About this time a very cheery Belgian artillery-man who was exchanging
to another regiment, came on board and kept us highly amused. Souvenirs
were the aim and end of existence just then, and he promised us shell
heads galore when he came down the line. On leaving the car, as a token
of his extreme gratitude, he pressed his artillery cap into our hands
saying he would have no further need of it in his new regiment, and
would we accept it as a souvenir!

The roads in Belgium need some explaining for those who have not had the
opportunity to see them. Firstly there is the _pavé_, and a very popular
picture with us after that day was one which came out in the _Sketch_ of
a Tommy in a lorry asking a haughty French dragoon to "Alley off the
bloomin' pavee--vite." Well, this famous _pavé_ consists of cobbles
about six inches square, and these extend across the road to about the
width of a large cart--On either side there is mud--with a capital M,
such as one doesn't often see--thick and clayey and of a peculiarly
gluey substance, and in some places quite a foot deep. You can imagine
the feeling at the back of your spine as you are squeezing past another
car. If you aren't extremely careful plop go the side wheels off the
"bloomin' pavee" into the mud beyond and it takes half the Belgian Army
to help to heave you on to the "straight and narrow" path once more.

It was just about this time we heard our first really heavy firing and
it gave us a queer thrill to hear the constant boom-boom of the guns
like a continuous thunderstorm. We began to feel fearfully hungry, and
stopped beside a high bank flanking a canal and not far from a small
café. Bunny and I went to get some hot water. It was a tumble-down place
enough, and as we pushed the door open (on which, by the way, was the
notice in French, "During the bombardment one enters by the side door")