CHAPTER XVIILEAVE TO ENGLAND

On a certain winter’s morning,Early on in 1918,Tiadatha had the tidingsSudden as a tropic sunrise,Unbelievable as winningSomething in a comic raffle,That he’d got his leave to England;And although the snow was fallingOn that Balkan winter’s morning,All the world seemed full of sunshine,All the world seemed bright and golden,And he felt as effervescingAs a fizzing glass of bubbly,Felt as though a lovely fairy,Ever cold and stony-hearted,Finally had come and kissed him.So my joyous TiadathaMade some frenzied preparations,Got some odds and ends together,Said good-bye to everybody,Said good-bye to Woggs his batman,Trusty Woggs the ever-ready,Wishing he was coming also,Wishing everyone was coming.Started on that blessed journey,On that wonderful adventure,“To proceed on leave to England,”And one grey and misty morningSteamed away from SalonicaFrom Constantinople stationWith some other lucky blighters.And it didn’t seem to matterThat the carriage floor was filthy,That the seats were void of cushions,That the window glass was broken.It was quite enough to know thatThey were leaving Salonica,Quaint old dirty Salonica,And the mud of MacedoniaAnd the everlasting hillsides,After what seemed countless ages—Quite enough for TiadathaTo see Salonica fading,Growing fainter in the distance.All day long the leave train jolted,All night long it rocked and jolted,Crawling on through Greece to Bralo,Halting only at Larissa.And the R.T.O., Larissa,Very kind and very courteous,Welcomed Tiadatha’s party,Took them over to his billet,Gave them steaming tea at midnight,Like the whitest brand of white man.Then at seven in the morningThey detrained at Bralo station,Bleary-eyed, unshaved and grimy.Went by lorry to the Rest Camp,Bathed and shaved and had some breakfast,Felt just like a piece of silverWhen it’s made to shine with Goddard’sAfter being badly tarnished.On they went from Bralo Rest Camp,On they went by motor lorryUp the road across the mountains,Up the road that twirled and twistedLike a pirouetting dancer.As they reached the mountain summit,Started downwards to Itea,Very lovely was the pictureSpread before my Tiadatha.Rugged hills and deep-cleft valleys,Here and there a golden village,Far below, the olive gardens,And beyond them, blue as turquoise,Lay the sunny Gulf of Corinth.And all Tiadatha’s comradesMurmured “Oh, by Jove, how lovely!”“Take it all,” said Tiadatha,“Take it all and more beside it.I would give you every mountain,Every olive grove and village,And the whole damn Gulf of Corinth,For a glimpse of England’s coastline,For a glimpse of Piccadilly.”Soon they reached Itea village,Put up at the local Rest Camp,At the ever-present Rest Camp.Spent three warm and sunny days there,And my happy TiadathaQuickly found a kindred spirit,Found a red tabbed gunner captain,Wandered with him round the villageThat lay sleepy in the sunlight,Yet awake to pouch the drachmaeOf the passing British soldier.And they rowed out to an island,Lay and watched the sea for agesUnderneath a cloudless heaven,With a pleasant sense of freedom,Sense of having slipped the handcuffsOf the army for a little.Did a bit of tripperising,Went to see the sights of Delphi,Delphi in its ancient splendour,In the ruins of its splendour,Standing high upon the hillside,Looking on the Gulf of Corinth.Wandered round and saw the