by the transport officer and the regimental quartermaster. They lived at
this farm permanently, and only came to the trenches on occasional
excursions. They had both had a go at the nasty part of warfare though,
before this, so although consumed with a sneaking envy, I was full of
respect for them.

We three had a very merry and genial time together. We now had something
distinctly resembling a breakfast, a lunch, and a dinner, each day. The
transport officer took a lively interest in the efforts of Messrs.
Fortnum and Mason, and thus added generously to our menus. It was a
glorious feeling, pushing open the door of that farm and coming in from
all the wet, darkness, mud and weariness of four days in the trenches.
After the supper, I disappeared into the back kitchen place and did what
was possible in the shaving and washing line. The Belgian family were
all herded away in here, as their front rooms were now our exclusive
property. I have never quite made out what the family consisted of, but,
approximately, I should think, mother and father and ten children. I am
pretty certain about the children, as about half a platoon stood around
me whilst shaving, and solemnly watched me with dull brown Flemish eyes.
The father kept in the background, resting, I fancy, from his usual
day's work of hiding unattractive turnips in enormous numbers, under
mounds of mud--(the only form of farming industry which came under my
notice in Flanders).

The mother, however, was "all there," in more senses than one. She was
of about observation balloon proportions, and had an unerring eye for
the main chance. Her telegraphic address, I should imagine, was
"Fleecem." She had one sound commercial idea, _i.e._, "charge as much as
you can for everything they want, hide everything they _do_ want, and
slowly collect any property, in the way of food, they have in the