The trip was quite a long one, and it was after two o'clock when Poperinghe was passed and the column came to a final stop. Everywhere the "push" in progress was very evident. Poperinghe itself was seething with troops of all arms, and the general air of activity so conspicuous behind an "active" front was very marked. After the whole battalion had been extracted, like sardines from a tin, a march of two or three miles--a very trying performance with cramped limbs--brought us to Plurendon Camp, in the Proven area, recently vacated by the Welsh Guards; and a cheerless and bleak-looking spot it was, covered with old canvas tents. After the pleasant billets of St. Hilaire, we felt already a bit discouraged, but it was a perfect paradise compared with some of the places to which we were about to be introduced. The weather was also very unsettled, and the mud that the rain produced was quite up to the best traditions of Flanders. To add to our discomfort, the tea ration, which had been put on the mechanical transport, arrived very late owing to a breakdown. We did not move the next day, as we had expected, but on October 23rd proceeded in the morning to Proven Station. After despatching the "Life-boat Party," the nucleus of 33⅓ per cent. of officers and men always left out by a battalion going into action, with a view to subsequent reorganization, and after about an hour in the train, we arrived at Elverdinghe about 1.30 p.m. A march of two miles followed, and then we entered Wolff Camp, in the Malakoff area. A more wretched and inhospitable spot it would be hard to find. Pitched in what had once been No Man's Land, it was an admirable representation of the tangled and disreputable desolation that one's imagination connects with such a place. The 2/5th Loyal North Lancashire Regiment had, moreover, failed to vacate the camp, and we had consequently to remain in the adjacent field for the time being, though the difference was little enough. The ground was broken and muddy beyond description. The only accommodation to be found consisted of tattered tents, through which the rain and wind drove at will--and there was no lack of either. A Y.M.C.A. tent, the sole refuge of the area, struggled manfully all day with a queue, often fifty yards long, of men waiting for tea and biscuits. Apart from this oasis, we were surrounded by a desert of hideous misery, but in spite of it all our spirits were high. Even for those not in the secret it was by now clear that we were moving up to take our turn in the grim struggle in the morass, into which a continual barrage had long since converted the Passchendaele Ridge. At least we felt we had come for a purpose; and if the usual routine were followed, we should be back in rest before long--those of us, at least, who had not "collected a Blighty," or a more permanent separation from the troubles of this world.