We were relieved in Petticoat Lane by "D" Company last night, and took the place they'd held in the support line; "a corner of Heaven itself," of course, after The Gut. And I have had a most luxurious and delightful day to-day, out of trenches altogether.

Our O.C. "the Peacemaker"—you do remember, don't you, that the Officer Commanding the Battalion is the C.O., and the Officer Commanding the Company the O.C.: saves confusion—is an awfully good chap. He didn't say anything about it, but I feel sure he put me on my job of to-day—chose me for it—because he thought it would be good for me. He was ordered to send an officer to arrange about billets for the Company in —— ready for when we go out. Taffy's been a bit under the weather in Petticoat Lane, and is able to get a rest here in support. This meant rather more sticking to it for me in the front line, and, as a matter of fact, I didn't get an hour's sleep while we were there. We had little strafes going most of the time, and I was rather cheap when we came out last night; bit shaky, you know; that's all. Two Boche mines were exploded in The Gut while we were there; both with extraordinarily little loss to us. But I was lifted out of the trench by one of 'em; and I suppose these things do indirectly affect one a bit, somehow, even when there is nothing to show for it; at all events, when they are combined with shortage of sleep.

Anyhow, I'm as right as ninepence to-night, and had a fine sleep after midnight yesterday. And to-day, with "the Peacemaker's" horse for company, I've been playing the country gentleman at large and fixing up billets for the Company, and done pretty well for 'em, too. It was something of a race between Grierson of "D" and myself for the best officers' mess and sleeping quarters in ——; but Grierson hadn't much chance, really. He hasn't even my smattering of French, and his O.C. had not lent him a horse.

The goodwife at the place I've got for ourselves is a torrential talker, and in rounding up the boys and girls working on her farm she shows a bit of a temper; but I'm certain she's a jolly capable manager, and she has promised to cook for us, which will mean a fine change from the batman's efforts in that line. Also the billets themselves are good, those for the men being the best I've seen anywhere: dry as a chip, and thoroughly sheltered from the wind. We shall be in clover for our week out, especially as I think —— is a bit too far back to admit of our being on trench fatigues at all while out.

I did enjoy the pottering about on my own, and the nearest firing being three or four miles away all the time, made everything seem so extraordinarily peaceful after the roaring racket and straining watchfulness of Cut-Throat Alley; where one's eyes sort of ache from trying to look all ways at once, and one's ears and head generally get dead from the effort of recording the precise meaning of each outstanding roar in the continuous din. Also I met two or three interesting people, including the Town Major in ——.

I had some grub about one o'clock in a big estaminet, almost a restaurant, really; and it was most interesting, after the trenches, to listen to the gossip and eat without feeling you had to look out for anything. There are a number of French residents left in this place, and this makes it different from the village we were last in, just behind the line, where the inhabitants have left, and the place is purely a camp, and partly in ruins at that. This place still has a natural human sort of life of its own, you know. And there are women in it, and a priest or two, and cows and sheep, and a town-crier, and that sort of thing—something fascinatingly human about all that, though it is within four miles of the firing line.

The cafÉ was simply full of rumours and gossip. Military gossip is, of course, taboo with strangers and civilians, and rightly, since one cannot be sure who is and who is not a spy. But I suppose there's no harm in it among people who can recognise each other's uniforms and badges. Anyhow, I heard a lot to-day, which may or may not have anything in it.

The things that interested me most were things about our own bit of front, and there were two definite reports about this. First, I heard that we are to throw out a new front-line trench to bridge the re-entrant south of Petticoat Lane. And then I heard we are to make a push to collar the Boche front line on the bend opposite us, because a few hundred yards of line there would mean a lot to us in the straightening of our front generally, and in washing out what is undoubtedly a strong corner for the Boche now, because it gives him some fine enfilading positions. If this were brought off it would wash out The Gut altogether as firing line, and that in itself would be a godsend. Also it would mean a real push, which is naturally what we all want. We think the fact of that extra Division having been fitted into our line rather endorses the report, and are feeling rather bucked in consequence. The whole Battalion, and for that matter the whole Division, is just spoiling for the chance of a push, and I doubt whether we've a man who wouldn't volunteer for the front line of the push at this moment, and jolly glad of the chance.

