he front.
The road along which we travelled was, of course, lined with the
ubiquitous poplar tree, placed at regular intervals as far as the eye
could see. The country was flat to a degree, with cleverly hidden
entrenchments at intervals, for this was the famous main road to Calais
along which the Kaiser so ardently longed to march.

Barriers occurred frequently placed slantwise across the roads, where
sentries stood with fixed bayonets, and through which no one could pass
unless the _laisser passer_ was produced. Some of those barriers were
quite tricky affairs to drive through in a big ambulance, and reminded
me of a gymkhana! It was quite usual in those days to be stopped by a
soldier waiting on the road, who, with a gallant bow and salute, asked
your permission to "mount behind" and have a lift to so and so. In fact,
if you were on foot and wanted to get anywhere quickly it was always
safe to rely on a military car or ambulance coming along, and then
simply wave frantically and ask for a lift. Very much a case of share
and share alike.

We passed many regiments riding along, and very gay they looked with
their small cocked caps and tassels that dangled jauntily over one eye
(this was before they got into khaki). The regiments were either French
or Belgian, for no British were in that sector at this time. Soon we
arrived at the picturesque entry into Dunkirk, with its drawbridge and
mediaeval towers and grey city wall; here our passes were again examined,
and there was a long queue of cars waiting to get through as we drew
up. Once "across the Rubicon" we sped through the town and in time came
to Furnes with its quaint old market place. Already the place was
showing signs of wear and tear. Shell holes in some of the roofs and a
good many broken panes, together with the general air of desertion, all
combined to make us feel we were near the actual fighting line. We
learnt that bombs had been dropped there only that morning. (This was
early in 1915, and since then the place has been reduced to almost
complete ruin.) We sped on, and could see one of the famous coastal
forts on the horizon. So different from what one had always imagined a
fort would look like. "A green hill far away," seems best to describe
it, I think. It wasn't till one looked hard that one could see small
dark splotches that indicated where the cannon were.

A Belgian whom we were "lifting" ("lorry jumping" is now the correct
term!) pointed out to