. It
was a flat and swampy country, full of mist, and the nights were few
in which it did not rain. And we were always very wet and very cold.
The latter was worse than the lack of food. Sometimes we struggled for
hours at a time, knee-deep in desolate stretches of mist-covered
morasses which gave no promise of firm footing but which often dropped
us in to the waist instead. In addition, the country was cut up by
numerous small ditches, six to eight feet wide, which along toward
morning presented so much of an effort in the jumping that we usually
plunged into the water by preference. Our feet were adding to our
misery by this time. On one occasion, as we dragged ourselves out of
the water, two dogs came rushing at us and then followed, yelping. It
was nearly daylight and a woman came down to see what was going on. We
remained motionless near a hedge. She failed to see us, which was
perhaps good luck for both her and us.

The diary for that period reads: "August 28th: Rain worse than ever.
Not a piece of our clothes dry and too much water to lie down. Good
going last night. Cover in a wood outside village. Good. Meals: Nix.
Ought to reach the Hustre river to-night. In good spirits."

"August 29th: Rain stopped and a bit of sun came out. Feeling much
more cheerful. Just had a shave and clean-up. Going last night very
bad. Swamps and canals. Had to leave our course. Feet feeling better.
Meals for the day: turnips, peas and green apples. Did not reach the
river. All's well. No complaints." That shave was a terrible torture.

"August thirtieth: Rain, thunder and lightning most of last night. Got
a bit of shelter in a cowshed in a field. We are wet and cold as
usual, with no sun to dry. Fair cover in a small wood. Going good
last night. Haven't struck the Hustre yet. Meals: green apples and
brambles. Feet pretty sore. Made a needle out of wood and did a bit of
sewing. Best of health."

We had been ploughing through the mist, confused by it and the
numerous hedges, when at the side of a small field we had run into
this cowshed, a tumbledown affair of sods, caved in at the sides and
partly covered by a thatched roof. We built up the side from which the
wind came the worst, hung a rotting canvas we found at the other end
and then snuggled up together to exchange warmth.

The mist had scarcely lifted when we heard a slight noise. We looked
up. A woman was at the entrance to our hovel, looking down full at us.
She turned an