He writes:
"We were about twenty minutes' walk from the village, and at
first there was absolutely nothing there to go down for,
and we seemed doomed to a very uncomfortable winter.
However, the words of a well-known war song, 'Every cloud is
silver lined,' are very true. _Our_ cloud was soon brightly
lined by the Y.M. people, who discovered the best way to do
it in no time. A hall was acquired in the village for the
sale of tea and eatables, and for facilitating writing and
reading for the troops in camp. It was staffed by ladies in
the locality and was a real Godsend to us all. Picture us
from 6.30 a.m. to 4 p.m. on and off parade, in a muddy camp,
without even a semblance of a canteen or writing-hut, always
within sound of the bugle with its ever-recurring call for
Orderly Sergeants, tired out and wet through and inwardly
chafing at the unaccustomed discipline. Our spirits were on
a par with Bairnsfather's 'Fed-up one.' At the last note of
'the Retreat' we were free. Without the Y.M. touch we should
have had to stay in our bleak huts, constantly reminded of
our surroundings and discomforts. But these Y.M. people had
provided a comfortable, well-lighted, and, above all, warm
room, with plenty of books and papers and any amount of grub
and unlimited tea to wash it down.
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