After leaving Merville we were warned against gas shelling. This, together with the screens which now became conspicuous at all points of the road open to observation from the enemy's positions, served to remind us that we were now at last personally interested in the war, and had ceased to be mere onlookers.
In due course we arrived at La Rue de la Lys, a little distance short of Sailly, where we were to spend the night. Our billeting officer had meantime got lost; we overshot the mark and nearly reached Sailly itself, but fortunately discovered our error in time. We turned about by the military cemetery, where the first name to catch the eye was that of a sergeant who had been with us in Margate.
The billets consisted of a group of farmhouses, which with difficulty accommodated the battalion. Intermittent rumbling of artillery could now be heard quite distinctly, and you really felt that the war was getting nearer, and that any day now you might be taking an active part in it. That night we felt this still more keenly, as the New Zealand Division, whom we were to relieve, were celebrating their departure by a battalion raid, and the farmhouses shook and echoed to the roar of the guns as the barrage opened on the Germans. At all times a barrage is rather awe-inspiring, but when heard for the first time without warning on a winter's night by raw troops, the effect produced is distinctly sobering.
At 8.15 a.m. the next morning (February 17th, 1917) the battalion was on the road again, this time for Fleurbaix, just behind the line. The column was pursued by a Brigade motor-cyclist, demanding the names of two nominees for commissions. The reply that none were suitable only produced a further and more peremptory demand, and names had to be supplied. This was the beginning of that inevitable process which, more quickly even than the tax levied on the battalion by the enemy, robbed you of your best N.C.Os. as fast as you trained them.
The final stages of the march revealed clearly that we were now in the region where more than an occasional shell descended. The people of Strazeele had proudly pointed to isolated bullet marks and so forth, relics of the fighting of 1914, but here there were real shell holes and houses that had been hit obviously by something more effective than a bullet. Fleurbaix itself was a ruined village, though some of the surrounding farms were intact and flourishing. The church was a mere skeleton, and whole sides of some of the streets were in a state of collapse. Windows were few and far between, and the spaces usually covered with glass were now mostly filled with canvas, or in a few privileged places with oil-silk, which lets in the light. According to the local report, the enemy shelled the place heavily at regular intervals, gas shell being particularly plentiful in the previous bombardment. We hoped secretly that the next bombardment would be deferred for a while, and inspected our box respirators carefully before turning in that night.
As soon as the battalion reached the village the Commanding Officer and Adjutant reported to the New Zealand Brigade Headquarters, under whose orders we were to come for that night. There we met the Colonel of the 2nd Battalion Wellington Regiment, the battalion holding the line, who had come down to meet Colonel Fletcher. After a few preliminaries it was decided that the Commanding Officer and Adjutant should proceed up the line forthwith (it was then about noon), and the Company Commanders, for whom guides were provided, should come up after lunch. We were somewhat surprised to hear that we could go up on horseback, so after getting rid of spare kit and seizing tin helmets and box respirators we set off.
As we cleared the village evidences of hostile activity became more apparent, and our own 18-pounders were found in barns on either side of the road, their front being screened with hangings painted to resemble a brick house wall. The country looked depressing enough—flat as could be, and intersected with sluggish ditches full of dirty water and fringed with stunted willows. Remains of farms and flapping canvas screens stood about, looking strangely gaunt in this empty wilderness. The grass was rank and overgrown, while here and there lay remnants of trenches and great strips of rusty barbed wire, the defences of Fleurbaix. Suddenly our guide pointed to a notice, "Steel helmets will be worn forward of this point," which served to remind one, if a reminder had been necessary with shell-holes all around, that the German was within a distance measurable in yards.
After a few minutes' ride a large farm, to which had been added huts and also some defences, appeared in view. This, our guide informed us, was Elbow Farm, where the reserve company was located; likewise the best water supply and the gum-boot store. Still we went on till we came to a forked road with a large sand-bag wall. This was Sand-bag Corner, and here we left our horses. The enemy, it appeared, was a bit free with overhead machine-gun fire at night, and this screen had been put up to limit the flight of the bullets. A few minutes brought us to Wye Farm, in front of which was a large pond, and round this we skirted on duck-boards. On the right lay the military cemetery, where several figures were lying wrapped in blankets. We had met the walking wounded from the night's raid as we marched to Fleurbaix. These silent figures were those whose luck had not brought a "Blighty," but a more permanent rest in a foreign land.