The most memorable motor run we ever had was from Souastre to Arras in 1916. The hut was closed when we reached Souastre in the morning, the leader having received a letter from the Town Major politely requesting him to close it from 7.30 A.M. as it was expected that the Huns would strafe the village at 8 A.M., and again at 4.30, and so it happened. This seemed strange, as the village had not been strafed of late. How could the British have known when Fritz would fire again? It seemed uncanny, until a strange unwritten reciprocal working arrangement between friend and foe was explained, which means in effect that Fritz refrains from bombing or bombarding 'A----' three or four miles behind the British lines if Tommy leaves village 'B----' behind his lines alone, and _vice versa_. As both villages are used as billets for the rival armies, both have been glad at times to honour this understanding. The run from Souastre to the railhead at Saulty was uneventful. Night was closing in as we left for Arras and there was no moon. For twenty kilos or more we had to travel with lights extinguished. We were less than a mile from the enemy trenches, which ran parallel to the road we were traversing. 'Verey' lights or star-shells sent up by the enemy continually made everything as light as day for the few seconds they were in the air. There were mysterious noises from the gun emplacements that run along the roadside, and mysterious shapes loomed up ahead of us from time to time as we overhauled and passed transport wagons and the like. At last we reached our destination, and it was the writer's first visit to a town of considerable size that had been wrecked by bombardment. There were barricades in the streets, shell-holes and ruins everywhere. We motored through the famous Grande Place and passed through street after street in that city of the dead, until, turning a corner, we entered a narrow street near the ruined cathedral, and hearing a piano playing rag-time, it was obvious that we were near the Y.M.C.A. The memory of that old château in the narrow street will always remain with us as we saw it then--the entrance hall, where free hot drinks were being dispensed; the canteen crammed with British soldiers, including many 'Bantams,' who were then stationed at Arras; the little concert-room, with possibly a hundred men gathered round a piano singing choruses and snatches of songs or listening to the rag-time, accompanying it at times by whistling the refrain or stamping on the floor. Another crowd upstairs had been entertained to a lantern lecture, and the day's programme was being concluded with family prayers. As we lay awake that night we heard many familiar noises that sounded strange there--a cat call, the cry of a baby, whilst ever and anon a shell would go shrieking over the town. In the morning we visited the ruined cathedral, which was a sight to make men or angels weep, but even there