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It lies just within the Belgian frontier, a bare 3 miles behind the firing line, whence the crackle of rifle fire was plainly audible, whilst from the coppiced slopes of Neuve Église, which bounded the northward view, intermittent flashes denoted the presence of the field batteries.
Our Battalion Headquarters was located in the St. Quentin Cabaret, about two hundred yards south of Wulverghem and we had a supporting gun, with infantry, at Souvenir Farm and also at a redoubt near by, called "S-5." Our front-line guns were distributed from the Neuve Eglise road to the northern end of our battalion frontage, about "C-3."
The mass is manifestly imposing, made up as it is, of four distinct parts, the Eglise, dating from 1692, the Écuries, the Chatelet or Petit Chateau, and the Chateau proper the modern edifice. Before the celebrated Écuries is a green, velvety pelouse which gives an admirable approach.
He was badly wounded by shrapnel and was sent back to England. We used to hear from him occasionally until about a year later the letters stopped. After eight days we were relieved by the Twentieth Battalion and went back to Dranoutre for our first "rest." We went by way of Neuve Eglise but, as it was night, we could see but little of that much shot-up city.
I and my machine-gun section had still to carry on, for we lived apart, a bit further on, at the Transport Farm. So we continued on our own for another mile and a half, past the estaminet at Romerin, out on towards Neuve Eglise to our Transport Farm. This was the usual red-tiled Belgian farm, with a rectangular smell in the middle.
Dans la même église sont les tombeaux de Constantin et de sainte Hélène sa mère, placés chacun
Never getting home, he spent many weary months in peculiar convalescent camps, and did not join up again until the end of January. Moral before going sick or getting wounded become an officer and a gentleman. The day after we arrived I was once more back in Belgium with a message to the C.R.A. at Neuve Eglise. I had last been in Belgium on August 23, the day we left Dour.
They looked straight into Kemmel village and turned their guns on to it when our men crouched among its ruins and opened the graves in the cemetery and lay old bones bare. Clear and vivid to them were the red roofs of Dickebusch village and the gaunt ribs of its broken houses. Southward they saw Neuve Eglise, with its rag of a tower, and Plug Street wood.
Once now and then a porpoise may be seen sunning himself off a groyne; barely dipping himself, and rolling about at the surface, the water shines like oil as it slips off his back. The Brighton rooks are house birds, like sparrows, and perch on the roofs or chimneys there are generally some on the roof of the Eglise Reformee Francaise, a church situated in a much-frequented part.
I just caught this: "N'oubliez jamais, bien chère Madame, qu'une église a deux portes." Héloise said she would not forget, and he thanked her rapturously; but what it meant I don't know. They have both smiled often since so I expect it is some French idiom for reconciliation. The crowd on the pier was common, and we returned to Frascati's garden.
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