28th. “‘Cleaning and inspection of kit,’” says the War Diary. We always lay long on the morning after relief, no one worried anyone else till noon at least. “To-day I had a bath! Oooooooh! Nothing can describe the utter luxury of it when for several days you haven’t even had your revolver off! A real one and lie down in it! I feel another man already! Nothing of special interest, very busy inspecting, cleaning up, repairing, and generally getting ready for the trenches.... It’s still very cold and difficult to keep warm; these huts have no glass in the windows, but horn, sacking or linen, so one always writes by candle-light. We have a gramophone in the Mess which plays all day and cheers us much. ‘O, Cecilia! Don’t make those eyes at me!’ is a great favourite, especially with the Padre, who says the sentiment is exceedingly proper!”
The following days were devoted to Company training, and on Sunday December 3rd, 1916, there was a Church Parade. Our Diarist writes: “We are still in rest, and it’s still freezing—coke is bad to get in quantity—to-day we are very short; food is plentiful, there are Y.M.C.A. huts and canteens and places about where one can buy baccy, biscuits, fruit, etc.—the important thing is that all eatables must be in tins, otherwise the rats get the lot.... In spite of cold, dirt, and discomfort, it’s a good life on the whole, and one’s conscience is at rest; we’re part of an Army—and a fine Army—and the Army is abundantly cheerful.”
Our numbers at this time were very low, three more Officers and 37 Other Ranks having gone sick during the month.
On 6th December, we were inspected in mass by the Corps Commander, an amusing inspection which rather showed up the lack of horsemanship of some Company Commanders. As a result a Battalion riding school was started, and carried on whenever we were in “rest.” The following day we moved up to YPRES (RAMPARTS and SCHOOL), and on the 8th relieved the 1/6th King’s Liverpool Regiment in RAILWAY WOOD. The following day our artillery was active, strafing the enemy front line; we received some “Minnies” in exchange. During the night our field guns and machine guns fired on enemy communications; he retaliated with shells and “Minnies.”
In the support trench (BEEK) were many home-made weather vanes, somewhat out of adjustment, and one day, in directing a stranger to Company Headquarters, someone said, “Keep along the trench and you’ll see several weather-cocks.” “Yes,” broke in a humorist, “to show the various Norths!”
On the 11th the activity on both sides was renewed, but without serious damage. Of course trenches were blown in and there were many narrow escapes, but only two men were wounded in the three days. It was always a standing wonder that so much metal could fly about in horrid, jagged bits, knocking trenches about, missing men by inches, demolishing dugouts, and yet cause so few casualties. For example, three men were lying in a low dugout with an iron roof; a shell struck the front edge, burying the men and at the same time saving them from its own explosion, which took place simultaneously! Men are sometimes literally struck dumb at these times, as witness the following true story:—Scene—a slight shelter; Officer inside, Private at entrance; three shells fall in quick succession, the first and second miss the shelter by a foot or two and make the usual noise and mess, the third hurtles down and buries itself at the very entrance—a long pause, then a small, unnatural voice, “That’s a dud, sir!” Another pause, another voice of like quality, “Yes, I see it is!”
The 12th was very quiet. A drizzling rain fell all morning, mixed with snow later. The following day we were told to prepare for relief, and had the satisfaction of seeing, during the afternoon, our heavies putting some really big stuff on the Hun lines; in the evening we returned to our YPRES billets.
14th. YPRES was shelled fairly heavily and we had one casualty; our guns were also very active. “What an awful row these big guns make when they go off; if you’re anywhere near them the noise seems to box your ears and make you deaf for some seconds.”
15th. “Our guns were making a fair old row last night and this morning, celebrating the Kaiser’s peace proposals, I suppose—what a difference from the old RICHEBURG days! To-night, about 4 30, the Hun suddenly started shelling this place to some tune and kept it up for half an hour; quite a lot burst near our dugout and there was a good bit of stuff flying about, but no one was hit.” During these days the usual nightly working parties filed through the MENIN GATE and went up the line to shovel slime for a few hours.
On 17th December, 1916, we moved to PRISON billets and into the line again—WIELTJE—on the 18th.