Next morning (February 22nd) revealed a scene of great activity. Relief day is always a busy one, but when the process has not yet become so familiar as to be almost a second nature there is considerable excitement, and not a little confusion, before things begin to straighten out. Our guides, one for each platoon, duly arrived, and at 7.30 a.m. Captain Gilling and his heavily laden company were moving off. To the uninitiated it might seem that the Army Authorities had given the infantry soldier under ordinary circumstances, as much permanent equipment as one man could well carry. But it is a trifle compared with the loads carried on a relief. It is true that greater experience enabled one to devise means for reducing the distance over which these extra items had to be borne; but on this occasion, owing to the request of the New Zealanders to reduce horse transport as far as possible in case visibility improved, the men struggled off under fearful burdens. In the peaceful days of trench warfare a relief was almost tantamount to a household removal. There were valises, mess boxes, orderly-room boxes, Lewis guns, carriers for Lewis-gun drums, Véry pistols, periscopes, gum-boots, wire-cutters, rations, fuel, and a thousand and one other things to be taken up. The rate of movement decreases in proportion to the load, and consequently one mile per hour became the average pace. Companies proceeded in an order determined by the distance each had to cover. "A" Company led off, as they were bound for the right sector of the front line, viâ Elbow Farm and Tin Barn Avenue. Captain Steward and "B" Company followed, heading for the left sector of the front line past Wye Farm and up City Avenue and Bay Avenue. Captain Eccles and "C" Company only had to go to Jay Post, as the support line was in close proximity to Battalion Headquarters; while Major Charles Wilson and "D" Company had to go no farther than Elbow Farm, where life "in reserve" was comparatively peaceful—"comparatively" only, because all the fatigues and working parties generally fall to the lot of the reserve company, which means that the night is spent in tramping about and toiling. Headquarters proceeded last. They are not required till the relief is well advanced, and the Headquarters of the battalion being relieved can begin to dribble out and make room for them.
Reports of "relief complete" soon began to arrive, and the last company was through in a remarkably short time, a fact which the New Zealanders commented on with pleasure. Nothing is more annoying for an outgoing unit than to be held up by a bad relief. The last words of wisdom were spoken, trench stores signed for, and the other little formalities completed. With a cheery "Good luck!" and a hearty handshake they were off, and our Commanding Officer found himself for the first time in sole charge of a sector. As soon as our friends were clear, he, with his usual energy, was calling for his runner, and was off round the line to see how "A" and "B" Companies were getting on. With their wonted consideration, the New Zealanders had left an officer and N.C.O. for the first twenty-four hours with each company, knowing that the first night in the trenches is rather a strain, and the helping hand of the experienced was a great asset. Many were the problems which were exercising the minds of the Company Commanders as the Commanding Officer visited them in turn. Endless questions of detail presented themselves, which had first to be learnt and understood by oneself, and the information then passed on to the company—a far more laborious and difficult task.
Only a few hours of daylight remained, and there was still much to be done. The lists of things contained in the Trench Standing Orders, "What every Platoon Commander should know," "What every Section Commander should know," and so forth, were enough to distract the most phlegmatic mind, especially when nobody knew the answers to half the questions. The ideal—that is, when everyone knows and understands the answers to all these vital questions—is never attained except in a sector in which every member of the battalion knows them by heart, and at present no one had the requisite knowledge. To add to the difficulties, you constantly lost your way and wandered aimlessly in half derelict trenches, searching in vain for (say) No. 2 Post, where Sergeant X., only recently promoted to that exalted rank, was certain to be in need of advice and assistance. Eventually, giving up for the time all hope of finding this elusive post, you decide to return to Company Headquarters, where the Company Sergeant-Major is anxiously working out patrols, ration parties, and duties of every description, only to find your own Headquarters even more cunningly concealed than the much-sought No. 2 Post. In vain you consult the elegant sketch map of the trenches, that pretty but fallacious document which shows the way so clearly, but omits any reference to disused trenches, which often look in such good condition as to lead you astray and lure you by gradual stages into a forlorn wilderness of abandoned saps. It is all very trying.
The sector itself—La Boutillerie, as it was called—requires little description beyond what has already been given and what can be seen on the map. Its two outstanding features were the Salient, a triangular piece of trench said to have been dug in one night during the days before trench warfare became stabilized, and Jay Post, a wonderful deep dug-out of magnificent proportions, which was but slightly used, as the enemy, in spite of our elaborate camouflage, had all its exits accurately registered.
