The drawback to Ballyhaine as a centre of military activity is the difficulty of finding a place for practising field manoeuvres. There is the golf links, of course, but we got tired of marching round and round the golf links, and we did not want to dig trenches there. Haines, who does not play golf, drew up a plan of trench digging which would have ruined the golf links for years. But we would not have that. Nor could we dig in each other’s gardens, or practise advancing over open country in skirmishing order when there was no open country. The whole district is a network of high walls with broken glass on top of them, a form of defence rendered necessary by the attacks of small boys on our fruit trees. Fortunately, we had the sea beach. The strand--there are three miles of it--is one of the glories of Ballyhaine. We did most of our manoeuvring there and dug our trenches there. Haines was opposed to this plan at first. “If the Germans come at all,” said Cotter, “they’ll come from the sea. They must, this being an island.” “Of course,” said Haines. “Then,” said Cotter, “the beach is the place where we shall have to meet them, and the strand is where our trenches ought to be.” There was no answering that argument. Even Haines gave way. “With barbed wire entanglements,” said Cotter, “down to the water’s edge.” The weather round about Christmas-time was extraordinarily severe in Ballyhaine. We came in for a series of gales, accompanied by driving rain, and the days at that time of year are so short that most of our soldiering had to be done in the dark. I got one cold after another, and so did every other member of the corps. Poor old Cotter limped pitifully on parade, but he did not say a word about rheumatism. The spirit of the men was splendid, and not one of us showed a sign of shirking, though Haines kept us at it with ferocity. Haines varied the digging by making us practise a horrible manoeuvre called “relieving trenches.” This was always done in the middle of the night, between twelve and one o’clock. Part of the corps went out early--about 10.30 p.m.--and manned the trenches. The rest of us marched forth at midnight and relieved them. The worst evening we had all winter was December 8th. It was blowing terrifically from the south-east The sea was tumbling in on the beach in enormous waves, fringing the whole line of the shore with a broad stretch of white foam. The rain swept over the country pitilessly. I came out of town by the 5.10 train, and called at the club on my way home. I found a notice posted up: “Ballyhaine Veterans’ Corps. “Tonight, December the 8th, trenches will be relieved at 12 midnight. No. 1 and No. 2 Platoons to parade at 10.30, march to north end of the strand, and occupy trenches.” That meant a six-mile march for those platoons--three there and three back. “No. 3 and No. 4 Platoons to parade at 11 p.m., march to cliffs, descend rocks, and relieve trenches as soon as possible after midnight.”