Cyclists was an education even to the despatch riders, who once had been
told by their Quartermaster-Sergeant that they left the cavalry
standing. Finally, we petitioned for her removal, and once again slept
peacefully. The Court of Inquiry found the couple were not spies, but
unmarried. So it married them and let them go.

The Cyclists were marvellous and indefatigable makers of tea. At any
unearthly hour you might be gently shaken by the shoulder and a voice
would whisper--

"'Ave a drop o' tea--real 'ot and plenty o' sugar."

Never have I come back from a night ride without finding a couple of
cyclists squatting out in the gloom round a little bright fire of their
own making, with some fine hot tea. Wherever they go may they never want
a drink!

And never shall I forget that fine bit of roast pork my friend Sergeant
Croucher insisted on sharing with me one evening! I had not tasted fresh
meat for weeks.

George was our unofficial Quartermaster. He was and is a great man,
always cheerful, able to coax bread, vegetables, wine, and other
luxuries out of the most hardened old Frenchwoman; and the French,
though ever pathetically eager to do anything for us, always charged a
good round price. Candles were a great necessity, and could not be
bought, but George always had candles for us. I forget at the moment
whether they were for "Le General French, qui arrive," or "Les pauvres,
pauvres, blessés." On two occasions George's genius brought him into
trouble, for military law consists mainly of the commandment--