One motor-cyclist went out every day to Lieutenant Chapman, who was acting as liaison officer with the French.  This job never fell to my lot, but I am told it was exciting enough.  The French general was an intrepid old fellow, who believed that a general should be near his fighting men.  So his headquarters were always being shelled.  Then he would not retire, but preferred to descend into the cellar until the evil times were overpast.

The despatch rider with Chapman had his bellyful of shells.  It was pleasant to sit calmly in a cellar and receive food at the hands of an accomplished chef, and in more peaceful times there was opportunity to study the idiosyncrasies of German gunners and the peculiar merits of the Soixante-Quinze.  But when the shelling was hottest there was usually work for the despatch rider—­and getting away from the unhealthy area before scooting down the Annequin road was a heart-thumping job.

French generals were always considerate and hospitable to us despatch riders.  On our arrival at Bethune Huggie was sent off with a message to a certain French Corps Commander.  The General received him with a proper French embrace, congratulated him on our English bravery, and set him down to some food and a glass of good wine.

It was at La Bassee that we had our first experience of utterly unrideable roads.  North of the canal the roads were fair macadam in dry weather and to the south the main road Bethune-Beuvry-Annequin was of the finest pave.  Then it rained hard.  First the roads became greasy beyond belief.  Starting was perilous, and the slightest injudicious swerve meant a bad skid.  Between Gorre and Festubert the road was vile.  It went on raining, and the roads were thickly covered with glutinous mud.  The front mud-guard of George’s Douglas choked up with a lamentable frequency.  The Blackburne alone, the finest and most even-running of all motor-cycles,[16] ran with unswerving regularity.

Finally, to our heartburning sorrow, there were nights on which motor-cycling became impossible, and we stayed restlessly at home while men on the despised horse carried our despatches.  This we could not allow for long.  Soon we became so skilled that, if I remember correctly, it was only on half a dozen nights in all right through the winter that the horsemen were required.

It was at La Bassee too that we had our second casualty.  A despatch rider whom we called “Moulders” came in one evening full of triumph.  A bullet had just grazed his leg and the Government was compelled to provide him with a new puttee.  We were jealous, and he was proud.

We slept in that room which was no room, the entrance-hall of Beuvry Station.  It was small and crowded.  The floor was covered with straw which we could not renew.  After the first fortnight the population of this chamber increased rapidly; one or two of us spoke of himself hereafter in the plural.  They gave far less trouble than we had expected, and, though always with some of us until the spring, suffered heavy casualties from the use of copious petrol and the baking of washed shirts in the village oven.