Oracle,Wandered round and saw the Stadium,Where of old the Greeks ran races;Toed the mark and ran a hundred,To the wonder of some Frenchmen,Who were also tripperising.Then one afternoon the leave boatSteamed into the tiny harbour,And at dawn the morning afterBore rejoicing TiadathaAnd his party off to Taranto.Every time the steamer’s screw turned,Every single knot she covered,Tiadatha felt his heart thrill,Felt his England drawing nearer,Felt St. James’s drawing nearer,And the things he loved so well there.And they dodged the lurking U-boatsThat were hanging round like footpads,Came to anchor at Taranto,In Taranto’s crowded harbour,Where the seaplanes skim like seagullsO’er the surface of the water.Disembarked and found the Rest Camp,Yet another Army Rest Camp,Sumptuous to TiadathaAfter those of Macedonia,Which had usually consistedOf a dozen flapping bell tents,Pitched upon a windy hillside.And they found Taranto crowded,Crawling with expensive GeneralsWaiting for their turn with others.Vanished were their hopes of Rapide,Hopes of going on by Rapide,Seeing Rome and seeing Paris.“Never mind,” said Tiadatha,To the red-tabbed gunner captain,“Every day we hang about here,Every day the journey’s lengthened,Means a day of warfare over,Means the end a little nearer.”So they sojourned at the Rest Camp,Loafed about and wrote some letters,Patronised the bar when open,Quaffing Bass again with gusto,And at six o’clock one eveningStarted on the daily troop train,Started on their journey Northwards.Very wisely TiadathaAnd his friend the gunner captainWent and bagged a carriage early,Went and bagged a first-class carriageThat had still some cushions in itAnd some glass left in the windows,Chalked up “Captain TiadathaAnd three officers” upon it,Got two merchants who were goingOne night only on the journey,After which they shared the carriageTiadatha and the gunner.Early every day they halted,Washed in buckets by the trainside,Shaved and strolled about a little,Sometimes snatched a hurried breakfastAt the buffet of a station.Spent the long, long days in reading,Pulling mutual friends to pieces,Talking over raids and battles,Talking over all their leave plans,Ate their very sketchy luncheons,Ate their very uncouth dinners,Cleaned their plates with bits of paper,Cleaned their knives and forks with paper,Living in acute discomfort,Pigging as they’d seldom pigged it,Turning out sometimes at Rest CampsJust to stretch their legs a little,Have a bath and get some dinner.Every night they got a fug up,Got a most uncommon fug up,Boarded up the broken windows,Lighted quite a dozen candles.All along the rack they stuck them,Stuck them on the greasy arm-rests,Got the carriage warm and cosy,Then unrolled their fat valises,Slept beneath a pile of blanketsSoundly as a pair of kittens.Thus nine days and nights they travelled,All through Italy they travelled,Found at Havre their troopship waiting,Sailed at dusk upon the troopship,Sailed all night without adventure.As the dawn broke TiadathaSaw the coast of England risingThrough the misty winter’s morning,Felt his heart go beating wildlyAs when lover meets his mistress,Longed to kiss his lovely England,Take her in his arms and kiss her,As a son might kiss his mother.Got ashore and humped his kit off,Then went streaking up to LondonMaking for his loved St. James’s.B.E.F., France,August 1918.

