g about in
their lines. It was a great privilege to have his battalion so near
me, for I had many friends among all ranks.

The Sunday before I left I had service for them and a celebration of
the Holy Communion, after which one of the sergeants came and was
baptized. Our Divisional Headquarters left Albert for good on October
17th. We made our way to our abode at Canaples. We only stayed there
two days and then went on to Bernaville and Frohen Le Grand, spending
a night in each place, and on Sunday arrived at the Chateau of Le
Cauroy, which we were afterwards to make our headquarters in the last
year of the war. I was billetted in a filthy little room in a sort of
farm building and passed one of the most dreary days I have ever
known. It was rainy and cold, and every one was tired and ill-humoured.
I had a strange feeling of gloom about me which I could not shake off,
so I went over to the Cure's house at the end of the avenue and asked
him if I might come in and sit beside the fire in his kitchen. He was
very kind, and it was quite nice to have someone to talk to who was
not in the war. We were able to understand each other pretty well, and
he gave me an insight into the feelings of the French. On the next
morning, the weather had cleared and the A.D.M.S. motored me to our
new halting place at Roellencourt, where I was given a billet in the
Cure's house. He was a dear old man and received me very kindly, and
gave me a comfortable room overlooking his garden. Downstairs his aged
and invalid mother sat in her chair, tended kindly by her son and
daughter. Roellencourt was a pleasant place on the St. Pol Road, and
quite a number of our men were billeted there. I went to St. Pol to
lunch at the hotel and spent the day buying some souvenirs. On my
return in the afternoon I made my way to the Cure's house, where I
found my room neatly arranged for me. Suddenly I heard a knock at the
door, and there stood the old man with a letter in his hand. I thought
he looked somewhat strange. He handed me the letter, and then taking
my hand, he said to me in French, "My brother, have courage, it is
very sad." At once the truth flashed upon me and I said, "My son is
dead." He shook my hand, and said again, "Have courage, my brother." I
went downstairs later on and found his old mother sitting in her chair
with the tears streaming down her cheeks. I shall never cease to be
grateful to those kind, simple people for their sympathy at that