One day, not long before I came home, we had six miles to do, after a very heavy fall of snow. We ploughed through the snow in the daytime, and at night we travelled in the transport, but what with the snow by day and the bitter freezing by night, we were fourteen hours covering that short distance--which works out at something under half a mile an hour. And that was the roundabout way we had to go to get at some enemy trenches which were only about fifty yards away from us. But, in spite of this terrific weather, we had only one or two cases of frost-bite. A change on trench work and actual fighting came with my being told off as an ammunition carrier. There are two ammunition carriers to each company, and our duty was to keep the firing line well supplied with ammunition. This we fetched from the pack-mules, which were some distance away, and we took it to the men in the firing line in bandoliers, which we filled from the boxes carried by the mules. It was lively work, especially when the mules turned awkward and the firing was hot; but we got through it all right--Lance-Corporal Tweedale and myself. One night, when the shell and rifle fire was very heavy, we went up to the firing line with ammunition, which was badly wanted, and we had such a hot time of it that the officer in charge advised us to remain for a couple of hours, till the firing slackened or ceased; but we had a feeling that it would be more comfortable in the rear, and as the matter rested with us we started off to get back. This was one of the most uncomfortable bits of journeying I ever undertook, for in order to shelter from the fire of the Germans, which threatened every second to kill us, we had to crawl along a ditch for fully three-quarters of a mile. We crawled along in the darkness, with the bullets whizzing and shells bursting; but we lay low, and at last got out of it and landed back at the rear, which was certainly more agreeable than being in the very thick of the firing line. I am proud to be one of the Royal West Kents, because they have done so well in this great war. “Give ’em a job and they’ll do it,” a general said of us, just after Le Cateau. One day another general said, “What regiment is that coming out of the trenches?” The answer was, “The Royal West Kent, sir,” and the general promptly said, “For Heaven’s sake give them a rest--they’ve earned it!” But we hadn’t gone more than two hundred yards when a staff officer told us to get into position in a field and dig ourselves in--and we were the last out of action that day. At another time, when we had been hard at it, a general said: “Come on, West Kents! In another half-hour you’ll be in your billets.” And we went on, for that sounded very cheerful; but, instead of going into billets, we had half-an-hour’s rest for a drop of tea--then we went on outpost duty for the night, and woke in the morning in a big scrap.