he
monotony. I've got my half troop, 12 men, in this trench in a root
field, with the rest of the squadron about 100 yards each side of us,
and a farmhouse, half knocked down by shells, just behind. We get our
rations sent up once a day in the dark, and two men creep out to cook
tea in the quiet intervals. Tea is the great mainstay on service, just
as it was on manoeuvres. The men are splendid, and as happy as
schoolboys, and we've got plenty of straw at the bottom of the trench,
which is better than any feather bed. We only had one pelting night, and
we've had three or four fine days. We have not seen any German infantry
from this trench, only one patrol and a sniper or two. Their guns, too,
are out of sight, but hardly a mile away.

Our first day's real close-up fighting was the 19th. We cavalry went on
about a day and a half in front of the infantry. We got into a village,
and our advanced patrols started fighting hard, with a certain amount of
fire from everywhere in front of us. Our advanced patrols gained the
first group of houses, and we joined them. Firing came from a farm in
front of us, and then a man came out of it and waved a white flag. I
yelled, "Two hundred; white flag; rapid fire." But ---- wouldn't let us
fire. Then the squadron advanced across the root fields toward the farm
(dismounted, in open order), and they opened a sharp fire on us from the
farm. We took three prisoners in the roots, and retired to the houses
again. That was our first experience of the white flag dodge; we lost
two killed and one wounded.

Then I got leave to make a dash across a field, for another farm where
they were sniping at us. I could only get half way, my Sergeant was
killed and my Corporal hit. We lay down; luckily it was high roots and
we were out of sight; but they had fairly got our range, and the bullets
kept knocking up the dirt into one's face and all round. We just lay
doggo for about half an hour, and then the fire slackened, and we
crawled back.

I was pleased with my troop, under bad fire. They used the most awful
language, talking quite quietly, and laughing all the time, even after
the men were knocked over within a yard of them. I longed to be able to
say that I liked it, after all one has heard about being under fire for
the first time. But it is beastly. I pretended to myself for a bit that
I like it, but it was no good. But when one acknowledged that it was
beastly, one became all right again and cool.