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gloom to an orchestral accompaniment of croaking frogs. Muttering voices of officers in the next compart- ment. In here, the other three are asleep in various ungainly attitudes. Young Howitt looks as if he were dead, Monday, May 13. (Domvast, a village 13 k. from Abbeville.) Early yesterday morning we detrained at Noyelles, near Abbeville. On Saturday evening we were on some high ground while passing the environs of Paris. Gazing out across that city I Vondered whether I shall ever go there as a civilian. It looked rather romantic and mysterious somehow, and a deep-toned bell was tolling slowly. Four hours' march from Noyelles. Got here 6.30. Into billets—farmyard smells—all just like two years ago. Weather fine, with a breeze behind us all the way. Country looking very beautiful. But May is a deceptive time of year to arrive anywhere; it creates an illusion of youth and prosperity, as though the world were trying to be friendly, and happiness somewhere ahead of one, Domvast is a straggling village lying low among orchards with the forest of Cr6cy a mile away to the west. I went up there this morning in the rain. Endless avenues and vistas of green—very comforting when compared with Kantara. I feel rather ghost-like, returning to the familiar country and happenings. Buying eggs and butter from Madame in the billets. The servants in the kitchen stammering Expeditionary Force French to the girls. The men in barns still rather pleased with their new surroundings. All the queer Arcadian busi- ness of settling down in a village still unspoilt by continuous billeting and a good 30 or 40 miles from the War. tylay 14. Sitting in the Company Mess on a fine 748