shelled the great high road systematically every night. Every night
some of those gallant men would go never to return. It seemed marvellous
that so many could escape the destruction which was hurled at them; but
war is full of wonders.

My diary of that night reads as follows:

"As it began to get dark the bombardment became louder and louder and
the flashes more vivid. Shells were falling at Vlamertinghe, half way
between Poperinghe and Ypres, exploding with a great sound. They were
falling here yesterday!

"At about 10.30 p.m. we saw the Transport set off along the road, taking
rations and supplies up to Ypres.... Humfrey went with them. (I would
have gone up with him, but the Adjutant of the 2/5th had sent a message
by the signals saying that I could sleep at the Transport Lines and
report the following morning.) Red Cross motors were also coming back
from Ypres with wounded. Meanwhile the moon--a full moon--steadily rose
above the Front, amid the flashes between Ypres and Messines, the
bombardment sounding like thunder. It was a fine scene. If only there
had been an artist there to paint it! A farm on the Switch Road (a new
road for traffic built by the British Army) some way off got on fire. I
hear that the King's, in our Brigade, are going over the top on a raid
to-night. Our great offensive here has not yet opened, but it will come
off before very long....

"To bed 11.30, the guns booming like continuous thunder. I was awakened
in the night by shells whizzing past the hut where I was sleeping."

So I was, at last, introduced to that strangest of all music--the