On a certain winter’s morning,

Early on in 1918,

Tiadatha had the tidings

Sudden as a tropic sunrise,

Unbelievable as winning

Something in a comic raffle,

That he’d got his leave to England;

And although the snow was falling

On that Balkan winter’s morning,

All the world seemed full of sunshine,

All the world seemed bright and golden,

And he felt as effervescing

As a fizzing glass of bubbly,

Felt as though a lovely fairy,

Ever cold and stony-hearted,

Finally had come and kissed him.

So my joyous TiadathaMade some frenzied preparations,Got some odds and ends together,Said good-bye to everybody,Said good-bye to Woggs his batman,Trusty Woggs the ever-ready,Wishing he was coming also,Wishing everyone was coming.Started on that blessed journey,On that wonderful adventure,“To proceed on leave to England,”And one grey and misty morningSteamed away from SalonicaFrom Constantinople stationWith some other lucky blighters.

So my joyous Tiadatha

Made some frenzied preparations,

Got some odds and ends together,

Said good-bye to everybody,

Said good-bye to Woggs his batman,

Trusty Woggs the ever-ready,

Wishing he was coming also,

Wishing everyone was coming.

Started on that blessed journey,

On that wonderful adventure,

“To proceed on leave to England,”

And one grey and misty morning

Steamed away from Salonica

From Constantinople station

With some other lucky blighters.

And it didn’t seem to matterThat the carriage floor was filthy,That the seats were void of cushions,That the window glass was broken.It was quite enough to know thatThey were leaving Salonica,Quaint old dirty Salonica,And the mud of MacedoniaAnd the everlasting hillsides,After what seemed countless ages—Quite enough for TiadathaTo see Salonica fading,Growing fainter in the distance.

And it didn’t seem to matter

That the carriage floor was filthy,

That the seats were void of cushions,

That the window glass was broken.

It was quite enough to know that

They were leaving Salonica,

Quaint old dirty Salonica,

And the mud of Macedonia

And the everlasting hillsides,

After what seemed countless ages—

Quite enough for Tiadatha

To see Salonica fading,

Growing fainter in the distance.

All day long the leave train jolted,All night long it rocked and jolted,Crawling on through Greece to Bralo,Halting only at Larissa.And the R.T.O., Larissa,Very kind and very courteous,Welcomed Tiadatha’s party,Took them over to his billet,Gave them steaming tea at midnight,Like the whitest brand of white man.Then at seven in the morningThey detrained at Bralo station,Bleary-eyed, unshaved and grimy.Went by lorry to the Rest Camp,Bathed and shaved and had some breakfast,Felt just like a piece of silverWhen it’s made to shine with Goddard’sAfter being badly tarnished.

All day long the leave train jolted,

All night long it rocked and jolted,

Crawling on through Greece to Bralo,

Halting only at Larissa.

And the R.T.O., Larissa,

Very kind and very courteous,

Welcomed Tiadatha’s party,

Took them over to his billet,

Gave them steaming tea at midnight,

Like the whitest brand of white man.

Then at seven in the morning

They detrained at Bralo station,

Bleary-eyed, unshaved and grimy.

Went by lorry to the Rest Camp,

Bathed and shaved and had some breakfast,

Felt just like a piece of silver

When it’s made to shine with Goddard’s

After being badly tarnished.

On they went from Bralo Rest Camp,On they went by motor lorryUp the road across the mountains,Up the road that twirled and twistedLike a pirouetting dancer.As they reached the mountain summit,Started downwards to Itea,Very lovely was the pictureSpread before my Tiadatha.Rugged hills and deep-cleft valleys,Here and there a golden village,Far below, the olive gardens,And beyond them, blue as turquoise,Lay the sunny Gulf of Corinth.And all Tiadatha’s comradesMurmured “Oh, by Jove, how lovely!”“Take it all,” said Tiadatha,“Take it all and more beside it.I would give you every mountain,Every olive grove and village,And the whole damn Gulf of Corinth,For a glimpse of England’s coastline,For a glimpse of Piccadilly.”

On they went from Bralo Rest Camp,

On they went by motor lorry

Up the road across the mountains,

Up the road that twirled and twisted

Like a pirouetting dancer.

As they reached the mountain summit,

Started downwards to Itea,

Very lovely was the picture

Spread before my Tiadatha.

Rugged hills and deep-cleft valleys,

Here and there a golden village,

Far below, the olive gardens,

And beyond them, blue as turquoise,

Lay the sunny Gulf of Corinth.

And all Tiadatha’s comrades

Murmured “Oh, by Jove, how lovely!”

“Take it all,” said Tiadatha,

“Take it all and more beside it.

I would give you every mountain,

Every olive grove and village,

And the whole damn Gulf of Corinth,

For a glimpse of England’s coastline,

For a glimpse of Piccadilly.”

