Resuming my journey I reached another village, where the destruction had been simply terrible, surpassing even that of Ypres. This village bears a name famous in the annals of British arms, for it was from here that the Guards charged on that memorable day, September 25th. I saw a line of old trenches just behind the village, and rode over to examine them. Perhaps it was from this very line that our men advanced. I tried to picture to myself what it must have been like--valour, endurance, turmoil, destruction, death, a great forward rush by brave men that spent itself, and fizzled out just on the eve of triumph. Why? On the left there was a large cemetery. Many of the crosses had soldiers' caps hung on them, and in one case the man was evidently a Catholic, for crucifix and image had been taken down from a post on the roadside and laid on the grave. I tried to find if there was any trace of the names of two O.A.s who fell in this battle, Crabbe and Beer, but failed to discover either name. It was now getting late, so I retraced my steps and cantered homewards. In this war-scarred region I actually met an old French farmer driving his horse and trap along the road leading towards the trenches just as if there was no war raging; and near the one habitable house of the district small boys were playing merrily, while their parents were calling them in and scolding them in shrill voices. In some ruined houses were yet more Scotsmen, most ubiquitous of peoples. I halted to chat with an old military policeman who used to be with the 9th Cavalry Brigade. Then home. A very interesting afternoon's work, which gave one a real insight into "the conduct and results of war" as waged in these cynical days.