Then, after finding the people we wanted, we went up on to a hill with glasses to look at the trenches. Before, as you know, the trenches we were in were breastworks, moulds of earth in perfectly flat country, and we rarely saw the Bosche trenches except through a periscope. But here, from the top of the hill, we saw on a hill a mile or two away long lines on the hillside, where the chalk had been thrown up in building the trenches, and opposite them other white and brown lines, where the German trenches were, white lines in all directions—a sort of maze upon the hillside our trenches and their's—and behind that hill other hills in the distance, much like Salisbury Plain and Aldershot. There is a very noticeable difference in the country here in districts occupied by the English. Civilians here are in their farms right up to the firing line. In fact, in one instance, an old woman was known to live for ten days in her cottage, once a lonely country spot in the open fields, but now with a boundary on each side, one where the Germans held their front line and one where our front line existed. Ten days in No Man's Land! But here all things are different. One rarely sees a French civilian; even here, some twenty miles back, one sees very few, and in Albert one sees none. The trenches are also better. Miles and miles of wire and lines of trenches extend behind Albert, whereas North there is rarely more than one real line of trenches. The French are much more business-like and more thorough.
In the evening we returned to dinner, and again we had a very pleasant one in celebration of my birthday. After dinner we played cut-throat auction, and so to bed.
To-day Carroll has gone on leave. If I am lucky I may come home in a week or two. If so, I wonder if it would be possible for us to go up to Lowood or somewhere of the sort for a week, as I am longing for some decent country—tennis, &c.
Much love to all, from your loving Son,
ALEC.
May 10th.
My darling Mother,—
To-day we transported all our worldly belongings in handcarts from our former billets to a village about six miles nearer the firing line. The village is called Bresle. It is quite a nice little village in a hollow, only it is crowded with troops—three Battalions and various other units all billeted in it. Consequently, though the men still have room for their usual billets in barns, &c., some have very little spare room, whilst most of the officers are billeted in tents, hiding from aeroplanes, under trees. When we arrived we had to get parties to move our tents into a field under a hedge and some trees. We have three tents—one we use as a mess—and the men looted wood and doors and made a splendidly fine table round the tent pole, also a form to sit on. Another tent we all three—Kitty, Brand and myself—sleep in, and a third we have handed over to the servants. I myself have a folding bed that Captain Brockbank, of the Divisional Supply Column, had made for me, and I hope to be fairly comfortable. Our little camp is in the corner of a cultivated field, behind the farms on the hills rising from the village. When we had finished putting up our tents, we lay down for a late lunch of bully-beef sandwiches and cake and watched Mademoiselle and the family digging the field. Then at the other's instigation I offered Mademoiselle a piece of the cake you sent me as my "gateau de marriage," telling her I had been married vingt-cinq anees. It is always well to conciliate the native. To-night I went to tea with the Battalion, several spare officers have arrived out from our depot Battalion. They all have tents in a sort of orchard.