station, but all the men entered magnificently, saying they were
volunteers, and the women and children rushed us with the victorious
cry, "We've downed the p'lice." We steamed out of the station while the
band played "Come back to Erin" and "God save Ireland," and made an
interminable journey to Dublin. At some of the villages they cheered, at
others they looked at us glumly. But the back streets of Dublin were
patriotic enough, and at the docks, which we reached just after dark, a
small, tremendously enthusiastic crowd was gathered to see us off.

They sang songs and cheered, and cheered and sang songs. "I can
generally bear the separation, but I don't like the leave-taking." The
boat would not go off. The crowd on the boat and the crowd on the wharf
made patriotic noises until they were hoarse. At midnight our supporters
had nearly all gone away. We who had seen our motor-cycles carefully
hoisted on board ate the buns and apples provided by "Friends in Dublin"
and chatted. A young gunner told me of all his amours, and they were
very numerous. Still--

For my uncle _Toby's_ amours running all the way in my head,
they had the same effect upon me as if they had been my
own--I was in the most perfect state of bounty and goodwill--

So I set about finding a place for sleep.

The whole of the Divisional Headquarters Staff, with all their horses,
were on the _Archimedes_, and we were so packed that when I tried to
find a place to sleep I discovered there was not an inch of space left
on the deck, so I passed an uncomfortable night on top of some
excruciatingly hard ropes.