I wonder if you realise at home what the Frontier meant to us at first?  We conceived it as a thing guarded everywhere by intermittent patrols of men staring carefully towards Germany and Belgium in the darkness, a thing to be defended at all costs, at all times, to be crossed with triumph and recrossed with shame.  We did not understand what an enormous, incredible thing modern war was—­how it cared nothing for frontiers, or nations, or people.

Very wearily we unloaded our motor bicycles and walked to the barracks, where we put down our kit and literally feel asleep, to be wakened for fatigue work.

We rose at dawn, and had some coffee at a little estaminet,[4] where a middle-aged dame, horribly arch, cleaned my canteen for me, “pour l’amour de toi.”  We managed an excellent breakfast of bacon and eggs before establishing the Signal Office at the barracks.  A few of us rode off to keep touch with the various brigades that were billeted round.  The rest of us spent the morning across the road at an inn drinking much wine-and-water and planning out the war on a forty-year-old map.

In the afternoon I went out with two others to prospect some roads, very importantly.  We were rather annoyed to lose our way out of the town, and were very short with some inquisitive small boys who stood looking over our shoulders as we squatted on the grass by the wayside studying our maps.

We had some tea at a mad village called Hecq.  All the inhabitants were old, ugly, smelly, and dirty; and they crowded round us as we devoured a magnificent omelette, endeavouring to incite us to do all sorts of things to the German women if ever we reached Germany.  We returned home in the late afternoon to hear rumours of an advance next day.

Three of us wandered into the Square to have a drink.  There I first tried a new pipe that had been given me.  The one pipe I brought with me I had dropped out of the train between Amiens and Landrecies.  It had been quite a little tragedy, as it was a pipe for which I had a great affection.  It had been my companion in Switzerland and Paris.

Coming back from the Square I came across an excited crowd.  It appears that an inoffensive, rather buxom-looking woman had been walking round the Square when one of her breasts cooed and flew away.  We shot three spies at Landrecies.

I hung round the Signal Office, nervous and excited, for “a run.”  The night was alive with the tramp of troops and the rumble of guns.  The old 108th passed by—­huge good-natured guns, each drawn by eight gigantic plough-horses.  I wonder if you can understand—­the thrilling excitement of waiting and listening by night in a town full of troops.

At midnight I took my first despatch.  It was a dark, starless night; very misty on the road.  From the brigade I was sent on to an ambulance—­an unpleasant ride, because, apart from the mist and the darkness, I was stopped every few yards by sentries of the West Kents, a regiment which has now about the best reputation of any battalion out here.  I returned in time to snatch a couple of hours of sleep before we started at dawn for Belgium.