I had arrived at the Front in the hottest time of the year, so had taken no precautions against Arctic conditions. Motoring in Northern Italy in an open car during the winter months must be a very trying ordeal indeed, if what I experienced that morning was any criterion of it. As we sped along I asked the Aide-de-camp if there was any particular reason for his starting off so early, and if it was absolutely necessary for us to be back “in time for lunch.” To my mind the very thought of it took the interest off the trip and brought it down to the level of an ordinary pleasure jaunt, which was to me particularly nauseating. After all these months at the Front I have not yet been able to accustom myself to the combination of every-day town life and war, and I am afraid shall never be able to. Doubtless it is a result of old time experiences. My companion treated my query somewhat lightly. “You will be able to see all there is to see in and round Monfalcone in three hours,” he replied, “so what is the use therefore of staying longer? Moreover,” he added seriously, “the Austrian batteries have made a practice of opening fire every morning at about eleven o’clock, and usually continue for some hours, so there is the risk of not being able to come away when one wants to.” There was, of course, no reply possible, and the more especially as I am not exactly a glutton for high explosives, as will have been remarked. Monfalcone is a nice bright little town, typically Austrian, and before the war must have been a very busy commercial centre. When I was there it was absolutely deserted, with the exception of a few soldiers stationed there. The shops were all closed, grass was growing in the streets, and it presented the usual desolate appearance of a place continually under the menace of bombardment. The damage done to it up till then was really unimportant considering the reports that had been spread as to its destruction. Many houses had been demolished, as was to be expected, but I was surprised to find how relatively undamaged it appeared after the months of daily gun-fire to which it had been subjected. We left the car in a convenient courtyard where it was under cover, and made our way to the Headquarters of the Divisional Commandant, where, as a matter of etiquette I had to leave my card. For the moment the guns were silent, and there was a strange quietude in the streets that struck me as being different to anything I had noticed anywhere else, except perhaps in Rheims during the bombardment when there was an occasional lull. One had the feeling that at any moment something awful might happen. Even the soldiers one met seemed to me to have a subdued air, and the drawn expression which is brought about by constant strain on the nerves. Instinctively one walked where one’s footsteps made the least noise, in order to be able to hear in good time the screech of an approaching shell.