Queer day all through. After slushing about in our mudhole, some of us went off to a house nearby to give details of such studies as we may wish to pursue during demobilisation. At noon we moved camp and were allotted comfy billets, only to be immediately afterwards ordered to hook in and move forward. All afternoon and evening in the saddle – passing through endless woods, the tall trees still clinging to a few golden-brown leaves, the ground beneath one huge carpet of rich red decay; the multitudinous trunks ranging in vista against a background of misty blue-purple obscurity. The roads blown up in various places, perilous passages over rickety temporary bridges, abandoned dumps of the enemy’s munitions, wrecked vehicles, rows of dead awaiting burial, occasional woodsmen’s cottages, troops on the march. It was dark before we pulled our guns into a field and dumped our shells beside them. After the necessary work was done, ate with our filthy hands a hot mess of what we knew not what and wedged ourselves like sardines into every cranny of a huge barn and slept.
Walk March 