At 5 p.m. we received orders to move at an hour's notice, and half an hour later to move at 6.30 p.m. to Grenas viâ Lucheux. As the light failed it began to rain, and at length down it came in a steady torrent, and the night was as black as pitch. The road was hilly, and, to add to our troubles, we got behind a pontoon section, which kept on blocking us; and after we had passed that we got on the heels of the Pioneer Battalion's transport, which was blessed with a jibbing team, and caused various vexatious halts. Despite these, the greatest cheerfulness and good humour prevailed, and the men sang lustily, as, indeed, they always did in the rain. We reached Grenas, which was just across the Arras—Doullens road, at 11.30 p.m., and eventually got the men, wet and tired, into quite fair billets.
The Brigadier, with his usual kindness, invited several of the officers in to supper about 1 a.m.; and it was on that occasion that the Commanding Officer perpetrated on the Brigade Gas Officer his famous joke about the new green container for the small box-respirator. It was briefly this: Seeing the Brigade Gas Officer come in, the Commanding Officer asked him when the new green container was being issued, for, as he argued, no other container was proof against the new gas. The Gas Officer, suspecting nothing, replied that it was due shortly, and proceeded the next day to make inquiries from his senior at Division. It is rumoured that the inquiry spread thence to the Corps and Army Chemical Advisers, and from there to the highest authorities. It need hardly be added that the quest was in vain!
Before we retired to rest we were told that we must always be ready to move at one hour's notice between 6 a.m. and 12 noon, and at two hours' notice at other times. At 8 a.m. on April 5th the Commanding Officer and the four Company Commanders, exclusive of the two who were to be left out with the surplus "battle personnel"—or "those in the lifeboat" as the saying went—proceeded by motor lorry to reconnoitre the Purple Line in the vicinity of Monchy au Bois, Ransart, and Ficheux, south of Arras.
The battalion meantime was engaged in such training as could be done in the immediate vicinity of billets, with everything kept constantly packed for an immediate departure. On April 7th sixty men arrived as a draft, and N.C.Os. were hastily told off to instruct them in the way they should go; and on the following day Lieutenant Reed, M.O.R.C., U.S.A., relieved Lieutenant Sullo as Medical Officer. At 10 a.m. that day we resumed our journey, passing through the outskirts of Doullens, and going into billets at Beauval.
As usual, the next morning at 8 a.m. the Commanding Officer and Company Commanders were sent off to reconnoitre the Red Line near Authie; and while they were away the battalion was ordered to proceed to Beauquesne, but this was cancelled. Next morning, at 8 a.m., a lorry arrived once more to carry the Commanding Officer and his Company Commanders, this time to the Purple Line, near Gommecourt and Fonquevillers. All that day the Battalion was waiting to move off, but nothing came of it.
April 11th was spent in schemes for the defence of a village, which those in authority thought we should be more than likely to have to put into real practice before very much longer. We heard this day, to our wrath, that the Divisional Dump at Estaires had been captured by the enemy. This included many of our records, innumerable gramophones, including one expensive instrument received by Captain Eccles the day we were ordered to send in our surplus stores, and many other articles of priceless value. However, there was little time for lamentation, as we were ordered back to Grenas once more. It was a bright, fine day, and we had quite a pleasant march.
As we passed through Doullens for the third time, a German aeroplane passed over very high up, and a rifleman was heard to remark that all our marching and counter-marching must be intended to bluff the enemy. Really it almost seemed like it at the time. Ever since we left Fleurbaix we had been more or less continuously on the move, often re-traversing old ground, and seldom staying more than a night or two in one place. The real explanation was that another great German offensive was thought to be imminent, and our Division, who were the counter-attacking force, had to be placed where the situation, which varied daily, demanded our presence. That kind of life very soon becomes tedious, as everything you want is always packed up on a waggon, and no one is allowed to go any distance from his billet.
The following day (April 13th) we moved off once more, this time nearer the line, our destination being Authie. As we drew near the rain began to descend, and on arrival we found, to our consternation, that French troops were in possession, and that there were no billets for us. After a considerable halt, during which time Lieutenant Freeman, the Transport Officer, most prudently watered his horses, we were informed that we were to bivouac in Authie Wood, a cheerless prospect, as the rain continued to descend steadily. We passed through Authie and turned up a steep hill on our right, and off that into a large forest of small trees, clogged with undergrowth. Here we found the remainder of our Brigade, and as night fell everyone was making elaborate efforts with branches and bracken to form shelters for the night.
About 11 p.m. word was received that some tents had arrived, and parties were collected with difficulty from the companies. The wood was situated on the slope of a very steep hill, intersected by small but precipitous gorges. Movement in the dark was therefore a matter of considerable difficulty. The scene on the road at this time was extraordinary. Three battalions, one field ambulance, and the Brigade Headquarter transports were parked alongside a road of no great width to begin with. In addition, the transport of the Machine Gun Battalion—equal in volume to the whole of a Brigade transport—had just arrived, and were trying to find room to park. Droves of animals were proceeding up and down the hill for watering. Several lorries containing the tents, and others passing through, not to mention motor ambulances and dispatch riders, added considerably to the congestion; while ration parties, fatigue parties, and miscellaneous details of every description filled what little space was left, which was not much. The babel of shouts and cries was almost deafening. One moment you found yourself in the midst of a drove of kicking mules, the next you were in imminent peril of destruction from a motor lorry, and all this in inky darkness and a steady torrent of rain. Eventually the situation cleared, and soon after midnight, except for a thousand dots of light all over the countryside, you might have imagined that not a man was about. Luckily, no inquisitive enemy airman came round.