This puzzles me, and I start off for that bush. I hate bushes just now. I pass it and come to a brook full of the loudest-croaking frogs I have ever heard. Without much exaggeration they made as much row as a dozen people would, all talking together loudly. Then I pace what I think is two hundred yards in front of that bush and come to nothing at all. Remembering that in the dark one hardly ever walks in a straight line, I alter my course, and walking a few yards, see the rays of an electric torch shining, towards which I walk quickly. It is immediately switched out as I approach, and now, feeling cautious, I shout, “Are you British?” but receiving no answer, I shout once more, and am glad to receive an answer of “Aye, aye.” I go up to them and find that it is our front line, and inquire where Brigade H.Q. is. A little light to my right, but behind rather, is pointed out, to which I go. There I find Thomson in a trench and give him the message as instructed. The light of a torch shining on his face shows me a look of annoyance, expressive of his thoughts that I am a fool. He politely tells me that he wants rations taken to the spot that he had pointed out in the afternoon. I find that I am at 86th Brigade H.Q., and that Thomson is but visiting there for a conference. Having a difficulty in finding my way to Pink Farm, I make for the front line once more, whence the direction is pointed out to Pink Farm, for I can only see a hundred yards ahead and all bushes look alike. I hear the noise of croaking frogs and make for it.