I made up my mind to enjoy myself thoroughly.  I would see parents and friends and forget all about the army and the war.  I would be gay and frivolous and go to theatres, music-halls and cafes.  And one day I would spend in the British Museum and lose myself in books—­that would be just like old times!  Of course, our leave would not last for ever and the return journey would be terrible.  No doubt the fortnight would pass very quickly, but I determined to enjoy every single hour with deliberation and understanding, and to squeeze every drop of pleasure out of it.  How many hours were there in a fortnight?  More than three hundred!  Many would be wasted in sleep, but still, there would be many left and by dwelling upon each one, the fortnight would seem an age.

* * * * *

An afternoon and an evening in a train that travelled all too slowly.  A night and half a day at Calais Rest Camp.  How terrible was the rankling impatience that gnawed our hearts as the hours dragged on.

But at last we were on the leave boat.  There was another long delay, and then, with a feeling of immense relief, we heard the engines throb and the paddle-wheels begin to turn.  I looked overboard and saw white foam hissing along the surface of water rapidly widening between us and the quay.

Seventeen months of exile and slavery had come to an end and before us lay a wonderful fortnight of freedom and happiness.  And at the end of the fortnight?  There was no need to think of that now.

The sea was blue and smooth and a cool breeze was blowing.  We saw the cliffs of England grow larger and larger.  Soon we were able to distinguish the town of Dover, the houses clustered round the harbour, and the Castle up on the cliff.  It was there that I had begun my career as a soldier more than two years before.  How much had happened since then!  I felt that I had become a different being altogether.

The boat entered the harbour and ran alongside the quay.  A train was waiting for us.  We poured out of the ship in two streams that spread out fan-wise and flowed into the carriages.

It was good to sit by the window in a comfortable compartment and lean back against soft cushions.

Glad anticipation and barely suppressed excitement were visible on everybody’s face.

The train sped through familiar country:  meadows, pastures, cornfields, orchards and woodlands.  People waved their handkerchiefs at us from cottage windows.

It was growing dark as the first rows of drab suburban houses began to glide past.

So this was London.  I stared out of the window and tried to grasp the tremendous, wonderful fact with all the power of my mind.  Somehow or other it did not seem real, but I felt I could make it real by an effort of the will.

Streets and houses and moving people soon crowded the whole view.  The people filled me with intense curiosity.  I longed to talk to them and find out what they felt and thought about the war.