Soon they reached Itea village,Put up at the local Rest Camp,At the ever-present Rest Camp.Spent three warm and sunny days there,And my happy TiadathaQuickly found a kindred spirit,Found a red tabbed gunner captain,Wandered with him round the villageThat lay sleepy in the sunlight,Yet awake to pouch the drachmaeOf the passing British soldier.And they rowed out to an island,Lay and watched the sea for agesUnderneath a cloudless heaven,With a pleasant sense of freedom,Sense of having slipped the handcuffsOf the army for a little.Did a bit of tripperising,Went to see the sights of Delphi,Delphi in its ancient splendour,In the ruins of its splendour,Standing high upon the hillside,Looking on the Gulf of Corinth.Wandered round and saw the Oracle,Wandered round and saw the Stadium,Where of old the Greeks ran races;Toed the mark and ran a hundred,To the wonder of some Frenchmen,Who were also tripperising.

Soon they reached Itea village,

Put up at the local Rest Camp,

At the ever-present Rest Camp.

Spent three warm and sunny days there,

And my happy Tiadatha

Quickly found a kindred spirit,

Found a red tabbed gunner captain,

Wandered with him round the village

That lay sleepy in the sunlight,

Yet awake to pouch the drachmae

Of the passing British soldier.

And they rowed out to an island,

Lay and watched the sea for ages

Underneath a cloudless heaven,

With a pleasant sense of freedom,

Sense of having slipped the handcuffs

Of the army for a little.

Did a bit of tripperising,

Went to see the sights of Delphi,

Delphi in its ancient splendour,

In the ruins of its splendour,

Standing high upon the hillside,

Looking on the Gulf of Corinth.

Wandered round and saw the Oracle,

Wandered round and saw the Stadium,

Where of old the Greeks ran races;

Toed the mark and ran a hundred,

To the wonder of some Frenchmen,

Who were also tripperising.

Then one afternoon the leave boatSteamed into the tiny harbour,And at dawn the morning afterBore rejoicing TiadathaAnd his party off to Taranto.Every time the steamer’s screw turned,Every single knot she covered,Tiadatha felt his heart thrill,Felt his England drawing nearer,Felt St. James’s drawing nearer,And the things he loved so well there.And they dodged the lurking U-boatsThat were hanging round like footpads,Came to anchor at Taranto,In Taranto’s crowded harbour,Where the seaplanes skim like seagullsO’er the surface of the water.Disembarked and found the Rest Camp,Yet another Army Rest Camp,Sumptuous to TiadathaAfter those of Macedonia,Which had usually consistedOf a dozen flapping bell tents,Pitched upon a windy hillside.

Then one afternoon the leave boat

Steamed into the tiny harbour,

And at dawn the morning after

Bore rejoicing Tiadatha

And his party off to Taranto.

Every time the steamer’s screw turned,

Every single knot she covered,

Tiadatha felt his heart thrill,

Felt his England drawing nearer,

Felt St. James’s drawing nearer,

And the things he loved so well there.

And they dodged the lurking U-boats

That were hanging round like footpads,

Came to anchor at Taranto,

In Taranto’s crowded harbour,

Where the seaplanes skim like seagulls

O’er the surface of the water.

Disembarked and found the Rest Camp,

Yet another Army Rest Camp,

Sumptuous to Tiadatha

After those of Macedonia,

Which had usually consisted

Of a dozen flapping bell tents,

Pitched upon a windy hillside.

And they found Taranto crowded,Crawling with expensive GeneralsWaiting for their turn with others.Vanished were their hopes of Rapide,Hopes of going on by Rapide,Seeing Rome and seeing Paris.“Never mind,” said Tiadatha,To the red-tabbed gunner captain,“Every day we hang about here,Every day the journey’s lengthened,Means a day of warfare over,Means the end a little nearer.”So they sojourned at the Rest Camp,Loafed about and wrote some letters,Patronised the bar when open,Quaffing Bass again with gusto,And at six o’clock one eveningStarted on the daily troop train,Started on their journey Northwards.

And they found Taranto crowded,

Crawling with expensive Generals

Waiting for their turn with others.

Vanished were their hopes of Rapide,

Hopes of going on by Rapide,

Seeing Rome and seeing Paris.

