Courtrai is quite close to the trenches; often regiments which have been for a week or ten days in the firing line come back, and are replaced by fresh troops.
Every now and again a shell bursts in the town and causes some damage. It is almost impossible to get anything to eat anywhere, and the population is strictly rationed. To make sure that no light will give away the position of the town at night, gas and electric light have been cut off. At nine o'clock everybody must be indoors.
I don't know if civilians have all left the town by order of the Governor, but it is certain that it seems to be only inhabited by soldiers. Some houses with doors wide open are completely abandoned, whilst others, the best ones, are inhabited by officers. A number have been burned.
In no hotels was there a room to be had, and I spent the night on a billiard-table covered with a mattress. Every now and again the guns awakened me with their thunder-like rumble, which at night sounded nearer and stranger. I could see the clouds in the distance reddened by the flames of the explosions.
In the morning I went down to the cemetery of the town, which, being at the extreme west, gave me opportunity to glance towards the forbidden ground, the real firing line. In the distance, with the help of a good pair of field-glasses, lent me by an officer, I could see something moving slowly with smoke above it. Behind the leafless trees of the road more smoke announced the German artillery position.
I told what I had seen to an officer, who happened to be a very nice fellow, and I asked him: "Is a modern battlefield always so slow?"
"Yes, almost always."
"And this goes on for weeks?" I said.
"For months, sir!"
"And don't you think it likely that you or the others will try a decided move one of these days?"