There was one remarkable feature of the whole of this period of the war
which cannot be passed over, and that was the very decided superiority
of our Flying Corps. During the whole of our three months in the Kemmel
area we never once saw a German aeroplane cross our lines without being
instantly attacked, and on one occasion we watched a most exciting
battle between two planes, which ended in the German falling in flames
into Messines, at which we cheered, and the Boche shelled us. Towards
the end of the war the air was often thick with aeroplanes of all
nationalities and descriptions, but in those days, before bombing
flights and battle squadrons had appeared, it was seldom one saw as many
as eight planes in the air at a time, and tactical formations either for
reconnaissance or attack seemed to be unknown; it was all "one man"
work, and each one man worked well.

On the night of the 16th June the Battalion came out of trenches and
marched to the Locre huts for the last time, looking forward to a few
days' rest in good weather before moving to the Salient, which we were
told was shortly to be our fate. We had been very fortunate in keeping
these huts as our rest billets throughout our stay in the sector, for
though a wooden floor is not so comfortable as a bed in a billet, the
camp was well sited and very convenient. The Stores and Transport were
lodged only a few yards away at Locrehof Farm, and Captain Worley used
to have everything ready for us when we came out of the line. During
the long march back from trenches, we could always look forward to hot
drinks and big fires waiting for us at the huts, while there was no more
inspiring sight for the officers than Mess Colour-Sergeant J. Collins'
cheery smile, as he stirred a cauldron of hot rum punch. Bailleul was
only two miles away, and officers and men used often to ride or walk
into the town to call on "Tina," buy lace, or have hot baths (a great
luxury) at the Lunatic Asylum. Dividing our time between this and