13th December (1918)

Dead weary – Mauvais temps, Monsieur! as an old Belgian called to me en route.  We formed a dripping cavalcade.  After traversing rolling country, we began to strike into entirely different terrain; more hilly, more rugged.  The villages too, seemed different, and the inhabitants dissimilar to those further back. So we plodded, our clothes and equipment running wet; curiously gazed upon by the dripping villagers.

The last mile was the most interesting.  From fairly high country, we swept down a steep grade into the valley of the Meuse which here rushes, a broad torrent, through a narrow gorge, flanked on the one side by rocky promontories and cliffs, and on the other by a strip of flat.  Towns and villages are visible both up and down stream, making exceedingly picturesque peeps even now when winter darkens all.

Liege is not far from here: our nearest town being Huy, and this village Bas-Oha, or some such name.  In summer this would have been an enjoyable jaunt.

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