s' repertoire, 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 Hotel 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
stew, and quickly rushed off to see all the town. In the
square a military band was playing 'Nights of Gladness,' and
we found a crowd gathered round the bandstand, many of them
civilians. We stayed and enjoyed the performance, and at the
Marseillaise and our own National Anthem every khaki-clad
man from private to general stood at attention, and the
latter at the salute. It was a grand spectacle, and one felt
proud to be a soldier. We went and had a look at the shops
and into the church, until nearly 5 o'clock, when we debated
amongst ourselves as to whether we should go back for tea or
wait till 6 o'clock when the cafes open.

"Running into a group who had been endeavouring to break the
camera, we asked them what they were going to do. 'Why, go
to the Y.M.C.A., of course,' they replied. 'Is there really
one here? What luck!' We all followed the guide. It was in a
market hall, but liberally placarded with the familiar Red
Triangle, and so there was no mistaking it. Like most other
canteens of the Y.M. it had a long counter and about twelve
small tables. The ever-refreshing cup of tea and the good
old English slab cake were in p