few minutes at Rouen, and reaching Abbeville just as dawn broke at 7
a.m. Here, amidst a desolation of railway lines and tin sheds, we stayed
for half an hour and stretched our cramped limbs, while six large
cauldrons provided enough hot tea for all. From this point our progress
became slower, and the waits between stations proportionally longer,
until at last we reached a small village, where, according to our train
orders, we should stop long enough to water horses. This we began to do,
when suddenly, without any whistling or other warning, the train moved
on, and Major Martin and Captain Burnett, who were with the horses, only
just managed to catch the train, and had to travel the next stage on a
flat with a limber. At St. Omer we were told where we should detrain, a
fact hitherto concealed from us, and eventually at 2-35 p.m. in a
blizzard and snow storm we reached Arneke, detrained at once, and
marched about five miles to the little village of Hardifort, where we
arrived in the dark.

We were, of course, entirely inexperienced at this time, and in the
light of subsequent events, this, our first attempt at billeting, was a
most ludicrous performance. The Battalion halted on the road in fours
outside the village, at the entrance to which stood a group headed by
the C.O. with a note-book; behind him was the Mayor--small, intoxicated
and supremely happy, the Brigade Interpreter, M. Löst, with a list of
billets, and the Adjutant, angry at having caught a corporal in the act
of taking a sly drink. Around them was a group of some dozen small boys
who were to act as guides. The Interpreter read out a name followed by a
number of officers and men; the C.O. made a note of it and called up the
next platoon; the Mayor shouted the name at the top of his voice, waved
his arms, staggered, smacked a small boy, and again shouted, at which
from three to five small boys would step out and offer to guide the
platoon, each choosing a different direction. How we ever found our