k whom I was glad to see again. About May 19 I got my first
leave, it was for seven clear days. And I suppose there was no happier
man in France just then. The train started from Bailleul station about
6 A.M. so I had to leave Locre the night before and stay the night at
an hotel at Bailleul. I had a comparatively quick journey to the
coast, for we reached Boulogne at 10.45 A.M. just in time to catch the
11 o'clock boat. I arrived in Folkestone about 1.45 P.M. and in London
about 3.30 P.M. the same day. Though short, it was a happy time, and I
returned on May 26, staying one night in Boulogne and reaching
Bailleul about midnight on Saturday, May 27. I found that the
battalion was still at Locre, but the Brigade had gone back to the
line, holding the same trenches on Wytschaete Ridge. An unfortunate
accident had just happened in our old trenches. Lieut. W. Keene and
2nd-Lieut. Toon were both badly injured and an N.C.O. killed in the
trenches by a Mills rifle-grenade, which, through a defective
cartridge, fell out of the rifle and burst in the trench. So when I
got back to the battalion I was told I had to proceed to B.H.Q. at
Bruloose and take over the office of Brigade Bombing Officer in place
of Lieut. Keene. This closed my immediate connection with the 7th N.F.
for twenty months.

IX

BRIGADE HEAD-QUARTERS

An Infantry Brigade Head-quarters in France could be a happy home; but
only if the Brigadier was liked and respected by the rest of the
Staff, and tried to make them feel at home. It seems almost an
impertinence even at this date for me to say anything whether in
praise or in blame of the man who controlled the immediate destinies
of the 149th Infantry Brigade when I first joined it. But as I became
much attached to Brigadier-General Clifford I may perhaps be forgiven
for describing him rather closely. Tall and dignified, with a cold
exterior and a penetrating grey eye, he had the power of commanding
the respect and obedience of all. His fatalistic contempt of danger
took him into the trenches wherever shelling was hottest; and it is
difficult to imagine how he escaped being sniped at Hill 60 or on the
Wytschaete Ridge.

He was loved by the men of the 7th N.F. as one who was willing to
share their dangers, and always ready with a word of cheer in the
hottest corner. 'We could have gone anywhere and done anything for
him, if only he had been there to see it.' Such was the epitaph that
the gallant North