My first "official" ride was to Dublin. It rained most of the way there
and all the way back, but a glow of patriotism kept me warm. In Dublin I
went into a little public-house for some beer and bread and cheese. The
landlord told me that though he wasn't exactly a lover of soldiers,
things had changed now. On my return I was given lunch in the Officers'
Mess, for nobody could consider their men more than the officers of our
company.

The next day we were inoculated. At the time we would much rather have
risked typhoid. We did not object to the discomfort, though two of us
nearly fainted on parade the following morning--it was streamingly
hot--but our farewell dinner was absolutely spoilt. Bottles of the best
Moselle Carlow could produce were left untouched. Songs broke down in
curses. It was tragic.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This was written before the days of the "Submarine Blockade."




CHAPTER II.

THE JOURNEY TO THE FRONT


We made a triumphant departure from Carlow, preceded down to the station
by the band of the N.V. We were told off to prevent anybody entering the