I noticed a
specially enthusiastic group on the steps of the Castello, and several
busy photographers. In between the efforts of the band our men sang.
Outside the station we marched past the Italian General Commanding the
District. Then we were halted and the General made a speech. I happened
to look round, and found standing beside me, looking up at me, wide-eyed
and wondering, the page boy from the Circolo, whom I had harangued on
the destiny of the world's youth, and afterwards tipped. The band was
playing over and over again, at short intervals, God Save the King, the
Marcia Reale, the Marseillaise, the Brabanconne and the Marcia degli
Alpini. Whenever any of these national anthems was played, all the
troops stood at attention, and we officers at the salute.

Then a little man with a black beard and an eager manner stepped forward
and mounted a chair, and on behalf of the Association of Italian
Teachers wished us good luck. He spoke in English. He told us that his
wife was "an Englishman," and recalled the names of Garibaldi and
Gladstone, Palmerston and Cavour. He then presented to the Major an
Italian Flag, which was handed to our Battery Sergeant-Major to be
carried at the head of the troops as they marched into the station. Many
Italian officers were present to say personal good-byes, and an immense
crowd was on the platform cheering and singing, and distributing gifts
and refreshments to our men. One gift was a little piece of tricolour
ribbon, which an old woman gave to one of us. It had a note pinned to it
addressed "to a brave British soldier," saying that she had a son at the
Front who always carried just such a little piece of ribbon as a
talisman, cut off the same roll, and that it had always kept him safe,
and that it would keep the British soldier safe too. The note was signed
"Tua Madrina" ("your god-mother").

At last it seemed that everyone was aboard, and the train started. But
it was then discovered that the Major, Jeune and Manzoni had been left
behind, not expecting the train to start so soon. They had chased it for
a hundred yards down the line, but failed to catch it up. So the
stationmaster telephoned to Rovigo to stop the train there till the
three missing ones arrived, which they ultimately did, riding on an
engine specially placed at their disposal. So ended our stay at Ferrara,
in a blaze of wild enthusiasm. And I believe that, collectively, we left
a very good impression behind us.