miles to their roadside encampments. The Headquarters party had
resigned themselves to a good hour's wait, when I heard the adjutant's
voice calling my name.

"Headquarters will go up to Rouez to-night, and we shall mess with the
General," he shouted at me from out of the darkness. "Traffic isn't
supposed to go this way to the right; but you come with me, and we'll
talk to the A.P., at the Corps Commandant's office. They ought to let
our little lot through."

Headquarters mess cart and G.S. waggon, Maltese cart and telephone
waggon did indeed get through, and by 9.15 P.M. the horses were watered
and fed, the men housed, and we ourselves were at dinner in the cottage
that had become Divisional R.A. Headquarters.

A cheerful dinner with plenty of talk. It wasn't believed now that the
Hun would attack next morning; but, in any case, we were going up to
relieve a R.H.A. unit. The brigade-major was very comforting about the
conveniences of our new positions. Then some one carried the
conversation away and beyond, and, quoting an "Ole Luk-Oie" story,
submitted that the higher realms of generalship should include the
closer study of the personal history and characteristics--mental and
moral--of enemy commanders. Some one else noted that the supposed
speciality of the General immediately opposite us was that of making
fierce attacks across impassable marshes. "Good," put in a third some
one. "Let's puzzle the German staff by persuading him that we have an
Etonian General in this part of the line, a very celebrated 'wet-bob.'"
Which sprightly suggestion made the Brigadier-General smile. But it was
my good fortune to go one better. I had to partner him at bridge, and
brought off a grand slam.

Next morning snow; and the colonel, the adjutant, and myself had a
seven-miles' ride before us. The Germans had not attacked, but the
general move-up of fresh divisions was continuing, and our brigade had
to take over the part of the line we were told off to defend by 5 P.M.

All the talk on the way up was of the beautiful quietude of the area we
were riding through: no weed-choked houses with the windows all blown
in; no sound of guns, no line of filled-up ambulances; few lorries on
the main thoroughfares; only the khaki-clad road-repairers and the "Gas
Alert" notice-boards to remind us we were in a British area. As we
reached the quarry that was to become Brigade Headquarters, we
marvelled still more. A veritable quarry _de luxe_.