Rations were short for breakfast, dinner did not arrive, we had no tea but all the men were quite cheerful for it was rumoured that we were going back to our billets at four o'clock in the afternoon. About that hour we were relieved by another battalion, and we marched back through the communication trench, past Marie Redoubt, Gunner Siding, the Keep and into a trench that circled along the top of the Brick Path. This was not the way out; why had we come here? had the officer in front taken the wrong turning? Our billet there was such a musty old barn with straw littered on the floor and such a quaint old farmhouse where they sold newly laid eggs, fresh butter, fried potatoes, and delightful salad! We loved the place, the sleepy barges that glided along the canal where we loved to bathe, the children at play; the orange girls who sold fruit from large wicker baskets and begged our tunic buttons and hat-badges for souvenirs. We wanted so much to go back that evening! Why had they kept us waiting?
"'Eard that?" Bill said to me. "Two London battalions are goin' to charge to-night. They're passing up the trench and we're in 'ere to let them get by."
"About turn!"
We stumbled back again into the communication trench and turned to the left, to go out we should have gone to the right. What was happening? Were we going back again? No dinner, no tea, no rations and sleepless nights.... The barn at our billet with the cobwebs on the rafters ... the salad and soup.... We weren't going out that night.
We halted in a deep narrow trench between Gunner Siding and Marie Redoubt, two hundred yards back from the firing trench. Our officer read out orders.
"The —— Brigade is going to make an attack on the enemy's position at 6.30 this evening. Our battalion is to take part in the attack by supporting with rifle fire."
Two of our companies were in the firing line; one was in support and we were reserves; we had to remain in the trench packed up like herrings, and await further instructions. The enemy knew the communication trench; they had got the range months before and at one time the trench was occupied by them.
We got into the trench at the time when the attack took place; our artillery was now silent and rapid rifle fire went on in front; a life and death struggle was in progress there. In our trench it was very quiet, we were packed tight as the queue at the gallery door of a cheap music-hall on a Saturday night.
"Blimey, a balmy this!" said Bill making frantic efforts to squash my toes in his desire to find a fair resting place for his feet. "I'm 'ungry. Call this the best fed army in the world. Dog and maggot all the bloomin' time. I need all the hemery paper given to clean my bayonet, to sharpen my teeth to eat the stuff. How are we goin' to sleep this night, Pat?"
"Standing."