We reached the wagon lines with our guns still intact and we felt as safe as if we were back in our beloved Dominion.  We were going back of the lines, and the scene of breaking camp in our preparations for returning to the rear was picturesque in the extreme.  Bonfires made of refuse and waste material for which we had no further use were burning everywhere; men were hurrying hither and thither; and through it all you could hear the steady digging, shoveling and pounding of the German prisoners who were repairing the roads their own guns mangled.  I felt a large measure of satisfaction at seeing them working as hard as they could go, restoring at least that much of their destructiveness; they will never, they can never replace the wantonness, the frightfulness, of which they have been the inspired tool in this the struggle of their lords and masters for the earth’s control.

Night and day for three days we traveled on our batteries, arriving at a place called Camblain-Chatillon, a small town in a mining valley.  Here we were billeted in barns, but the inhabitants hearing that we were Canadians who had been operating on the Somme, came out en masse to greet us and give us of their best.  We were invited to their homes, and their larders were placed at our disposal; a large bath made of granite—­a splendid outfit used by the miners of the town, was thrown open to us, and it is needless to say we reveled in the luxury of a plunge as quickly as we could tumble in.  How we needed it!  I had not known a bath during all the time I was on the Somme and lousiness was part and parcel of my make-up.  I was so accustomed to it, however, that it had long ceased to cause me more than a passing thought; there were too many other things to think about during that session.  But once relieved from the tension of the daily struggle to save life, as well as take it, the desire to become normal, decent, cleanly human beings took possession of every man of us, and we wallowed in the bath until we could once more look other respectable citizens in the face.

In this haven of rest and retirement we luxuriated for two weeks, then moved into action on the Lens-Arras road.  We placed our guns on the side of the road, digging our trails in the edge of the cobble stone pavement as a trail block, to hold the guns steady when firing.  Chicken wire on top, covered with grass and brushwood, completed the scenic protection.

Our work was the well-known ruse of a night raid in preparation for the attack on Vimy Ridge, and carried out for the purpose of keeping the Germans guessing as to where the next drive would be driven.