The subsidiary line was marked on the right by a large civilian cemetery, through which the trench passed. It was full of graves with wooden crosses and artificial flowers such as are usually to be found in a French burial-ground. From there to the Battalion Headquarters the trench was traversed, but there was little parados. "Bivvies" of small breadth and height abounded, and there were one or two concrete dug-outs, usually full of water. A ditch, with a railing in front of it, marked the approach to Battalion Headquarters, after which the trench narrowed into two small alley-ways where Gloucester Avenue joined the subsidiary line, and thence ran down steeply to a road from Nouvel Houplines to Quesnoy. Here the tram line crossed the subsidiary line and ran across country to the right company front. The open road was masked by a big screen. At this point the subsidiary line was built on a somewhat higher level, and contained big bays and long traverses, protected in rear by a parados, behind which was a traffic trench, in which a number of "bivvies" had been constructed.
Continuing your course, you came to Wessex Avenue, the finest communication trench in the sector, though but little used. The line now became a long, straight trench with a high parapet, with duck-boards along the side of the bank and also at the bottom. Beside the lower track was a green ditch. At the end of this stretch was a bridge across the Panama Canal, which ran back in a south-easterly direction to the support line in the right company sector. In design it was merely a deep drain, but it was duck-boarded and a handy short-cut diagonally across the sector. It was seldom used in daylight, in the hope, which was probably justified, that the enemy would regard it merely as a drain. Durham, Edmeads, and Sussex Avenues all met at this point; and a few yards in the rear stood Cambridge House. The last part of the line was full of "bivvies," and just before the end, Irish Avenue, the left-hand communication trench of the sector, led off to the front line. At the end the ground fell away steeply to some marshland beside the banks of the Lys. The only other means of communication with the front line, except the communication trenches above mentioned and a few overland tracks, was the road which ran from the junction of Wessex Avenue and the subsidiary line to Edmeads Farm. This was only passable at night, but it was an excellent short-cut, though subject to bursts of machine-gun fire and "whizz-bangs."
The description of the trenches forward of the subsidiary line is a far more formidable undertaking. We will commence with the right, as being the simplest and also, generally speaking, the most healthy. The subsidiary line was followed to the right almost as far as the cemetery. Just before reaching it a communication trench was found leading off (if you were lucky and knew the way) to the left under an overhead traverse, and guarded by a sentry. The latter in the early days informed you, in a bored fashion, that the wind was dangerous or the reverse, and criticized your box-respirator if not in the alert position. Following the trench in its windings for a short distance, Vancouver Avenue branched off to the left. This was only half finished, though you could with much floundering get through it to Gloucester Avenue; in reality, however, it was quite useless. A hundred yards or so farther on you suddenly came on a corrugated iron sentry-box, with a small weather-cock and a shell case suspended from a stick beside it, where the gas sentry over the right company Headquarters was stationed. Here in an open space you found two or three log huts of small dimensions, with one or two orthodox "bivvies." You then passed over a bridge, and, ducking your head to avoid a sheet of corrugated iron, under which cooking operations were usually going on, you entered a low edifice, which was lighted, it may be mentioned, with two small windows of real glass. Here you might find O.C. "D" Company sitting at the table, endeavouring to compose one of the innumerable reports that the higher powers delighted to collect. Two or three bunks adorned the walls; and a form on either side of the table, a Véry pistol, a tin of cigarettes, some recent pamphlets, and odd pieces of officers' equipment, made up the furniture. You could stand up more or less erect, and the place was really quite comfortable, but hardly shell-proof.
Beyond Company Headquarters the communication trench showed the strongest inclination to close in. It was extremely narrow, and but for the overhead struts would very soon have become impassable. Newburn Lane led off to the left, certainly more of a lane than a trench, through which you could reach the Orchard, a regular target for German gunners, and a place to be avoided at certain times of the day. Farther down the communication trench was a slit on the left where Light Trench Mortar Battery men lived. Just below here the trench suddenly came to an end, and you crossed a little stream running along a diminutive valley. The tram line also came in sight, wandering away along an old road through tangled bushes and weeds to the front line. It was badly smashed in places, and was never used as far forward as this. The trench began again up the far side of the tiny valley—London Road, as it was now called—and here stood two graves marking the resting-place of two unknown soldiers. The going was sticky and the trench much battered. Later on grass and green things generally were conspicuous on either side of the trench, but now everything looked bare and muddy—just yellow clay, shell-holes, mud banks, and trenches more or less derelict. Suddenly you heard voices, and without quite realizing it you found you were in the front line.
