the German trenches on that shell-riddled road. Finally we saw a long
black line running at right angles, and the guide in front motioned me
to stop while he went on ahead.

I had time to look round and examine the place as well as I could and
also to put down my bundle of woollies that had become extremely heavy.
These trenches were built against a railway bank (the railway lines had
long since been destroyed or torn up), and just beyond ran the famous
Yser and the inundations which had helped to stem the German advance. I
was touched on the shoulder at this point, and clambered down into the
trench along a very slippery plank. The men looked very surprised to see
us, and their little dug-outs were like large rabbit hutches. I crawled
into one on my hands and knees as the door was very low. The two
occupants had a small brazier burning. Straw was on the floor--the straw
we had previously seen on the men's backs--and you should have seen
their faces brighten at the sight of a new pair of socks. We pushed on,
as it was getting late. I shall never forget that trench--it was the
second line--the first line consisting of "listening posts" somewhere in
that watery waste beyond, where the men wore waders reaching well above
their knees. We squelched along a narrow strip of plank with the
trenches on one side and a sort of cesspool on the other--no wonder they
got typhoid, and I prayed I mightn't slip.

We could walk upright further on without our heads showing, which was a
comfort, as it is extremely tiring to walk for long in a stooping
position. Through an observation hole in the parapet we looked right out
across the inundations to where the famous "Ferme Violette," which had
changed hands so often and was at present German, could plainly be seen.
Dark objects were pointed out to us sticking up in the water which the
sergeant cheerfully observed, holding his nose the meanwhile, were