the first day or so after
coming off leave, appeared preoccupied and reserved. Still there was no
one like our colonel; and, in the serene atmosphere of his wise
unquestioned leadership, petty bickerings, minor personal troubles, and
the half-jesting, half-bitter railings against higher authority, had
faded away. He brought the news that the medical board in England would
not permit the C.R.A. to return to France; and the appointment of
C.R.A. had gone to the colonel of our companion Field Artillery
Brigade, now the senior Field Artillery officer in the Division--a
popular honour, because, though we thought there could be no colonel so
good as ours,--we should not have been such a good Brigade had we
admitted any other belief,--we all knew Colonel ---- to be a talented
and experienced gunner, and a brave man, with great charm of manner.
Besides, it kept the appointment in the family, so to speak. We wanted
no outsider from another Division. "You must all congratulate General
---- when you meet him," said our colonel gently.

The four days behind the line had been interesting in their way,
despite the rain-storms. We had hot baths and slept in pyjamas once
more. Some of the younger officers and a few of the N.C.O.'s had made a
long lorry trip to Abbeville to replace worn-out clothes. Major
Bullivant and the adjutant had borrowed a car to search for almost
forgotten mess luxuries; and coming back had given a lift to a _cure_,
who in the dark put his foot in the egg-box, smashing twenty of the
eggs. There had been the booby-trap in the blown-up dug-out. A chair
that almost asked to be taken stood half-embedded in earth near the
doorway. I was about to haul it away to the mess when I perceived a
wire beneath it, and drew back. Afterwards some sappers attached more
wire, and, from a safe distance, listened to a small explosion that
would have meant extreme danger to any one standing near. Also there
had been the dead horse that lay unpleasantly near our mess. Major
Veasey, "Swiffy," the doctor, our rollicking interpreter M. Phineas,
and myself all took turns at digging a hole for its burial; and there
was plenty of laughter, because old Phineas refused to go near the
horse without swathing his face in a scarf, and when wielding the pick
raised it full-stretch above his head before bringing it, with slow
dignity, to earth--for all the world like a church-bell-ringer. Two
nights in succession German night-bombers had defied ou