On the tenth day we again met our friends "Hommes 40, Chevaux 8."
Thirty-six hours more of misery, and we arrived at the town of F--.

After unloading our rations and equipment, we lined up on the road in
columns of fours waiting for the order to march.

A dull rumbling could be heard. The sun was shining. I turned to the
man on my left and asked, '"What's the noise, Bill?" He did not know,
but his face was of a pea-green color. Jim on my right also did not
know, but suggested that I "awsk" the Sergeant.

Coming towards us was an old grizzled Sergeant, properly fed up with
the war, so I "awsked" him.

"Think it's going to rain, Sergeant?"

He looked at me in contempt, and grunted, "'Ow's it a'goin' ter rain
with the bloomin' sun a 'shinin'?" I looked guilty.

"Them's the guns up the line, me lad, and you'll get enough of 'em
before you gets back to Blighty."

My knees seemed to wilt, and I squeaked out a weak "Oh!"

Then we started our march up to the line in ten kilo treks. After the
first day's march we arrived at our rest billets. In France they call
them rest billets, because while in them, Tommy works seven days a
week and on the eighth day of the week he is given twenty-four hours
"on his own."