and I. As we walked off together we little dreamed that exactly one month from that day he was to be called upon to pay the supreme sacrifice of all.  We walked round that camp, feeling that in each other we had our only link with home, with past associations.  We did not speak much.  Each had his own thoughts, each was subconsciously leaning on the other for support, for the coming unknown experiences.  It was a cold March evening, and for want of anything to do, and in the hope of getting a little warmth, we decided to go back to our tent and turn in.  I have tried to give an idea of how we were feeling; it can be summed up as tired and cold—­and a bit homesick.

“It was just then that we spotted a tent with the sign of ‘The Red Triangle.’  We had visions of hot tea.  An oasis in the desert could not have been more welcome.  We entered the large tent; it was very full, and a long line was patiently awaiting the turn for purchasing.  There was no shouting, no pushing or elbowing to get up to the front and be served first.  The tent was really and truly a haven of peace—­such a welcome port of call.  On the small tables were magazines and ‘Blighty’ newspapers, paper and envelopes were given for the asking, and a gramophone was grinding out the tunes we all loved.  We sat at one of the tables, so thankful for such a change of scene, and for the warmth of the hot tea.  The same welcome, the same homely atmosphere, were here as in the other Y.M. centres.  One felt, one was made to feel, that his was the right to enter and stay and enjoy himself each in his own way, and that is why the Y.M. is so popular, and why both the taciturn and the jocular find their way by common consent to these Y.M.C.A. tents.”

In a few days came the order to proceed to Ypres.  He writes: 

“We swung round into the station yard, and were allotted to our compartments, fondly imagining we should be off in a few minutes.  We took off our equipment and other paraphernalia, and settled down for our journey.  A minute or so afterwards the order was passed down that the train would not start before 7 o’clock, and that men might leave their compartments but not the station.  Here was a fine look-out.  It was only about 2 o’clock, and we had to look forward to at least five hours of weary waiting, without anything hot to drink and only bully and biscuits to eat.  It was not a pleasant prospect, you will agree, but apparently it was nothing out of the usual, for the ’Association of the Red Triangle’ was ready and waiting for us, and had a large canteen, run entirely by ladies, on the station.  Here we were able to provide for our journey, fill our water-bottles with tea and our haversacks with ham, rolls, and fruit.  This was the best refreshment room I have been into, and it was our last glimpse of English ladies for many months.  These ladies are doing a splendid and most self-sacrificing work, for their hours are long and their duties heavy.