.. and it did not whisper. There were grunts and murmurings,
there were gurgling expletives and splutterings which sent the army, and
all fools who joined it, to places of unmentionable climatic conditions. We
were in it up to our necks, more or less literally.
All the way along we could see the flashes of star shells. When one went up
we could fancy the battalion making a "duck" in perfect unison. The star
shells seemed very close. It was still for us to learn that they always
seem close.
After about seven miles of this trekking, we reached billets. This was our
first experience of French billets. The rest-house was a barn and we were
pretty lucky. We had straw to lie on.
Notwithstanding our distance from the enemy, as Captain Johnson had said,
we were in his country, and in consequence there had to be a guard. Four of
the boys were picked for the job. There was no change in my luck. I was one
of the chosen four.
The guardroom, whether for good or ill, was set in a chicken house. And
thereby hangs a tale--feather. Corporal of the guard was a sport. He was a
young chap from Red Deer, Alberta.
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