far off. The 13th and 14th
Brigades were in front of us, strung out and holding the Canal line,
ourselves being in Divisional Reserve. Where the exact left of the 5th
Division was I cannot remember at this moment, but I am sure that it
was not farther west than Pommeroeul bridge, with, I believe, French
or English cavalry on its left.

Saturday afternoon was spent in studying the ground in our front and
looking to the approaches and the arrangements for the Brigade. Our
front was of course well covered, but there were numerous little
matters to be seen to and a certain amount of confabulation with the
Divisional Staff, which lived in the midst of a perpetual
_va-et-vient_ at the railway station at Dour. Our horses were picketed
out in M. Durez's garden and the grubby little fields close by, and
the Signal section and all the vehicles were stowed away there as best
could be arranged; but all was enclosed, cramped, and unhandy, and the
difficulty was to get a clear space anywhere. I walked with M. Durez
in the evening to a tiny mound in his garden, from which he assured me
a good view could be got; but although the sunset and colouring
through the haze was rather picturesque, one couldn't see much. Durez
was very apprehensive about his family and himself, and was most
urgent in his inquiries as to what was going to happen. I could not
tell him much beyond the rumour that the German force in front was
reported not to be very big, and I advised him to stick it out as long
as he could; but he was restless, with good reason as it turned out,
and settled next day to take himself and his family away whilst there
was yet time.

_Aug. 23rd._

Next morning I got orders to go with Lieut.-Col. Tulloch, the
Divisional Commanding Royal Engineer, to select a defensive position
and entrench it. We got into a car, and went buzzing about in front of
Boussu and round to the right as far as Wasmes; but I never saw such a
hopeless place. There was no field of fire anywhere except to the
left, just where the railway crossed the Boussu road, where, strange
to say, the country opened out on to a "glacis-like" slope of stubble.
Going was bad, up broken little roads over ground composed of a
bewildering variety of slag-heaps 40 to 150 feet high, intersected
with railway lines, mine heads, chimneys, industrial buildings,
furnaces, and _usines_ of all sorts, and thickening into suburbs
consisting of narrow winding little streets and grubby li