The artillery assault was, we were told, started three days earlier and had been continuing night and day. The noise was constant but after a while we all became used to it. The division occupied every available house, hotel, barn and church for its lodging. I must say that the people were remarkably hospitable about our intrusion. I doubt I would have been as gracious. Sean, Bill and I stayed with five other young Irishmen in a small, well-built brick barn on the east side of the village. The barn was relatively comfortable and was one of the cleanest barns I had ever seen. The smell of animals was faint, far less than one would expect. It was, however, enough to bring back some warm memories of my family’s farm on Wolfe Island. I marveled at the old man and his wife–Dobsavage was their last name–who ran this small farm. Here they were so close to the Front and the bombing, being intruded upon by a foreign army, and they stubbornly remained on their farm carrying out their chores as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
