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[Page 48]
We only had a week of billets. On Sat 14th Jan. we marched about 6 miles to a camp near Baizeaux village. The camp was one of tents, and we felt it was an unfair thing to put us here after so short a stay amid the comforts of a village, and so soon after our return from the line. The training began again, on the same lines, and heartily sick we grew of it too. On the following Tuesday snow fell, and a "freeze" set in. Drill went on as usual. Everything was white and glarey, and all waterholes daily showed a thicker coating of ice. Then the weather settled to a normal temperature, and winter was properly upon us. The snow had come to stay, and there was no water, all was ice.
I discovered that we were camped but a short distance from the village of Warloy, and made the opportunity to visit it. In the large adjunct to the civilian portion of the pretty village cemetery, I found dear old Alan's grave. It is in a plot along with six other soldiers who died on the same day, 14th August 1916. It is marked by a simple pioneers wooden cross, on to which are tacked several stamped tin labels, bearing name, rank, unit and date of death. But my thoughts will not bear writing in this diary. This is not the place for such reflections, and so I will not dwell on them. The memory of my two visits to the spot so sacred to us all, is not one that cannot easily be conjured by anyone who has lost a very dear friend, and who has stood, as I did, so near – and yet so far, and asked as Mark Antony did, a pardon of that bleeding piece of earth.
It was not long before we were again talking of rumours concerning another visit to the line. We hated the idea of moving up amongst the too familiar scenes of war-ravaged country,