I have just crept with trepidation into a great white bed in the house of a Belgian gentleman. Another soldier and I spent the evening with M., Madame and Mademoiselle, partaking of an excellent supper of tender steak, vegetables, beer and tart. Chatted over books of views, maps and things (Madame speaking a little English), drank a bottle of good wine carefully lifted from the cellar, and in a word, been “bon vivants”. Perhaps they mistook us for officers. My companion, determined to pass one comfortable night, had knocked on the door and asked for a bed, with this result.
The trek today was miserably cold, up the valley of the Vesle through scenery in places extremely picturesque, the river plunging through a rocky gorge with quaint villages clinging to its sides; and ruined castles perched on promontories of rock. In one place a beautiful chateau stood upon the opposite bank with a stone bridge and bridgehouse all to itself.
Now for white sheets next to the skin – “home au nature”. We had stacked all our lousy clothes in a far corner of the room, and rinsed ourselves out of the wash basin.
One thought on “Ensival, 19 December 1918”
North Branford looked like the best team globe class and then they lost their finale.
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