old England's name!"

It was a confession of faith. On the sea England can't be beaten. Tommy
believes that with his whole soul, and on this occasion he sang with all
the warmth of religious conviction.

Our Channel voyage was uneventful. Each transport was guarded by two
destroyers, one on either side, the three vessels keeping abreast and
about fifty yards apart during the entire journey. The submarine menace
was then at its height, and we were prepared for an emergency. The boats
were swung ready for immediate launching, and all of the men were
provided with life-preservers. But England had been transporting troops
and supplies to the firing-line for so many months without accident that
none of us were at all concerned about the possibility of danger.
Furthermore, the men were too busy studying "Tommy Atkins's French
Manual" to think about submarines. They were putting the final polish on
their accent in preparation for to-morrow's landing.

"Alf, 'ow's this: 'Madamaselly, avay vu dee pang?'"

"Wot do you s'y for 'Gimme a tuppenny packet o' Nosegay'?"

"'Bonjoor, Monseer!' That ain't so dusty, Freddie, wot?"

"Let's try that Marcelase again. You start it, 'Arry."

"Let Nobby. 'E knows the sounds better'n wot I do."

"'It 'er up, Nobby! We gotta learn that so we can sing it on the march."

"Wite till I find it in me book. All right now--

Allons infants dee la Pat-ree,
La joor de glory is arrivay."

Such bits of conversation may be of little interest, but they have the
merit of being genuine. All of them were jotted down in my notebook at
the times when I heard them.

The following day we crowded into the typical French army troop train,
eight _chevaux_ or forty _hommes_ to a car, and started on a leisurely
journey to the firing-line. We traveled all day, at eight or ten miles an
hour, through Normandy. We passed through pleasant towns and villages
lying silent in the afternoon sunshine, and seemingly almost deserted,
and through the open country fragrant with the scent of apple blossoms.
Now and then children waved to us from a cottage window, and in the
fields old men and women and girls leaned silently on their hoes or their
rakes and watched us pass. Occasionally an old reservist, guarding the
railway line, would lift his cap and shout, "Vive l'Angleterre!" But more
often he would lean on his rifle and smile, nodding his head courteously
but silently to our salutations. Tommy, for all his stol