The ground rose in front of them, thickly covered with
trees, to the German position on the ridge.
"It looks from here like a very uncomfortable position," I said. "The
German position is better, isn't it?"
"It is," said General H---- grimly. "But we shall take that hill
before long."
I am not sure, and my many maps do not say, but there is little doubt
in my mind that the hill in question is the now celebrated Hill 60, of
which so much has been published.
As we looked across shells were bursting round the church tower of
Messines, and the batteries beneath were sending out ear-splitting
crashes of noise. Ypres, less than three miles away, but partly hidden
in mist, was echoing the bombardment. And to complete the pandemonium
of sound, as we turned, a _mitrailleuse_ in the windmill opened fire
behind us.
"Practice!" said General H---- as I started. "It is noisy here, I'm
afraid."
We went through the muddy farmyard back to the house. The staff was
waiting and we sat down at once to luncheon at a tiny pine table drawn
up before a window. It was not a good luncheon. The French wine was
like vinegar, the food the ordinary food of the peasant whose house it
was. But it was a cheerful meal in spite of the food, and in spite of
a boil on General H----'s neck. The marvel of a woman being there
seemed to grow, not diminish, as the meal went on.
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