very dark and drear. We hurried on back to Ramscapelle, sentries popping
up at intervals to enquire our business. Floods stretched on either side
of the road as far as the eye could see. We were obliged to crawl at a
snail's pace as it grew darker. Of course no lights of any sort were
allowed, and the lines of soldiers passing along silently to their posts
in the trenches seemed unending; we were glad when we drew up once again
at the Headquarters in Ramscapelle.

Major R. hastened out and told us that his own men who had been in the
trenches for four days were just coming out for a rest, and he wished we
could spare some of our woollies for them. We of course gladly assented,
so he lined them up in the street littered with débris in front of the
Headquarters. We each had a sack of things and started at different ends
of the line, giving every man a pair of socks, a muffler or scarf,
whichever he most wanted. In nearly every case it was socks; and how
glad and grateful they were to get them! It struck me as rather funny
when I noticed cards in the half-light affixed to the latter, texts
(sometimes appropriate, but more often not) and verses of poetry. I
thought of the kind hands that had knitted them in far away England and
wondered if the knitters had ever imagined their things would be given
out like this, to rows of mud-stained men standing amid shell-riddled
houses on a dark and muddy road, their words of thanks half-drowned in
the thunder of war.




CHAPTER V

IN THE TRENCHES