he Foret de Soignes was mournful. Quatre Bras, where the cafes are
usually filled with a good-sized crowd of bourgeois, was deserted and
empty. The shutters were up and the proprietors evidently gone. The
Minister's house, near by, was closed. The gate was locked and the
gardener's dog was the only living thing in sight. We passed our Golf
Club a little farther on toward Tervueren. The old chateau is closed,
the garden is growing rank, and the rose-bushes that were kept so
scrupulously plucked and trim, were heavy with dead roses. The grass was
high on the lawns; weeds were springing up on the fine tennis courts.
The gardeners and other servants have all been called to the colours.
Most of the members are also at the front, shoulder to shoulder with the
servants. A few caddies were sitting mournfully on the grass and greeted
us solemnly and without enthusiasm. These deserted places are in some
ways more dreadful than the real horrors at the front. At least there is
life and activity at the front.

Before we got out of town the guards began stopping us, and we were held
up every few minutes until we got back to town at night. Sometimes the
posts were a kilometer or even two kilometers apart. Sometimes we were
held up every fifty yards. Sometimes the posts were regulars, sometimes
Gardes Civiques; often hastily assembled civilians, mostly too old or
too young for more active service. They had no uniforms, but only
rifles, caps, and brassards to distinguish them as men in authority. In
some places the men formed a solid rank across the road. In others they
sat by the roadside and came out only when we hove in sight. Our
_laisser-passers_ were carefully examined each time we were stopped,
even by many of the guards who did not understand a word of French, and
strangely enough, our papers were made out in only the one language.
They could, at least, understand our photographs and took the rest for
granted.

When we got to the first outpost at Tervueren, the guard waved our
papers aside and demanded the password. Then our soldier passenger
leaned across in front of Blount and whispered "_Belgique_." That got
us through everything until midday, when the word changed.

From Tervueren on we began to realise that there was really a war in
progress. All was preparation. We passed long trains of motor trucks
carrying provisions to the front. Supply depots were planted along the
way. Officers dashed by in motors. Small detachments