_June 16._ Sunday. Received orders to proceed to Corps Gas School for a course of training in Anti-Gas Warfare, etc. Went with ten other officers in a lorry from Brigade H.Q., and persuaded our driver (20 francs) to get lost in St. Omer. We had an excellent four-course lunch in approved civilian style, and on arrival at the school at 3 p.m. well—— “Since ’twas very clear, We drank only ginger beer; Faith, there must have been Some stingo in the ginger.” _June 17._ Spent a quiet restful day, work starting at 9 a.m. and finishing at 4 p.m. Wrote letters in the evening and early to bed. _June 18._ Had a very interesting day making gas attacks and committing sundry other barbarities—among them walking round a room smelling bottles and trying to identify the contents by their stinks—my nose feels as if the world were composed of one vast unmentionable stink! In the evening went for an hour’s march in gasmasks—what sublime, unutterable joy to get them off again! _June 19._ Nothing doing at the School, so we made up a party and again tasted the somewhat bitter-sweets of semi-civilisation. _June 20._ Boring day—fed up. _June 21._ Manufacturing stinks all day—will be heartily glad to see the company again. _June 22._ Examinations and end of the course—thank God! Felt rotten in the afternoon and went to bed—pray it isn’t Spanish ’flu, as there is a terrible lot about. Shortly after midnight a party came into our hut and took out Captain Sparks and threw him in the pond. Served him right; I never knew a more bombastic idiot. _June 23._ Went back to the company in a motor lorry, arriving 3 p.m. Found the others playing Badminton over a wire net and in field boots! Still jolly feverish but cheered up to be with the company again. _June 24._ There are rumours about to-day that we are going still farther away from the war in order to be trained as “storm troops”—apparently we are considered a good division and we are picked for the Grand Forlorn Hope of the Allies. Even the most pale-faced pacifist could hardly help feeling a thrill of pride when he learns that he is picked for such a venture. Myself I am delighted—until I think of the married men. It is at least certain that I am far too sentimental to be a Staff Officer—a man who unconsciously visualises the widows and the orphans could never do it, and to me it will always be something more than a game of chess. But perhaps that is only the natural attitude of the pawn! _June 25._ Orders came through last night that we are moving again to-day, but it is to be eastwards this time. Up all night in consequence, and had company on the road with all transport by 8.30 a.m. Marching all day, _via_ Watten to St. Omer, where we arrived at 6 p.m.—very weary. Had only three hours’ sleep and was roused by Orderly Corporal at 1 a.m.—