shook hands to show
there was no ill feeling, and quite cheerfully, with the expression of a
hero, he bore his portrait off amid cheers from the men.

The show ended with a song, _Sergeant Michael Cassidy_, which was
extremely popular at that time. For those who have not heard this
classic, it might be as well to give one or two verses. We each had our
own particular one, and then all sang the chorus.

"You've heard of Michael Cassidy, a strapping Irish bhoy.
Who up and joined the Irish guards as Kitchener's pride and joy;
When on the march you'll hear them shout, 'Who's going to win the war?'
And this is what the khaki lads all answered with a roar:

_Chorus_

"Cassidy, Sergeant Michael Cassidy,
He's of Irish nationality.
He's a lad of wonderful audacity,
Sergeant Michael Cassidy (bang), V.C."

_Last Verse_

"Who was it met a dainty little Belgian refugee
And right behind the firing line, would take her on his knee?
Who was it, when she doubted him, got on his knees and swore
He'd love her for three years or the duration of the War?"

_Chorus_, etc.

This was encored loudly, and someone called out for _Who's your lady
friend?_ As there were not any within miles excepting ourselves, and
certainly none in the audience, it was rather amusing.

We plunged through the mud again after it was all over and were taken to
have coffee and sandwiches in the Mess. We were just in time to see some
of the men and wish them Good Luck, as they were being lined up
preparatory to going into the trenches. Poor souls, I felt glad we had
been able to do something to cheer them a little; and the guns, which we
had heard distinctly throughout the concert, now boomed away louder than
ever.

We had a fairly long walk back from the Mess to where the Mors car had
been left owing to the mud, and at last we set off along the dark and
rutty road.

One facetious French sentry insisted on talking English and flashing his
lantern into the back of the ambulance, saying, "But I _will_ see the
face of each Mees for fear of an espion." He did so, murmuring
"_jolie--pas mal--chic_," etc.! He finally left us, saying: "I am an
officer. Well, ladies, good-bye all!" We were convulsed, and off we slid
once more into the darkness and rain, without any lights, reaching home
about 12, after a very amusing evening.

Soon after this, we started our "Pleasant Sunday Evenings," as we called
them,