troops, who greeted me hilariously as I rode through
to Veze.

There we slept comfortably in the lodge of the chateau, all, that is,
except Grimers, who had been seized with a puncture just outside the
main hotel in Villers-Cotterets.

In the morning I had a fine run to a brigade at Bethancourt, the little
village, you will remember, where we lunched off an excellent omelette,
and convinced the populace, with the help of our host, that the Germans
would come no farther.

While I was away the rest discovered some excellent white wine in the
cellar of the lodge, and before starting again at dusk we made a fine
meal. Cecil and I remained after the others had gone, and when the wife
of the lodge-keeper came in and expressed her utter detestation of all
troops, we told her that we were shedding our blood for France, and
offered her forgetfully a glass of her own good wine.

That night we slept at Bethisy St Martin. On the retreat, you will
remember, the lord of the chateau had given some of the despatch riders
dinner, before they learnt that D.H.Q. had been diverted to
Crecy-en-Valois. He recognised us with joy, allowed us to take things
from the kitchen, and in the morning hunted out for us a tennis set.
Four of us who were not on duty played a great game on a very passable
gravel court.

We now heard that "the Division" was convinced that we were going to
make a dash for Ostend, and rumour seemed to crystallise into truth
when orders came that we were to entrain that night at Pont St Maxence.

The despatch riders rode ahead of the column, and received a joyous
welcome in the town. We stalked bravely into a cafe, and drank loud and
hearty toasts with some friendly but rather drunk French soldiers.
Gascons they were, and d'Artagnans all, from their proper boasting--the
heart of a lion and the cunning of a fox, they said. One of us was
called into a more sober chamber to drink ceremonious toasts in
champagne with their officers. In the street another of us--I would not
give even his initial--selecting the leading representative of young,
demure, and ornamental maidenhood, embraced her in the middle of the
most admiring crowd I have ever seen, while the rest of us explained to
a half-angry mother that her daughter should be proud and happy--as
indeed she was--to represent the respectable and historic town of Pont
St Maxence.

Then, amidst shrieks and cheers and cries of "Brave Tommy" and "We love
you," the despatch r