November 18th, 19th, and 20th
The usual daily visits to Brigade H.Q. forward reserve dumps and D.H.Q. I get exercise this way. Also to and fro on the beach, paying calls on friends among the many dugouts there. Some are excellent, especially those of Naval L.O.’s and Camp Commandant, built in the side of the high rocks. The Field Cashier has to be “stung” by me now and again on behalf of my Staff Captain to pay the men of Brigade H.Q. His dugout is not in a very safe place.
Once, outside the dugout, leaning against the wall of sand-bags talking to an Australian officer, I heard a shell coming clean for us. I had no time to get to cover. I saw men several yards away dive for cover. I watched the Australian. He did not duck, but I noticed that he gripped his pipe tightly with his teeth. I leant hard against the wall behind me, and the beastly thing passed low over our heads and burst in the sea. I said to him, “I wanted to duck, but as you didn’t, I didn’t,” and he replied, “Same here, son.” Gale has been blowing hard the last three days, the Navy having great difficulty in landing stores, etc.; but to-night—the night of the 20th—the wind is dying down. Hardly any shelling at all now, except inland.
Our flimsy bivouac very draughty and cold. It is hard work keeping our accounts and doing our office work.