Crécy-en-Valois. He recognised us with joy, allowed us to take things
from the kitchen, and in the morning hunted out for us a tennis set.
Four of us who were not on duty played a great game on a very passable
gravel court.

We now heard that "the Division" was convinced that we were going to
make a dash for Ostend, and rumour seemed to crystallise into truth
when orders came that we were to entrain that night at Pont St Maxence.

The despatch riders rode ahead of the column, and received a joyous
welcome in the town. We stalked bravely into a café, and drank loud and
hearty toasts with some friendly but rather drunk French soldiers.
Gascons they were, and d'Artagnans all, from their proper boasting--the
heart of a lion and the cunning of a fox, they said. One of us was
called into a more sober chamber to drink ceremonious toasts in
champagne with their officers. In the street another of us--I would not
give even his initial--selecting the leading representative of young,
demure, and ornamental maidenhood, embraced her in the middle of the
most admiring crowd I have ever seen, while the rest of us explained to
a half-angry mother that her daughter should be proud and happy--as
indeed she was--to represent the respectable and historic town of Pont
St Maxence.

Then, amidst shrieks and cheers and cries of "Brave Tommy" and "We love
you," the despatch riders of the finest and most famous of all Divisions
rode singing to the station, where we slept peacefully on straw beside a
large fire until the train came in and the Signal Company arrived.

Our entraining at Pont St Maxence began with a carouse and ended with a
cumulative disappointment. In the middle was the usual wait, a tiresome