“How do you know?” I inquired.

“Because I can’t get any coal to-morrow—­line’s bunged up for the troops.”

“No, he’ll be going on Tuesday,” said his wife, whose kindliness and splendid cooking I should miss greatly.

“Is that so?” I asked, feigning an interest which I did not feel.  A sore toe eclipsed all other matters for the time being.

“The ration men have served out enough for two days, and it doesn’t stand to reason that they’re going to waste anything,” the little lady continued with sarcastic emphasis on the last two words.

Parades went on as usual; the usual rations were doled out to billets and the usual grumbling went on in the ranks.  We were weary of false alarms, waiting orders, and eternal parades.  Some of us had been training for fully six months, others had joined the Army when war broke out, and we were still secure in England.  “Why have we joined?” the men asked.  “Is it to line the streets when the troops come home?  We are a balmy regiment.”

One evening, Thursday to be exact, the battalion orders were interesting.  One item ran as follows:  “All fees due to billets will be paid up to Friday night.  If any other billet expenses are incurred by battalion the same will be paid on application to the War Office.”  Friday evening found more explicit expression of our future movements in orders.  The following items appeared:  “Mess tin covers will be issued to-morrow.  No white handkerchiefs are to be taken by the battalion overseas.  All deficiencies in kit must be reported to-morrow morning.  Bayonets will be sharpened.  Any soldiers who have not yet received a copy of the New Testament can have same on application at the Town Hall 6 p.m. on Saturday.

“Where are we going?” we asked one another.  Some answered saying that we were to help in the sack of Constantinople, others suggested Egypt, but all felt that we were going off to France at no very distant date.  Was not this feeling plausible when we took into account a boot parade of the day before and how we were ordered to wear two pairs of socks when trying on the boots?  Two pairs of socks suggested the trenches and cold, certainly not the sun-dried gutters of Constantinople, or the burning sands of Egypt.

Saturday saw an excited battalion mustered in front of the quartermaster’s stores drawing out boots, mess-tin covers, blankets, ground-sheets, entrenching tools, identity discs, new belts, water-bottles, pack-straps, trousers, tunics and the hundred and one other things required by the soldier on active service.  In addition to the usual requisites, every unit received a cholera belt (they are more particular over this article of attire than over any other), two pairs of pants, a singlet and a cake of soap.  The latter looked tallowy and nobody took it further than the billet; the pants were woollen, very warm and made in Canada.  This reminds me of an amusing episode which took place last general inspection.  While standing easy, before the brigadier-general made his appearance, the men compared razors and found that eighty per cent. of them had been made in Germany.  But these were bought by the soldiers before war started.  At least all affirmed that this was so.