in Rolt's farm and in the positions described for just a
week. On one day, the 27th, we had a false alarm, for the enemy was
reported as crossing the Conde bridge at 4 A.M. in large numbers, and
everybody was at once on the _qui vive_, the Cheshires, who were in
bivouac behind Rolt's farm, being sent back (by Sir C. Fergusson's
orders) to Rupreux, the other side of the river. We rather doubted the
news from the start, as the Conde bridge had, we knew, been blown up,
and there was only one girder left, by which a few men at a time
could conceivably have crossed; but the information was so
circumstantial that it sounded possible. Eventually it turned out all
to be owing to the heated imagination of a Hibernian patrol officer of
the West Kents, and we turned in again.

Missy was shelled particularly heavily that day from 10 to 6, and it
was painful to watch great bouquets of 8-in. H.E. shells exploding in
the village, and whole houses coming down with a crash; it seemed as
though there must be frightfully heavy casualties, and I trembled in
anticipation of the casualty return that night.

But the Dorsets and K.O.Y.L.I. had dug themselves in so thoroughly in
deep funk-holes and cellars that they did not have a single casualty;
and literally the only men wounded were three K.O.S.B.'s and six West
Kents outside the village in a trench, who were hit by about the last
shell of the day; whilst a Bedford sniper, an excellent shot, one
Sergeant Hunt, unfortunately got a bullet through two fingers of his
right hand.

During that week it was moderately quiet, with nothing like so many
casualties as we had expected. Our supply waggons rolled up after dark
right into Missy village and never lost a man, whilst the village was
so thoroughly barricaded and strengthened and scientifically
defended--mostly Dorset work--that we could have held out against any
number. The sappers too, 17th Co. R.E., worked like Trojans under
young Pottinger, a most plucky and capable youth wearing the weirdest
of clothes--a short and filthy mackintosh, ragged coat and breeches,
and a huge revolver.[10]

[Footnote 10: I grieve very much to see that he was fatally
wounded outside Ypres (15th May 1916).]

We put Rolt's farm and the mill (between that and Missy) and La Bizaie
farm in a thorough state of defence, and dug hundreds of yards of
trenches. In fact we should have welcomed an infantry attack, but it
never came--only artillery lo