Engleesh--Tipperary--Biskeet--Biskeet--Souvenir.

We have never understood the cry of "Biskeet." The fat little fellows
were obviously well nourished. Perhaps, dog-like, they buried their
biscuits with a thought for the time when the English should be
forgotten and hunger should take their place as something very present.

So joyously we were rushed north at about five miles an hour, or eight
kilometres per hour, which sounds better. Early in the afternoon we came
to Abbéville, a hot and quiet station, and, with the aid of some London
Scottish, disembarked. From these Scots we learnt that the French were
having a rough time just north of Arras, that train-load upon train-load
of wounded had come through, that our Corps (the 2nd) was going up to
help.

So even now we do not know whether we really were going to Ostend and
were diverted to the La Bassée district to help the French who had got
themselves into a hole, or whether Ostend was somebody's little tale.

We rode through the town to the Great Barracks, where we were given a
large and clean ward. The washing arrangements were sumptuous and we had
truckle-beds to sleep upon, but the sanitation, as everywhere in France,
was vile. We kicked a football about on the drill-ground. Then some of
us went down into the town, while the rest of us waited impatiently for
them to come back, taking a despatch or two in the meanwhile.

From the despatch rider's point of view Abbéville is a large and
admiring town, with good restaurants and better baths. These baths were
finer than the baths of Havre--full of sweet-scented odours and the
deliciously intoxicating fumes of good soap and plenteous boiling-water.