There's a tramp o' feet in the mornin',
There's an oath from an N.C.O.,
As up the road to the trenches
The brown battalions go:
Guns and rifles and waggons,
Transports and horses and men,
Up with the flush of the dawnin',
And back with the night again.

Sometimes when our spell in the trenches comes to an end we go back
for a rest in some village or town. Here the _estaminet_ or _debitant_
(French as far as I am aware for a beer shop), is open to the British
soldier for three hours daily, from twelve to one and from six to
eight o'clock. For some strange reason we often find ourselves busy on
parade at these hours, and when not on parade we generally find
ourselves without money. I have been here for four months; looking at
my pay book I find that I've been paid 25 fr. (or in plain English,
one pound) since I have come to France, a country where the weather
grows hotter daily, where the water is seldom drinkable, and where (p. 139)
wine and beer is so cheap. Once we were paid five francs at five o'clock
in the afternoon after five penniless days of rest in a village, and
ordered as we were paid, to pack up our all and get ready to set off
at six o'clock for the trenches. From noon we had been playing cards,
and some of the boys gambled all their pay in advance and lost it.
Bill's five francs had to be distributed amongst several members of
the platoon.

"It's only five francs, anyway," he said. "Wot matter whether I spend
it on cards, wine, or women. I don't care for soldierin' as a
profession?"

"What is your profession, Bill?" Pryor asked; we never really knew
what Bill's civil occupation was, he seemed to know a little of many
crafts, but was master of none.

"I've been everything," he replied, employing his little finger in the
removal of cigarette ash. "My ole man apprenticed me to a marker of
'ot cross buns, but I 'ad a 'abit of makin' the long end of the cross
on the short side, an' got chucked out. Then I learned 'ow to jump
through tin plates in order to make them nutmeg graters, but left that
job after sticking plump in the middle of a plate. I had to stop (p. 140)
there for three days without food or drink. They were thinnin' me out,
see! Then I was a draughts manager at a bank, and shut the ventilators;
after that I was an electric mechanic; I switched the lights on and
off at night and mornin'; now I'm a professional gambler, I lose all
my tin."

"You're also a soldier," I sai