November 11th. At daybreak I started off up the line, having received information that the Battalion had commenced to move and that the Boche had ‘hooked it.’ Reaching Harmignies, I found that our men had been in within less than half an hour after the departure of the Germans, and our patrols reported that at two of the villages in front there were no signs of the enemy. We had orders to take up our position and remain at Harmignies, and that the 188th Brigade would go through us early in the morning. I went round, saw everybody and waited until the other Brigade had started to move forward and then set off to return. On my way back I met a whole lot of the Lancers, all formed up ready to go through. It was a fine sight seeing them all on their horses anxious to be off. On getting back I was met by a Doctor who said that he owed me some money (he had made a bet with me; that there would be no armistice or peace this year). For a moment I could not quite make out what he meant, until I noticed that everybody seemed pleased and then I learned the news of the Armistice which had come through a few minutes previously. I saw the Brigadier, got confirmation of the Armistice news, sent it up to the Companies, scrounged round making arrangements for baths for the men, got them all back again, and they had their baths and went to bed. In the afternoon the Band arrived, after a somewhat chequered journey from England, very sorry for themselves. Also British prisoners, who had been left behind by the enemy, began to trickle through; they were in a most pitiable state. And so came the Armistice to the Artists--in the line to the very last. It will always be a satisfaction to us when we come to look back upon things that we were there when the end came and that the efforts of our Division contributed in no small degree to the final collapse of the Boche. AFTER THE ARMISTICE. Of course we could hardly realise things at first and there was still an awful lot to do. The silence seemed almost uncanny at times. I do not know if I can describe the funeral of Ben Croft, King and Garbutt, but of course it was the first thing we did. As they were killed just outside the village, we decided to bury them at the side of the road where they fell, with such Military Honours as we could, their own Company finding the firing party, and the buglers sounded the Last Post. It was a sad little party that gathered round the graves of the last Artists to fall in action. A large number of Officers and men came and the Brigadier found time to be present. I think these three were the last casualties of the War in our Brigade. It seemed so very hard, that it was only a matter of 24 hours, and all would have been well. The inhabitants of the village had given us some oak to make a cross from and someone else thought of flowers-and after doing all we could we returned to our billets.