As you rounded the traverse of an occupied bay the following picture met your eye. Imagine a narrow trench about 12 feet long by 4 feet wide, with a fire-step running along the entire length some 12 inches from the ground. Near the centre of the trench stands a rifleman in skeleton equipment, gazing into the bottom mirror of a box periscope which is fastened by a spike to the parapet, its top covered by dirty canvas to match the surrounding sand-bags. By the sentry's side is a rifle, and close at hand are the empty shell-case gong and strombos horn, in case of gas. Next to him sits his relief, similarly attired, all men invariably wearing equipment in the front line. The relief sentry is passing the time in cleaning some clips of ammunition from an open small-arms ammunition box. The corporal and two men are filling sand-bags, which will be required at dusk. Another rifleman sits at the far end, sleeping peacefully and dreaming of something (we hope) remote from the war. He was the last sentry. Two boxes let into the parados contain Véry lights and bombs; the Véry pistol hangs from a peg in the parapet. Five rifles with swords fixed stand in a row against the side of the trench; while a shelf holds some mess-tin lids, two water-bottles, some bread, and a tin of bully beef. Two sand-bags for salvage and rubbish hang at the end of the bay. Round the corner two "bivvies"--mere hovels about three foot high, wet and slimy--complete the "home comforts" of this cheerful abode. From one of the "bivvies" protrude two pairs of muddy boots and four legs covered with clay-stained puttees. Their owners are enjoying a well-earned rest, having spent most of the night prowling about in No Man's Land. Taking the next communication trench, Gloucester Avenue, we could make our way up to the front line to a point not far distant from the top of London Road; or, better still, we could branch off along Pretoria to the right-centre company's support line. Gloucester Avenue was a good winding trench cut through what had once been cornfields. Pretoria was even better, and brought you out close to the point where the Panama Canal joined the support line. By the end of the canal were two deep concrete dug-outs, both small and damp, and in one of these the signallers and in the other the Company Commander were to be found. In the latter, as you carefully descended the steps, you would have been able at once to recognize, not only from the orderly appearance of the spot, but from the number of parcels from Fortnum and Mason, that Captain Eccles dwelt there; and, sure enough, there he was, looking as if he had just stepped out of a band-box, with Company Sergeant-Major Heyworth sitting by his side working at the company card index.