He rode off, taking the road by La Chevrie Farm.  Beyond the farm the Germans sniped him unmercifully, but (so he told me) he got well down on the tank and rode “all out” until he came to the firing line just south-west of the farm to the north of Chevrie.  Major Buckle came out of his ditch to see what was wanted.  The rifle fire seemed to increase.  The air was buzzing, and just in front of his bicycle multitudinous little spurts of dust flecked the road.

It was distinctly unpleasant, and, as Major Buckle persisted in standing in the middle of the road instead of taking the despatch rider with him into his ditch, the despatch rider had to stand there too, horribly frightened.  The Major said it was impossible to go farther.  There was only a troop of cavalry, taking careful cover, at the farm in front, and—­

     “My God, man, you’re under machine-gun fire.”

So that’s what it is, murmured the despatch rider to himself, not greatly cheered.  He saw he could not get to any vantage point by that road, and it seemed best to get back at once.  He absolutely streaked along back to D.H.Q., stopping on the way very much against his will to deliver a message from Major Buckle to the Duke of Wellington’s who were in support.

He gave in his report, such as it was, to Colonel Romer, and was praised.  Moral:  Be called away by some pressing engagement before the captain calls for volunteers.  May Gott strafe thoroughly all interfering sergeants!

The Headquarters Staff advanced in an hour or so to some houses.  The 3rd Corps, consisting of the 4th Division and the unlucky 19th Brigade, had pushed on with tremendous dash towards Jouarre, and we learnt from an aeroplane which dropped a message on the hill at Doue that the general situation was favourable.  The Germans were crowding across the bridge at La Ferte under heavy shell fire, but unluckily we could not hit the blighted bridge.

It was now midday and very hot.  There was little water.  We had been advancing over open fields without a vestige of shade.

Under cover of their guns the Germans fled across the Petit Morin in such confusion that they did not even hold the very defensible heights to the north of the river.  We followed on their heels through St Ouen and up the hill behind the village.  Three of us went on ahead and sat for two hours in a trench with borrowed rifles waiting for the Germans to come out of a wood.  But it began to rain very hard, and the Germans came on the other side and were taken by the Cyclists.

It was just getting dark when we rendezvoused at the cross-roads of Charnesseuil.  The village was battered by our guns, but the villagers did not mind a scrap and welcomed us with screams of joy.  The local inn was reopened with cheers, and in spite of the fact that there were two dead horses, very evil-smelling, just outside, we had drinks all round.