was far from unwelcome. Lined up on the parade ground we were put in
charge of a corporal. "Party, 'shun! Right turn! Quick march!" Off we
trudged, round the back of the hospital, down the drive, out past the
sentry and away along the road. Presently, "Party, march at ease!"
Cigarettes were lit, talking was allowed, and someone would raise a
tune. How pleasant it is to march to singing! To march to a
drum-and-fife band must be wonderful. Or a brass band--! Those joys will
never be mine. Almost all the marching I shall have done in the great
war will be summed up in these tiny promenades from the hospital to the
railway-station, their rhythm sustained by self-raised choruses, none
too melodious.
Occasionally an officer would be descried, on the pavement. Then "Party,
'shun!" Cigarettes were concealed. The song died. "Eyes left! ... Eyes
front! Party, march at ease!" The cigarettes reappeared, the song was
resumed. Approaching the station, "Party, 'shun!" Cigarettes were thrown
away. Here, in the chief street, we must make a smart show. A crowd is
gathered round the station gate, attracted by the array of Red Cross
vehicles within. Police are keeping back the curious. The way is
cleared for our arrival. "Left wheel!" Now is our one moment of glory.
We swing round, through the lane of gaping sightseers, and tramp-tramp
in style across the station yard and under the archway, flattering
ourselves (perhaps not without justification) that there are spectators
whose eyes pursue us with secret envy at the serious import of our task.
The station platform, when we reached it, was generally a blank
perspective devoid of all living creatures except ourselves. Fate
decreed that we should be summoned long before the train was due. I have
kicked my heels for many a doleful hour on that platform, and the
reflection that "they also serve who only stand and wait" was chilly
comfort if--as frequently happened--we had been hurried off dinnerless.
The convoys' arrivals always seemed to coincide with dinner-time. On our
return to the hospital we should find that the rations had been kept hot
for us. But, in the meanwhile, an empty stomach was a poor preparation
for the strain of carrying stretchers up the stairs from the station
platform to the ambulances; and those of us who could produce pennies
for automatic-machine chocolate gained an instant popularity. The
longest period of waiting drew to an end at last, however. The platform
assume
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