That night, and in fact all the time the battalion was in this sector, the Germans were amazingly quiet. It is true that the vicinity of Battalion Headquarters, the road leading up to it, and the principal communication trenches, were liberally bespattered with machine-gun bullets. This was apt to "put the wind up" those whose duties compelled them to move about at night, and caused many curses to be heaped on the head of "Parapet Joe," as the chief offender was called, from the skill with which he could traverse along our front line parapet, with its many variations in level, even on the darkest night. An occasional "minnie" also descended on the front line with a loud report; and the Brewery, where the pump was, and where the observers had an observation post along with the gunners, received spasmodic attention from "whizz-bangs." At first people in the front line talked in whispers, although generally speaking the enemy was 400 yards away; but common sense, and the war experience of some of the officers who had been out with the 1/6th Battalion, soon put an end to that and many other little absurdities. The main stumbling-block at night was the tendency of people, contrary to orders, to take refuge in shelters and "bivvies." The order forbidding this caused considerable heartburning, though its sound sense was clear enough.
The weather, after being muggy and wet, had now turned bitterly cold again, and nights in the trenches under arctic conditions are never pleasant, and for the new-comer very trying. Accordingly, we were not sorry to be informed that our time in the line was to be of only four days' duration, and almost before we had realized we were in the line, officers and N.C.Os. of the 2/7th K.L.R. were arriving on tours of exploration. On the last night we had our first casualties, a "minnie" falling right on to a post, killing three men and wounding two. The fortune of war is very curious: some men go for months, and even years, unscathed through dangers of every description; others, like these three, are killed on their first tour of duty in one of the quietest sectors in France. We buried them next day in the cemetery by Battalion Headquarters, and it was melancholy to realize that the dissolution of our happy band had now commenced in grim earnest, and was likely to proceed more rapidly in the days to come.
At 7.30 a.m. (February 26th, 1917) the relief commenced, and in due course the companies were finding their way back to billets at Fleurbaix, feeling themselves twice the men they were but a few days before. They knew now what the real trenches were; previously their knowledge had been limited to those poor imitations at the Foresters Public-House at Aldershot.
Before completing the impressions of our first tour in the line, we cannot omit one thing from our account of this sector; not that the phenomenon is peculiar to these trenches or any other particular sector—in fact, till the more persistent use of gas sounded their death knell, they were to be found everywhere, "they" being, of course, rats. Now at home, in small numbers and well under the control enforced by long-established civilization, rats present no particular terrors or inconvenience except, perhaps, to a sensitive female. But in the trenches, where food was abundant and engines of destruction, at least as far as rats were concerned, few, they waxed plentiful, and their audacity increased with their size and their numbers. Not content with running all over the duck-boards, and all but refusing to step aside and let you pass, they ran riot in your dug-out, gnawed your clothes, devoured your food, scampered all over you as you slept, and in one notorious case caused grave inconvenience to a Medical Officer by removing bodily his set of false teeth. In the front line they climbed on the sleeping soldier and gnawed through his haversack to reach his iron ration. In the "bivvy" they nibbled holes in a man's socks as he lay on the ground. In fact, so bold were they that you could fire two or three rounds at a rat and hit all round him before he would condescend to move at all, and then he would only twitch his whiskers and remove himself in a leisurely fashion to some less disturbed spot. The services of Mr. Browning's "Pied Piper" would have been invaluable to us. There were, to be sure, various trench cats and an occasional dog, but they had other and better means of subsistence and took little heed of the rats. So the latter flourished, and, though curious diseases broke out among them, their lot must have been a happy one till the gas shells began to fall in every sector, and then their numbers dwindled rapidly, and in many parts they "ceased to be," at any rate for the moment.
Our second visit to Fleurbaix, for our first had been but a fleeting one, enabled us to get a more comprehensive view of our surroundings. The destruction in the village proved more considerable than had at first been realized, and though civilians abounded, the place had a weary and depressed air, which was hardly to be wondered at. Everything looked so sadly out of repair; little attempt had been made, or was indeed possible, to make good the ravages of war. Streets where there was little traffic were grass grown, gardens were rank with weeds, fences and railings were broken down, and débris of bricks and mortar littered the ground. Work on improving billets was at once put in hand, and things left unfinished by the 2/7th K.L.R. were completed and improved, in accordance with one of the unwritten laws of trench life—viz., "Always leave a place better than you find it." The 2/8th K.L.R., working with the 2/5th K.L.R., occupied in turn billets opposite ours; and in rear of the village in quite a decent house were Brigade Headquarters, pleasantly adjacent to a couple of 60-pounders!