"
Three trains stood in the sidings by the station. Places were allotted
to the men, eight occupied each compartment, non-commissioned officers
occupied a special carriage, the officers travelled first-class.
Soon we were hurrying through England to a place unknown. Most of my
comrades were merry and a little sentimental; they sang music-hall
songs that told of home. There were seven with me in my compartment,
the Jersey youth, whom I saw kissing a weeping sweetheart in the cold
hours of the early day; Mervin, my cot-mate, who always cleaned the
rifles while I cooked breakfast in the morning; Bill, the Cockney
youth who never is so happy as when getting the best of an argument
in the coffee-shop of which I have already spoken, and the Oxford man.
The other three were almost complete strangers to me, they have just
been drafted into our regiment; one was very fat and reminded me of a
Dickens character in _Pickwick Papers_; another who soon fell asleep,
his head warm in a Balaclava helmet, was a tall, strapping youth with
large muscular hands, which betoken manual labour, and the last was a
slightly-built boy with a budding moustache which seemed to have been
waxed at one end. We noticed this, and the fat soldier said that the
wax had melted from the few lonely hairs on the other side of the lip.
Stations whirled by, Mervin leant out of the window to read their
names, but was never successful. Cigarettes were smoked, the carriage
was full of tobacco fumes and the floor littered with "fag-ends.
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