left. Then the frost broke in rain, the clay stuck to the spade, the trenches began to fill and a deserter brought news of an impending attack which turned out to be nothing more serious than a bombing affair which was duly "attended to." Some of our own shells bursting short killed one man and wounded six. Princess Mary's gifts of pipes, tobacco, and Christmas cards were distributed to the men and duly appreciated.
The impossibility of keeping anything free from mud forced them to reduce their firing-line to the least possible numbers, while those in support, or billets, made shift to clean rifles and accoutrements. The days went forward in rain and wet, with digging where water allowed, and a regular daily toll of a few men killed and wounded.
On the 30th December Captain Eric Gough was killed by a stray bullet while commanding his Company (No. 1) and was buried next day in a cemetery a few miles along the Béthune-Richebourg road. He had been Transport Officer since the Battalion left London in August, but had commanded a company since the 21st November, and was an immense loss to the Battalion to which he was devoted. Lieutenant Sir G. Burke and 2nd Lieutenant J. M. Stewart came from England on the same day and were posted to No. 1 Company now commanded by Lieutenant L. Hargreaves.
The Diary ends the year with a recapitulation more impressive in its restraint than any multitude of words:
The country round this part is very low-lying, intersected
with ditches with pollarded willows growing on their banks.
No sooner is a trench dug than it fills with water. . . . The
soil is clay, and so keeps the water from draining away even
if that were possible. In order to keep the men at all dry,
they have to stand on planks rested on logs in the trenches,
and in the less wet places bundles of straw and short fascines
are put down. Pumping has been tried, but not with much
success. The weather continues wet, and there does not seem
to be any likelihood of a change. Consequently, we may expect
some fresh discomforts daily.
