“I am writing this in a small estaminet which is much overcrowded, and in the conversation can only be described as a din.  Madame is hurrying round with coffees and fried pommes de terre, whilst monsieur is anxiously trying to find out if we are moving to-morrow.  He is much disturbed, no doubt thinking of the drop in the number of coffees apres demain.

“I am keeping very fit and well, and much to my surprise have not experienced any of the ‘fed-up-ness’ I anticipated on my return from leave.  To my mind, there is only one experience to equal a leave from Active Service—­that is the final home-coming.  My leave was pure delight from one end to the other.”

Sydney Baxter’s Division was soon again on trek to a new position.  He writes: 

“We had stayed in, and passed through, many villages, had even had a fire at one, burning down one or two barns, and yet life was uneventful.  Marching most days, or, when billeted, doing platoon drill, playing cards, reading or writing in the cafes or our barns.  Company concerts were no good.  We had heard all of our soloists’ repertoire, which was not very extensive.  There came the day when we marched into Doullens.  Strange were the sights of large shops and smartly dressed townsfolk—­we were more used to the occupants of obscure villages.  The Sergeant-Major came along with the message, ’Smarten up and keep step through the town.’  We needed no bidding.  A soldier doesn’t want it, you know, when he becomes the object of admiration and the recipient of smiles from the brunettes of France.  On past the Hotel de Ville we swung—­this was a G.H.Q., and ’Eyes left!’ was given as platoons passed the guard.  Staff officers, resplendent in red-tabbed coats and well-creased slacks, seemed to be showing the populace what fine soldiers they were, while the M.M.  Police stood at the corners directing traffic as only the members of that unit can.  Into the Rue d’Arras we turned, and outside an Ecole de Filles we halted.  There was our billet, the best we ever had.  In the playground stood our cooker.  Upstairs we were packed into the classrooms, with just enough room allowed to stretch one’s legs and to turn over should one wish.  We had our stew, and quickly rushed off to see all the town.  In the square a military band was playing ‘Nights of Gladness,’ and we found a crowd gathered round the bandstand, many of them civilians.  We stayed and enjoyed the performance, and at the Marseillaise and our own National Anthem every khaki-clad man from private to general stood at attention, and the latter at the salute.  It was a grand spectacle, and one felt proud to be a soldier.  We went and had a look at the shops and into the church, until nearly 5 o’clock, when we debated amongst ourselves as to whether we should go back for tea or wait till 6 o’clock when the cafes open.

“Running into a group who had been endeavouring to break the camera, we asked