the other."

Sydney Baxter's Division was soon again on trek to a new position. He
writes:

"We had stayed in, and passed through, many villages, had
even had a fire at one, burning down one or two barns, and
yet life was uneventful. Marching most days, or, when
billeted, doing platoon drill, playing cards, reading or
writing in the cafés or our barns. Company concerts were no
good. We had heard all of our soloists' répertoire, which
was _not_ very extensive. There came the day when we marched
into Doullens. Strange were the sights of large shops and
smartly dressed townsfolk--we were more used to the
occupants of obscure villages. The Sergeant-Major came along
with the message, 'Smarten up and keep step through the
town.' We needed no bidding. A soldier doesn't want it, you
know, when he becomes the object of admiration and the
recipient of smiles from the brunettes of France. On past
the Hôtel de Ville we swung--this was a G.H.Q., and 'Eyes
left!' was given as platoons passed the guard. Staff
officers, resplendent in red-tabbed coats and well-creased
slacks, seemed to be showing the populace what fine soldiers
they were, while the M.M. Police stood at the corners
directing traffic as only the members of that unit can. Into
the Rue d'Arras we turned, and outside an Ecole de Filles we
halted. There was our billet, the best we ever had. In the
playground stood our cooker. Upstairs we were packed into
the classrooms, with just enough room allowed to stretch
one's legs and to turn over should one wish. We had our