My uniform was in rags and saturated so thickly with grease and dirt
that for many days it was one of my pet recreations to take a knife and
scoop it by the bladeful out of the khaki cloth. And my skin! What a
hide! The combination of cleaning and repairing guns, working them
constantly, driving horses, observation work, together with the gas, my
body was saturated with a mixture that took weeks to extract.
The cut-up-ground, pock-marked with shell holes as closely as the cells
in a honeycomb, was of course carefully noted by Fritzie's aerial
observers, and they were naturally led to believe that it would be
physically impossible for our batteries to be relieved,--that is, to
retire and another battery take our place. But we camouflaged. Under
cover of a fog we worked like beavers for a day and a night, filling in
shell holes, and made fairly decent roads under the conditions, and one
fine morning, still under the friendly shelter of the fog, leaving our
ammunition behind, we pulled out the gun; the entire Canadian Division
retired and were relieved by the English Tommies.
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