replace them, and in the knowledge
that the enemy had fresh troops, was well supplied, and in his rear a
great artillery straining forward to take part in the slaughter,
aeroplanes above, the tail-end of a few decimated Battalions fought on
against the hopeless odds before them. As long as a man had life in his
body, rifle and shot, he used them to advantage. The next Britisher
might be forty yards away or more, but until he was ordered to retire he
would ... "'ang on like 'ell to that there strip."

The Staffords after three days of it, through the whole of which period
they had stuck doggedly, pluckily, to their task, had dwindled down to a
scattered few on the nightfall of the 15th April. Forty, perhaps fifty,
completely exhausted, filthy and tattered Normans still clung about
their C.O. on a frontage a few miles south of Merris. The very
mechanical stupor that at last commenced to give way beneath unceasing
hardship. Nature demanded sleep. Not the brief, wakeful moments snatched
at intervals in the night, but sleep, long, quiet, undisturbed.

From an observation balloon high in the air above its motor trolley
Jerry observers reported on the shattered remnant still holding out. He
pressed home his advantage upon the tired troops ... rifles grew hot.
The few Normans were again forced back.

Relief by Australians was effected near Merris. The tiny, devastated
string of Normans (53) came out. But in a situation of acute urgency
they were still used to construct trenches upon which withdrawal by the
newly engaged Divisions could be made.

The Brigadier. G.O.C., 80th Brigade, a few weeks later bade farewell to
the little force in a speech that sent a wild thrill of pride throughout
the small Battalion.

In their honour the Divisional band played them on their march to a
station ("Ebblingham"), from which they entrained for G.H.Q., where they
were to take over duties from the H.A.C.

And thus the Passing from the Great Undertaking!

Farewell, Norman warriors who this night in Valhalla sing of mighty
deeds of valour from high with the Anses.

Farewell, a sad farewell, to for ever lost echoes to ten hundred voiced
raised in rallying chorus to the swing of square shoulders and the ring
of manly feet.

The "old order changeth." Away from the strong fray ... free life ...
laughter, glamour, song ... the Great Open ... the MEN....

Back to the little world, its little things, to ITS LITTLE LIFE.

See ye Masnie