Would I go? Such an
opportunity of doing 'a real bit' only comes now and again, therefore it
was not difficult to decide.
I had a foretaste of what I was presently to pass through, as, sitting
on the doorstep of a cottage, I was changing into riding boots, out of
the heavy Swiss climbing boots that I had been wearing, and which
threatened to be awkward in the stirrups, if by any chance I was thrown,
a not unlikely event under fire, when a shrapnel burst some twenty feet
from me, with an explosion which almost lifted me from the ground. The
door before which I sat, and the front of the cottage, were liberally
studded with bullets and pieces of the casing, but in a most
providential manner I was untouched. Very quickly I completed my change
of boots, and got my kit-bag once more stowed away in a transport wagon.
Strictest orders had been given that no kits were to be removed from the
wagon, and I hope that the O.C., if ever he discovers my delinquency,
will take into consideration the urgency of my desire to fulfil
instructions in the carrying of his orders into Ypres.
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