enote: BEHIND KEMMEL]

Impossible to write yesterday, and only a brief scrawl to-day.

The regiment is being scattered over the face of the earth--an O.P.
here, an O.P. there; a digging-party here, a draining-party there, etc.,
etc., etc.; not to mention a few on duty as military police _pro tem._,
others guarding bomb shelters, others reconnoitring new areas for new
divisions, etc. Dennis is very badly wounded. He can't be moved yet.
Some bits of shell went into his thigh, up his back, and it's not
certain yet whether it entered his lungs or not. They are afraid so. He
was on his tummy at an O.P. A crump got him. Dear old Dennis! I hope
he'll pull round. Also Clive is very seriously wounded, I fear. Damn!

_August 27._

I am Acting Adjutant now. An Adjutant's job is a most hairy job, and I
sit with drops of perspiration dripping off my brow all day. Never see
the horses, never get any exercise except for a moment or two.

_August 29._

We are probably going to move again soon, and consequently the amount of
correspondence is vast. Clive is better, I think. Dennis about the
same. I suppose a thing can go into your lung and not kill you?

_September 2._

The Colonel seemed (from a telegram he sent yesterday morning) to be in
a great hurry for me to come down to the other squadron. So I decided to
go by train, and send Hunt with the horses. And this is the train
journey.

The station at ---- quite recovered and tidy after a feeble strafing the
other day. Even two or three civilians travelling. Not many of the
military--a hundred or so, perhaps, all waiting and smoking idly, each
armed with his "Movement Order." The dull boom of guns not excessive,
though there's a frequent "plom! plom! plom!" of the Archies, and the
sky is dotted with clusters of pretty little shrapnel clouds. Sometimes
the crack! crack! crack! crack! of machine guns high up in the blue. It
makes you feel slightly homesick. I don't quite know why. That sort of
thing isn't done at home.

[Sidenote: THROUGH HAZEBROUCK]

In comes the train. The French station officials all in a paroxysm of
excitement because one Tommy throws down a gas helmet for the train to
run over. Up we clamber. Hale heaves up valise and coat and so forth,
and retires to a "third," while I feel a beast lounging in this
luxurious "first." Off we go, and I look out at all the familiar
country.

There's one of those quaint French notices in the carriage:

TAISEZ-