But we can never regard the training of our army as finished. We started the war with the merest skeleton of an army, so that we were compelled, even while we fought, to expand it into a great Continental force. Therefore, it often happens that the British soldier is more usefully employed in practising bombing, or taking a machine-gun course, or learning to manipulate a trench mortar, than in adding to his bodily comfort in a trench which already fulfils its primary object--that of affording him shelter, or enabling him to beat off an assault, and of being easy to get out of in the attack. These are considerations which should be borne in mind when one hears invidious comparisons between the comfort of the German trenches and the more Spartan simplicity of ours. Not that there are not many very comfortable dug-outs and shelters in our trenches. I dined in the officers’ mess in some trenches in the Ypres salient one night in a dug-out furnished with cushioned seats, a trap in the wall with a practicable glass window through to the “kitchen” (a fire contained between six bricks in the open behind the trench!), where the dishes were handed through, excellent lighting in the shape of an acetylene lamp, and, by way of table decorations, some beautiful roses, fresh from the ruined gardens of Ypres, in 18-pounder shell-cases. The menu was as _soigné_ as the dining-room. Here it is: Soup Pork Chops. Haricots Verts. Potatoes. Stewed Pears and Cream. Coffee. _Wines._ Red Wine of the Country. Armentières Beer. Black and White Whisky. _Liqueurs._ Ration Rum. Benedictine. Kümmel. After dinner we retired to the company commander’s dug-out, which I found to be as comfortable as the mess-room. It was sunk to one-half below the ground level; it had a boarded floor, a brass bedstead with a spring mattress, a wash-hand stand, a large mirror and a big settee. Like the mess-room, it was lit by acetylene. The Captain was musical, and it was with tears in his voice that he related to me the tragedy of the piano. It appears that in the only room remaining in a ruined house on one of the roads leading out of Ypres he had located a piano, a cottage piano, sadly out of tune, it is true, from its long exposure to the weather, but otherwise sound in wind and limb. The Captain, a practical man, found no difficulty in procuring a cart and some willing hands to cart the piano by night up to his dug-out in the support trench. Everything was ready for the transfer when disaster, in the shape of a German shell, overtook the plan. Three German shells fell into the ruins of the house containing the piano, and of those three shells one went into the very vitals of the instrument. When the musical-minded Captain visited the spot, he found house and garden strewn with pieces of piano.