To-day we transported all our worldly belongings in handcarts from our former billets to a village about six miles nearer the firing line. The village is called Bresle. It is quite a nice little village in a hollow, only it is crowded with troops--three Battalions and various other units all billeted in it. Consequently, though the men still have room for their usual billets in barns, &c., some have very little spare room, whilst most of the officers are billeted in tents, hiding from aeroplanes, under trees. When we arrived we had to get parties to move our tents into a field under a hedge and some trees. We have three tents--one we use as a mess--and the men looted wood and doors and made a splendidly fine table round the tent pole, also a form to sit on. Another tent we all three--Kitty, Brand and myself--sleep in, and a third we have handed over to the servants. I myself have a folding bed that Captain Brockbank, of the Divisional Supply Column, had made for me, and I hope to be fairly comfortable. Our little camp is in the corner of a cultivated field, behind the farms on the hills rising from the village. When we had finished putting up our tents, we lay down for a late lunch of bully-beef sandwiches and cake and watched Mademoiselle and the family digging the field. Then at the other's instigation I offered Mademoiselle a piece of the cake you sent me as my "gateau de marriage," telling her I had been married vingt-cinq anees. It is always well to conciliate the native. To-night I went to tea with the Battalion, several spare officers have arrived out from our depot Battalion. They all have tents in a sort of orchard. To-night we dined off boiled eggs, tea, and soup, in that order, in our mess-tent, and we are now going to bed.