I believe that is the correct term) volumes
of black smoke, huge mountains of slag in all directions, rusty
brickfields littered with empty tins, old paper, and bits of iron, and
other similarly unlovely views. The only thing to be said in favour of
this industrial scrap-heap was that the smoke was not quite so sooty
as it looked, and things one touched did not "come off" quite so black
as might have been expected. Otherwise there was no attraction.

Half a mile on or more was Bois de Boussu, and here we were halted to
allow of a cavalry brigade moving down the street. We waited some
time, and eventually it arrived, not coming down the street but across
it from east to west. I am ashamed to say that I have forgotten which
it was, but the 4th Dragoon Guards, I think, were in it. They crossed
at a trot, men and horses both looking very fit and workmanlike, and
disappeared westwards through the haze of the factories; any more
impossible country for cavalry--except perhaps the London Docks--I
have never seen.

We shortly afterwards got orders to billet in Bois de Boussu and Dour,
the real Boussu being another half mile on. But where the whole
countryside was one vast straggling town, it was impossible to say
where one town ended and the other began. Even the inhabitants didn't
know.

Moulton-Barrett and Saint Andre had already got to work on the
billeting, and the Norfolks and Cheshires were shortly accommodated in
some factories up the road, whilst the Bedfords and Dorsets were
moved back nearly into Dour, into a brewery and some mine-offices
respectively, if I remember rightly. Brigade Headquarters was
installed in an ultra-modern Belgian house and garden belonging to one
M. Durez, a very civil little man, head of some local mining concern.
There was a Madame Durez too, plump and good-natured, and a girl and a
boy, and they were profuse in their hospitality. The only drawback
about the meals, excellent as they were, was the appalling length of
time occupied in their preparation and consumption; it was almost
impossible to get away from them, even though there was so much to do.

So much was there to be done that I feel now as though we had been
there a week, or at least three days; but on looking at my diary I
find we arrived there at midday on Saturday the 22nd, and left at
midnight on Sunday the 23rd.

On the Saturday afternoon there were rumours of the Germans being on
the other side of the Mons-Conde Canal, not