se little gatherings;
the solemn quiet which the distant crackle of rifles seemed but to
emphasise; the Psalms and Hymns, in which all joined devoutly but in
tones muted and softened in harmony with the evening stillness; the
short lesson, read by the light of a screened candle or electric torch;
the simple prayers for our comrades facing death, for the sick, the
wounded, and the dying, for the bereaved, and for the dear ones waiting
for us at home; the brief, practical address; and--to finish--the
National Anthem, which one sang with dimmed eyes and a lump in the
throat--it seemed to mean so much. No service in the finest man-built
place of worship, with pealing organ and highly-trained choir, with
sermon earnest and inspired, could have such power to move and impress,
to convey such certainty of the near presence of the Almighty and the
Eternal, as did these humble, informal meetings under the stars, the
congregation dimly visible as it clustered on the parapets of the
nearest trenches or squatted on the ground at the Padre's feet.

While we were taking our leisure (!) in rear of the firing-line, things
in front of us were comparatively quiet. There must have been times of
anxiety for the higher commands, but we knew nothing of these or of what
might be impending, except that everyone must have realised that our
available force on the Peninsula was none too strong for the task which
it would have to face if the enemy should make a determined effort to
pierce our lines. At the end of the first week the Battalion was again
placed at the disposal of the 29th Division, then holding the extreme
left of the British line. The chief use they made of us was to call for
large fatigues to construct terraced dug-outs for them in the sea-cliff,
but for several successive nights we had to sleep in our boots with
equipment and ammunition beside us, ready for an immediate move. We had
also to link up all our lines of rest trenches with communication
trenches to render movement possible under shell fire and to excavate at
high pressure a communication leading up the west side of the Pink Farm
Road into one of the main cross-cuts. We cannot recall the official
designation of this trench; we always spoke of it as Armstrong Alley, in
compliment to our Brigade Major who had driven us to the task of
constructing it.

It happened one quiet forenoon that a batman was cleaning his officer's
revolver. In rest camps revolvers are not supposed