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Updated: May 3, 2025
After a glance at the church, a gorgeous bit of Gothic that we had shelled, we pushed on in the rain to Billy-sur-Ourcq. I was just looking after a convenient loft when I was sent back to Chouy to find the Captain's watch. A storm was raging down the valley. The road at any time was covered with tired foot sloggers. I had to curse them, for they wouldn't get out of the way.
The poor Maire, Liévin, struggles on as long as he can. Two other prisoners support him on either side. But he has a weak heart his face is purple he can hardly breathe. Again and again he falls, only to be brutally pulled up, the Germans shouting with laughter at the old man's misery. Two soldiers take him into the cemetery of Chouy.
Their horses were dropping with fatigue that we knew and their officers kept telling their men to hurry up and get quickly on the march. At this point they were just nine hours in front of us. Greatly cheered we picked up the Division again at Chouy, and sat deliciously on a grass bank to wait for the others. Just off the road on the opposite side was a dead German.
Quite a number of men broke their ranks to look curiously at him anything to break the tedious, deadening monotony of marching twenty-five miles day after day: as a major of the Dorsets said to us as we sat there, "It is all right for us, but it's hell for them!" The Company came up, and we found that in Chouy the Germans had overlooked a telephone great news for the cable detachment.
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