A broad breastwork formed the means of defence, occasional bays being held, but the majority being unoccupied and full of loose barbed wire. Everything betokened the effects of shell fire where men were too few to do more than just repair their own particular posts. Derelict "bivvies," odd broken duck-boards half covered with slime, sheets of corrugated iron riddled with holes, bits of old ground sheets, and fragments of equipment, lay about in all directions. Everything presented that damp, yellow aspect peculiar to clay soil. The traverses, sodden with water, were bursting down the hurdles or wire netting with which they were revetted, while the empty bays were falling in of their own accord, or presented a crushed and crumbling appearance, the result of the direct burst of a shell or "minnie."
As you rounded the traverse of an occupied bay the following picture met your eye. Imagine a narrow trench about 12 feet long by 4 feet wide, with a fire-step running along the entire length some 12 inches from the ground. Near the centre of the trench stands a rifleman in skeleton equipment, gazing into the bottom mirror of a box periscope which is fastened by a spike to the parapet, its top covered by dirty canvas to match the surrounding sand-bags. By the sentry's side is a rifle, and close at hand are the empty shell-case gong and strombos horn, in case of gas. Next to him sits his relief, similarly attired, all men invariably wearing equipment in the front line. The relief sentry is passing the time in cleaning some clips of ammunition from an open small-arms ammunition box. The corporal and two men are filling sand-bags, which will be required at dusk. Another rifleman sits at the far end, sleeping peacefully and dreaming of something (we hope) remote from the war. He was the last sentry. Two boxes let into the parados contain Véry lights and bombs; the Véry pistol hangs from a peg in the parapet. Five rifles with swords fixed stand in a row against the side of the trench; while a shelf holds some mess-tin lids, two water-bottles, some bread, and a tin of bully beef. Two sand-bags for salvage and rubbish hang at the end of the bay. Round the corner two "bivvies"—mere hovels about three foot high, wet and slimy—complete the "home comforts" of this cheerful abode. From one of the "bivvies" protrude two pairs of muddy boots and four legs covered with clay-stained puttees. Their owners are enjoying a well-earned rest, having spent most of the night prowling about in No Man's Land.
Taking the next communication trench, Gloucester Avenue, we could make our way up to the front line to a point not far distant from the top of London Road; or, better still, we could branch off along Pretoria to the right-centre company's support line. Gloucester Avenue was a good winding trench cut through what had once been cornfields. Pretoria was even better, and brought you out close to the point where the Panama Canal joined the support line. By the end of the canal were two deep concrete dug-outs, both small and damp, and in one of these the signallers and in the other the Company Commander were to be found. In the latter, as you carefully descended the steps, you would have been able at once to recognize, not only from the orderly appearance of the spot, but from the number of parcels from Fortnum and Mason, that Captain Eccles dwelt there; and, sure enough, there he was, looking as if he had just stepped out of a band-box, with Company Sergeant-Major Heyworth sitting by his side working at the company card index.
After making your way along the support line round interminable traverses, you squeezed your way up Timaru to the front line. Thence you went along past Wessex Avenue, which requires no further description, to the end of Locality 12. From here a path led up to the support line—Gap "M" being impassable—and from the support line by another path to the left centre company's front line—quite a decent stretch of bays and traverses with a wilderness of ruined trenches in their rear. Half-way along this sector you turned up a miserable ruin of a trench to Captain Steward's Headquarters, a concrete dug-out set like an oasis in a desert of derelict trenches. In spite of the neighbourhood, Captain Steward would appear perfectly groomed and with a cheerful smile, though denouncing the Germans for making him so uncomfortable. Another dug-out adjoining was used by his subalterns.
To visit the left sector it was now necessary to go right down Edmeads Avenue and then up Sussex Avenue, whence you could go to Hobbs Farm along Cambridge or along Fusilier Avenue to Captain Wyatt's Headquarters at Goodwood. The latter was another of these concrete dug-outs, and the owner, whether Captain Wyatt or any other Company Commander, generally had some severe remarks to make about the enemy, who gave the left sector but little rest. To reach "A" Company's front line you went along the support line to Irish Avenue, which from there back to the subsidiary line was good enough, but forward of the support line was hardly better than a track, and, except for some canvas, pretty well exposed to view from all points of the enemy front line. The whole of the left front line, in fact, from Edmeads Farm past Hobbs Farm, the ruins of which had almost been obliterated, was a maze of battered and derelict trenches, only entered by the inquisitive or by some luckless individual who had lost his way. The left company front was built into the side of a small ridge, and possessed no general parados, though most of the posts were self-contained. It ended some two or three hundred yards from the Lys, though from the enemy point of view it probably appeared to go much farther. It was very much knocked about, and it was hard work to maintain even a semblance of respectability.
Such is a brief outline of the Houplines sector. Its main features were its size, its maze of useless and ruined trenches, and its lack of lateral communication. There was not a single dug-out that would have stood the direct hit of a 5·9, and only a few that one would have cared to be in when hit by a "whizz-bang."