“Never mind,” said Tiadatha,

To the red-tabbed gunner captain,

“Every day we hang about here,

Every day the journey’s lengthened,

Means a day of warfare over,

Means the end a little nearer.”

So they sojourned at the Rest Camp,

Loafed about and wrote some letters,

Patronised the bar when open,

Quaffing Bass again with gusto,

And at six o’clock one evening

Started on the daily troop train,

Started on their journey Northwards.

Very wisely TiadathaAnd his friend the gunner captainWent and bagged a carriage early,Went and bagged a first-class carriageThat had still some cushions in itAnd some glass left in the windows,Chalked up “Captain TiadathaAnd three officers” upon it,Got two merchants who were goingOne night only on the journey,After which they shared the carriageTiadatha and the gunner.

Very wisely Tiadatha

And his friend the gunner captain

Went and bagged a carriage early,

Went and bagged a first-class carriage

That had still some cushions in it

And some glass left in the windows,

Chalked up “Captain Tiadatha

And three officers” upon it,

Got two merchants who were going

One night only on the journey,

After which they shared the carriage

Tiadatha and the gunner.

Early every day they halted,Washed in buckets by the trainside,Shaved and strolled about a little,Sometimes snatched a hurried breakfastAt the buffet of a station.Spent the long, long days in reading,Pulling mutual friends to pieces,Talking over raids and battles,Talking over all their leave plans,Ate their very sketchy luncheons,Ate their very uncouth dinners,Cleaned their plates with bits of paper,Cleaned their knives and forks with paper,Living in acute discomfort,Pigging as they’d seldom pigged it,Turning out sometimes at Rest CampsJust to stretch their legs a little,Have a bath and get some dinner.Every night they got a fug up,Got a most uncommon fug up,Boarded up the broken windows,Lighted quite a dozen candles.All along the rack they stuck them,Stuck them on the greasy arm-rests,Got the carriage warm and cosy,Then unrolled their fat valises,Slept beneath a pile of blanketsSoundly as a pair of kittens.Thus nine days and nights they travelled,All through Italy they travelled,Found at Havre their troopship waiting,Sailed at dusk upon the troopship,Sailed all night without adventure.

Early every day they halted,

Washed in buckets by the trainside,

Shaved and strolled about a little,

Sometimes snatched a hurried breakfast

At the buffet of a station.

Spent the long, long days in reading,

Pulling mutual friends to pieces,

Talking over raids and battles,

Talking over all their leave plans,

Ate their very sketchy luncheons,

Ate their very uncouth dinners,

Cleaned their plates with bits of paper,

Cleaned their knives and forks with paper,

Living in acute discomfort,

Pigging as they’d seldom pigged it,

Turning out sometimes at Rest Camps

Just to stretch their legs a little,

Have a bath and get some dinner.

Every night they got a fug up,

Got a most uncommon fug up,

Boarded up the broken windows,

Lighted quite a dozen candles.

All along the rack they stuck them,

Stuck them on the greasy arm-rests,

Got the carriage warm and cosy,

Then unrolled their fat valises,

Slept beneath a pile of blankets

Soundly as a pair of kittens.

Thus nine days and nights they travelled,

All through Italy they travelled,

Found at Havre their troopship waiting,

Sailed at dusk upon the troopship,

Sailed all night without adventure.

As the dawn broke TiadathaSaw the coast of England risingThrough the misty winter’s morning,Felt his heart go beating wildlyAs when lover meets his mistress,Longed to kiss his lovely England,Take her in his arms and kiss her,As a son might kiss his mother.Got ashore and humped his kit off,Then went streaking up to LondonMaking for his loved St. James’s.

As the dawn broke Tiadatha

Saw the coast of England rising

Through the misty winter’s morning,

Felt his heart go beating wildly

As when lover meets his mistress,

Longed to kiss his lovely England,

Take her in his arms and kiss her,

As a son might kiss his mother.

Got ashore and humped his kit off,

Then went streaking up to London

Making for his loved St. James’s.

B.E.F., France,August 1918.

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