The War Service of the 1/4 Royal Berkshire Regiment (T. F.) | Page 8

to Nieppe, and wallowed in the famous vats, where Mr. Asquith, one
day arriving unexpectedly, found himself cheered by a multitude of
naked and steaming soldiers. From there it was but a short walk to
Armentières, that centre of the great world, where Perrier water
champagne and other delights could be obtained, where in a luxurious
tea-room you were waited upon by female attendants of seductive
aspect, and where two variety entertainments, the "Follies" and
"Frivolities," were on view most nights. The ugly industrial town had
then been little injured by shells, though every now and then it received
its share. The Huns sometimes playfully directed against it French
220's captured at Maubeuge, and to point the witticism sent over a few
duds inscribed 'Un Souvenir de Maubeuge.'
So passed seven weeks during which we learned the routine of war
under singularly favourable conditions.
CHAPTER IV
ON THE MOVE AND IN CORPS RESERVE
During the first week in June the three Brigades left their own quarters
and exchanged trench sections. The 145th moved from the centre to the
left, to the joy of the Warwicks, whose losses had been considerable.
While this move was in process the Battalion was taken out of the
wood, and marched to huts at Korte Pyp, on a plateau with a wide
prospect on the southern slopes of Neuve Église Hill. The site was
admirable, the huts well-built and commodious, and (rarest of sights in
the rich cultivation of Flanders) a good-sized grass field was at hand
sufficiently level to make a decent cricket pitch. Here for four days we
were free of fatigues, were inspected by the new G.O.C. of the Division,
Major-General Fanshawe, enjoyed the sun, and endured a violent
thunderstorm. Thence returning to the wood we sampled White Lodge,
the Warwick's home under the steep wooded bluff of Hill 63, where the
rats made merry among the dirt and unburied food; also La Plus Douce,
a pastoral but dangerous spot, where the Douve flowed muddily amidst
neglected water-meadows stretching along to Wulverghem with its

battered church tower showing among the trees. On the opposite slope
were two broken farms called St. Quentin and South Midland, wherein
lay great quantities of abandoned tobacco, while all around were the
tarnished scabbards thrown away by De Lisle's cavalry during the
fighting at Messines of the previous October.
On June 15th the whole Battalion returned to the trenches, and held a
total length of 1,450 yards, stretching from our old right, Trench 37,
across the Messines road to a ruined cottage, close by which our
trenches were carried over the Douve by a wooden bridge. Our line was
thus drawn in a curve right round the south of Messines Hill, which
twinkled with points of fire at every morning 'stand-to' from the tiers of
trenches which honeycombed its face. Contrary to expectations, the
centenary of Waterloo passed without incident during this tour, in spite
of the Huns' reputed fondness for such celebrations.
At this time we were fortunate in having with us our 5th Battalion for
instruction, who had come out about a fortnight before with the 12th
Division, and there were many meetings of friends, both among the
officers and the men.
We then returned for the last time to our familiar haunts in the wood,
where we found the wild strawberries, which we had watched creeping
timidly out of the earth, ripening everywhere in countless numbers.
Meanwhile the 12th Division abode in billets in Armentières and
Nieppe, and rumours grew strong that they would take over from us.
The secret was well kept, but on Thursday morning, June 24th, as the
Company Commanders were on their way to visit the Worcester
trenches they were recalled by orderly with the news that the Battalion
was moving to Bailleul that night. The evening was hot and steamy, the
men soft from lack of exercise and sleep, and the 8 miles seemed
interminable. We arrived at Bailleul about 1 a.m., and billeted in the
quarter adjoining the railway station. For the first time since leaving
England I slept in a bed with sheets in a room to myself.
A fierce thunderstorm next day had failed to clear the air, when we set
out again about 9.30 p.m. in an atmosphere of clinging dampness. The
whole brigade marched together with our faces turned south towards

unfamiliar country, and just before daybreak we arrived at Vieux
Berquin, a village of detached farmhouses with gardens full of all
manner of fruit and vegetables. Here a dozen crosses with a smaller
black cross painted on the wood testified to the presence of the
Bavarians last autumn. That night, with the moon about the full, though
often obscured by clouds, the brigade made a long and weary march
south-west, edging gradually away from the