I said in my last letter that I'd tell you about our little strafing stunts while we were in Petticoat Lane. But, really, this new prospect of a push and the report about the new front-line trench to be cut make them seem pretty small beer, and quite a long way off now, anyhow. You remember I told you there was a startling difference between the left of our present sector and the right of the one we were in before. It wasn't only the difference between clay and sand, you know. It was that, whereas the right of the old sector was hundreds of yards away from the Boche—as much as six and seven hundred in parts—the left of the present sector runs down to sixty or seventy yards where it joins Petticoat Lane.

That means a big re-entrant in the line, of course, and a part where our front runs almost at right angles to Fritz's, instead of parallel with it. The new trench would be to bridge the mouth of this re-entrant, and equalise the distance between our line and the Boche's, right along. Apart from anything else, it would make any subsequent push much easier. It's a low-lying, wet, exposed bit, that re-entrant; but this wouldn't matter if we were just going to use it as a jumping-off place, which is what we hope.

However, as there's no official news, one mustn't think too much about it.

It seems there's been some sickness at our Brigade Headquarters, which is a chÂteau marked large on the map, though out of sight from the Boche line. The sickness among the orderlies was attributed to something queer about the drains, and I suppose the thing was reported on. Anyhow, as the story I heard to-day goes, a tremendous swell arrived in a car to have a look at the place; an Olympian of the first water, you understand. No doubt I should be executed by means of something with boiling oil in it if I mentioned his name. As he stepped from his car outside the chÂteau two shells landed, one on the lawn and one in the shrubbery. The Olympian sniffed at Fritz's insolence. Before he got into the doorway another shell landed very near his car, and spattered it with mud from bonnet to differential. The august one is reported to have greeted the Brigadier by saying rather angrily:

"This is obviously a most unhealthy spot, sir; most unhealthy. Ought never to have been chosen."

But a better yarn was the one a subaltern of the R.E. told me as I was jogging back to the trenches. This was about the sector next but one north of us. It seems a Boche 'plane was being chased by a British 'plane, and making heavy weather of it. The Englishman had perforated the other fellow's wings very badly, and partly knocked out his engine, too. Anyhow, the Boche 'plane was underdog, and descending rapidly midway between our front line and his own, right over the centre of No Man's Land. Naturally the men in the trenches on both sides were wildly excited about it. The story is they forgot everything else and were simply lining the parapets, yelling encouragement to their respective airmen as though they had front seats at Brooklands or the Naval and Military Tournament. Seeing this, a pawky old Scot—it was a Highland regiment on our side—slipped quietly down on the fire-step in the midst of the excitement, and began making accurate but leisurely target practice; carefully picking out Boches forty or fifty yards apart from each other, so as not to give the show away too soon. He did pretty well, but was bitterly disappointed when the Boche's Archibald forced our 'plane to rise, just as the Boche airman managed to jigger his machine somehow into his own support lines, and the spectators took cover.

"Och, no a'thegither sae badly, surr," says Scotty to his Platoon Commander. "Ah managed to get nine o' the feckless bodies; but Ah hopet for the roond dizen!"

Rather nice, wasn't it?

Those little shows of ours in Cut-Throat Alley were practically all bombing, you know; but we did rather well in the matter of prisoners taken in the craters, and of Boches otherwise accounted for. Our own casualties for the four days were two killed—both in my Platoon, and both men with wives at home, I grieve to say; thundering good chaps—and six wounded; two only slightly. We reckon to have got twenty or thirty Boches wounded, and at least ten killed; and there is no sort of reckoning needed about the eleven prisoners we certainly did take in the craters and sent blindfolded down to Headquarters. I believe this beats the record of the Company we relieved, which, of course, knew the place better; and our C.O. is pleased with us. I have to go now and tell off a small carrying party. Though feeling a bit shaky yesterday, I'm as right as right can be again now, so mind, you have no earthly reason to worry about your

"Temporary Gentleman."

P.S.—"The Peacemaker" has just got word from Battalion Headquarters itself that it's perfectly correct about the new front-line trench to be cut; and it is believed "A" Company is to have something to do with it. So that's real news; and we feel sure it means a push to come. Everybody very cock-a-hoop.