e a truly British grunt,
and went to the horse's head. Nothing happened for some seconds, and we
waited impatiently. Presently he reappeared.

"Tied oop," he said laconically, in a broad north country accent, and
washed his hands of the matter. How we laughed. Of course a Frenchman
would have made the most elaborate apologies and explanations--a long
conversation would have ensued, and finally salutes and bows exchanged,
before we could have got on. "Tied oop" became quite a saying after
that.

A F.A.N.Y. eventually coped with the matter, and on we went again. At
last we espied some tents in the distance and struck off down a rutty
lane in their direction. Here we said "good-bye" to our driver
wondering if the other car did not turn up, just how we should get home.
We plunged through mud that came well over the tops of our boots and,
scrambling along some slippery duck boarding, arrived at the recreation
tent. No sign of the other car, so we were obliged to draft out a fresh
programme in the meantime.

We took off our heavy coats while two batmen used the back of their
clasp knives to scrape off the first layers of mud (hardly the most
attractive footlight wear) from our boots. We heard the M.C. announcing
that the "Concert party" had arrived, and through holes in the canvas we
could see the tent was full to overflowing. Cheers greeted the
announcement, and we shivered with fright. There were hundreds there,
and they had been patiently waiting for hours, singing choruses to pass
the time.

As we crawled through the canvas at the back of the stage they cheered
us to the echo. The platform was about the size of a dining table, which
rather cramped our style. We always began our shows with a topical song,
each taking a verse in turn, and then all singing the chorus. Towards
the end of our first song the Lieutenant and the others arrived. The
guns boomed so loudly at times the words were quite drowned. The
Programme consisted of Recitations, Songs at the Piano, Solo Songs,
Choruses, Violin, etc.; and to my horror I found they counted on me to
do charcoal drawings, described out of courtesy as "Lightning
sketches!" (an art only developed and cultivated at the insistence of
Sergt. Wicks, who had once discovered me doing some in the wards to
amuse the men). There was nothing else for it, rolls of white paper were
produced and pinned on a table placed on end, and off I started. I first
drew them a typical Belgian officer w