the trenches. At dusk we boarded the motor-bus which
conveyed us to the rail-head. That old bus had never had
such a cargo of light hearts when plying between Shepherd's
Bush and Liverpool Street. At the rail-head we transferred
to the waiting train, and it was not long before we were on
our way. Bully beef and biscuits were on the seats, our
day's rations. Never mind--we shall soon be having something
a good deal more appetising. We did wish we had something
warmer than the water in our bottles, and at our next stop
we found our old benefactors. This was another platform
canteen, and we were able to refresh ourselves for the
remainder of the journey, which was all too slow.

"Two R.F.A. and one A.S.C. man shared the carriage with me
up to London. We did not speak at all, we were far too much
occupied with our thoughts and visions of our welcome. It
was Sunday, and there were very few people about when we got
in. I clambered out of the carriage prepared to rush to the
Bakerloo, when a voice at my elbow asked, 'Is there anything
I can do for you? Are you a Londoner?' and a host of
questions bearing on my future actions. It was a Y.M.
official. He took me to the little box where my francs were
converted into English coin, then to Bakerloo Tube Station,
got my ticket, and with a handclasp dashed off to help
another. Had I been bound for the North he would have taken
me and given me a dinner, and put me into the right train at
the right time. I tell you these Y.M. chaps do their job
uncommonly well."