And the hare got there first!

Inwardly I laughed with joy and relief.  Thank goodness that little hare got away.  Corporal Orchard took over the horses, and we went in amongst the wire, but we never found her.  The weeds had grown tall, and were perfect cover for the poor wee beastie.  I sometimes say what I think, but such views are naturally neither understood nor taken seriously.  And the Major, bless him! likes me to do this type of thing because he thinks it is good for me.  “We must really try and teach you to be more of a sportsman, you know.  Sporting instinct.  What?  Every Englishman should have it!” This all very good-humouredly, and I answer, laughing:  “Aha, sir.  You see I know better.”  Which merely stirs some jovial spirit to stand up and propose:  “Gentlemen, fox-hunting!” You see?

September 12.

The next act will shortly begin.  We are all very hopeful.  Certain signs....  Fritz very nervous.  Of that there can be no doubt at all.  Prisoners betray it quite unwillingly.  Poor Fritz!  He comes to attention when we go up to him and ask him if he is fairly happy, which he is (with a smile) invariably.  He talks good English, and wishes the war would end.

Some of our machine gunners, including Clare, were done in the other day, and they put up a biscuit tin, with their names pierced in with nail holes, to mark the spot.  This war is the quaintest, most incongruous show.

[Illustration:  GIRD TRENCH Gird Trench was only won after repeated attacks.  It was the main German defence of GEUDECOURT.  While this sketch was being made things were comparatively quiet.  And the innumerable people living underground could get a little sleep.]

September 15.

Zero hour has come and gone.  The show is a peach.  Fritz is scuttling back with us on his tail.  We are to creep up, and as soon as Fritz is beyond his last line of trenches (which he jolly nearly is now) up and through we hope to go.

September 20.

[Sidenote:  TOWARDS GEUDECOURT]

We are long past Fritz’s first line; past his second line; at his third line; and his fourth line he is wildly digging now—­places for his M.G.’s wire, etc.  But he’s very, very hard put to it.  We have almost all the high ground.  Our guns are at it day and night.  Trench warfare no longer exists.  A few hastily dug holes, a few short lines of trench, mostly battered to pieces, and that’s all.  It’s almost open fighting.  Even the infantry come up across the open.  No communication trenches, nothing of that sort.  The crump holes are continuous.  There’s scarcely an inch of ground that isn’t a crump hole.

I was up in an interesting wood this morning with the Colonel.  Now, this will give you some idea of how dislocated and above-ground everything is: