When the Division moves we ride either with the column or go in advance to the halting-place.  That morning we rode with the column, which meant riding three-quarters of a mile or so and then waiting for the main-guard to come up,—­an extraordinarily tiring method of getting along.

The day (August 21) was very hot indeed, and the troops who had not yet got their marching feet suffered terribly, even though the people by the wayside brought out fruit and eggs and drinks.  There was murmuring when some officers refused to allow their men to accept these gifts.  But a start had to be made some time, for promiscuous drinks do not increase marching efficiency.  We, of course, could do pretty well what we liked.  A little coffee early in the morning, and then anything we cared to ask for.  Most of us in the evening discovered, unpleasantly enough, forgotten pears in unthought-of pockets.

About 1.30 we neared Bavai, and I was sent on to find out about billeting arrangements, but by the time they were completed the rest had arrived.

For a long time we were hutted in the Square.  Spuggy found a “friend,” and together we obtained a good wash.  The people were vociferously enthusiastic.  Even the chemist gave us some “salts” free of charge.

My first ride from Bavai began with a failure, as, owing to belt-slip, I endeavoured vainly to start for half an hour (or so it seemed) in the midst of an interested but sympathetic populace.  A smart change saw me tearing along the road to meet with a narrow escape from untimely death in the form of a car, which I tried to pass on the wrong side.  In the evening we received our first batch of pay, and dining magnificently at a hotel, took tearful leave of Huggie and Spuggy.  They had been chosen, they said, to make a wild dash through to Liege.  We speculated darkly on their probable fate.  In the morning we learned that we had been hoaxed, and used suitable language.

We slept uncomfortably on straw in a back yard, and rose again just before dawn.  We breakfasted hastily at a cafe, and were off just as the sun had risen.

Our day’s march was to Dour, in Belgium, and for us a bad day’s march it was.  My job was to keep touch with the 14th Brigade, which was advancing along a parallel road to the west.[5] That meant riding four or five miles across rough country roads, endeavouring to time myself so as to reach the 14th column just when the S.O. was passing, then back again to the Division, riding up and down the column until I found our captain.  In the course of my riding that day I knocked down “a civvy” in Dour, and bent a foot-rest endeavouring to avoid a major, but that was all in the day’s work.

The Signal Office was first established patriarchally with a table by the roadside, and thence I made my last journey that day to the 14th.  I found them in a village under the most embarrassing attentions.  As for myself, while I was waiting, a cure photographed me, a woman rushed out and washed my face, and children crowded up to me, presenting me with chocolate and cigars, fruit and eggs, until my haversack was practically bursting.