"I received, this afternoon, a letter from you of June 11, and one from Mother of June 10, also enclosures. I am sorry to learn that you are both worrying. What's the use of worrying? What is there to worry about? I am quite safe. If I had the 'wind up' it might be another matter; but I do not, strange to say, even dread the time when we shall go back into the line! I think it rather exciting. One is inclined to feel a little 'windy' when shells and 'minnies' are bursting dangerously near, or when a machine-gun spurts out of the gloaming; but there is a certain element of excitement about it all. I would not have missed those few days in the Salient for worlds. I had a pleasant 'baptism of fire' there. Everybody seems to think that it was worse than going over the top in a push. Those who fought at the Battle of the Somme last year say that they would rather be there than in the place where we were last week! Candidly, I cannot understand it. "We shall remain out of the line for some time yet--so cheer up!" CHAPTER V THE MARCH I now come to one of the most remarkable, and in some respects certainly the most comical, of all the episodes in which Colonel Best-Dunkley figured--the memorable march from Millain to Westbecourt. The following lengthy epistle which I wrote in my billet in the Vale of Acquin at Westbecourt the following day draws a perfectly accurate picture of what happened: "You will be interested to learn that we have moved again. We are now billeted in a pretty little village in the heart of north-eastern France.... "Yesterday, Saturday June 16, 1917--the hundred and second anniversary of Ligny and Quatre Bras--is a day I am not likely ever to forget. Such a march we had; and it was _some_ stunt! Let me tell you, as far as I can without naming places, the whole story. "Reveille sounded at 3 a.m. I rose at 5 a.m. We (the officers) had breakfast at 5.30. Parade at 6. At 6.45 we marched off from the village in which we had been billeted during the last few days. It was a very long march which we had before us to the village in which we now are--a distance of sixteen miles. Yet we were expecting to arrive there by midday! I will show you how events turned out so that we did not arrive here anything like midday. The weather was, and is, just as it has been all the time--a cloudless sky and a burning sun. It was already quite warm when we set off, and as the morning advanced the sun naturally became more powerful still. We joined up with the rest of the Brigade a little further on, and marched past General Stockwell and Major Thompson (the Brigade-Major)." It was in the streets of Watten that we marched past Stockwell; and I vividly recollect that he was not at all pleased with things as early as that. I distinctly heard the word 'rabble' burst from his lips! The letter proceeds: