A woman working on a farm once
told me to what part of the line a certain division was going on
returning from rest, and she gave a date. The commanding officers of the
battalions concerned knew nothing of it, and indeed a quite contrary
rumour was in circulation, but time proved the old woman to be right.
The Loos offensive was no exception, and for many days anxious thoughts
and prayers had filled our hearts. We went from hope to despondency, and
back to hope again. I dare say the talk round the mess table was very
foolish. Compared with the earlier days of the war the country seemed
full of men, and we heard stories of great accumulation of ammunition.
Anything seemed possible.
By nine o'clock on the morning of the 25th the convoys were coming in,
and the wounded streamed into the reception room. They were 'walking
cases,' men who had been wounded in the early part of the attack and,
able to walk, had made their way on foot to the regimental aid-post. All
had been going well when they left. They were bubbling over with good
spirits and excitement. Three--four--no, five lines of trenches had been
taken and 'the Boche was on the run.
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