group of very tall cypresses, one of the best groups I have ever seen,
and opposite the western entrance was a charming little avenue of young
cypresses, planted since the reconquest. We stayed for half an hour at
Aquileia and then went on to Grado.

* * * * *

On the way Shield told me the story of how the British Batteries came to
Italy. Our own War Office, as the habit of the tribe is, had wrapped the
whole thing up in mystery, and the Batteries were christened "the
British Mission" to a destination secret and unnamed. Passing through
the South of France and up the Arc Valley to the frontier, with the
gunners sitting on their guns in open trucks in the sunshine, the
trains were loudly cheered by the French who, in that part of the
country, had seen few of the sights of war. Once in Italy the official
attempts at mystification mystified nobody. The engine-drivers at Modane
hoisted Union Jacks on their engines and kept them flying all the way.
Everyone knew who we were and where we were going, and at every station
where the trains stopped there were official welcomes and immense crowds
cheering like mad. At Turin our guns were wreathed in flowers and at
Verona the station staff presented a bouquet to the General, on whose
behalf Shield made a suitable reply in Italian.

* * * * *

Grado lies on several islands, in its own lagoons. The Austrians were
developing it, in a haphazard way, as a watering-place before the war,
and there are several large hotels and the beginnings of a Sea Front.
The canals are filled with fishing boats with brown sails, which seldom
put to sea now for fear of mines.