For them we had packed all vacant space in the auto with a
cargo of cigarettes; and white teeth flashed and blue arms waved in
gratitude as we went by. I think Father Beckett was happier than he had
been since we left Paris.
At last we came to a part of the road that was "camouflaged" with a
screen of branches fixed into wire. There was no great need of it in
these days, our lieutenant explained, but Heaven knew when it might be
urgently wanted again: perhaps to-morrow! And this was where we said
"_au revoir_" to our car. She was wheeled out of the way on to a strip
of damp grass, under a convenient group of trees where no prowling enemy
plane might "spot" her; and we set out to walk for a short distance to
what had once been a farmhouse. Now, what was left of it had another
use. A board walk (well above the mud), which led to the new, unpainted
door, was guarded by sentinels, and explanations were given and papers
shown before a rather elderly French captain appeared to greet us.
Arrangements had been made for our reception, but we had to be
identified; and when all was done we were given a good welcome. Also we
were given helmets, and I was vain enough to fancy I had never worn a
more becoming hat.
Besides our own escort--the lieutenant who had brought us from Nancy--we
had a captain and a lieutenant to guide us into the "calmness" of the
trenches (the captain and a lieutenant for Mr. Beckett and Brian, the
other lieutenant for me) and one would have thought that they had never
before seen a woman in or out of a helmet! Down in a deep cellar-like
hole, which they called "_l'anti-chambre_," all three officers coached
Father Beckett and me in trench manners.
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