pointed
me out all the shell holes. We met and passed an unending stream of
khaki, the men marching back from their four days in the trenches,
infant officers and all steadily trudging on with the same coating of
mud from head to foot, packs and rifles carried anyhow, and the Trench
Look, which can never be described, and which is grim to the last
degree. Each lot had a tail of limping stragglers in ones and twos and
threes. I talked to some of these, and they said they'd had a very
"rough" night last night--pouring rain--water up to their knees, and
standi