As this sounded quite logical, I remained at the billet until
summer time, though I never noticed any great eagerness on the part of
my two officers to move to the vicinity of the station from
comfortable billets in the centre of the town.
[Illustration: "HOME, SWEET HOME"--MUD TERRACE.]
The very next day the town was bombed again and one "dud" fell in our
back yard.
The new town was larger than our old one, but very uninteresting and
very dirty in the winter months. The people were distinctly rougher in
dress, appearance and manners than those in France farther from the
Belgian frontier, differences possibly due to the effects of mixture
with Flemish blood. The surrounding country was rolling and much
prettier than that around Merville and it was a great relief to be
able to rest the eyes with the diversities of a rolling landscape
instead of constantly looking out upon a deadly monotonous level
country.
The headquarters of the Canadian corps was in the town and the
Canadians occupied the front line at, and north of, Ploegsteert wood,
opposite the Messines-Wytschaete ridge.
For days and weeks officers and men kept calling to get the news from
home in Canada, particularly about recruiting, and they would listen
as long as I would talk. Favorite questions were: "What does the
corner of King and Yonge streets look like?" and "How is Tommy
Church?"
Among those who called was General Mercer to whom I had brought a box
of candy from one of his office staff in Toronto and he stayed for
half an hour while I told him all the home news.
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