The other men were from Arundel, Littlehampton, and Sussex villages. They were of Saxon breed. There was hardly a difference between them and some German prisoners I saw, yellow-haired as they were, with fair, freckled, sunbaked skins. They told me they were glad to be out in France. Anything was better than training at home.

“I like Germans more’n sergeant-majors,” said one young yokel, and the others shouted with laughter at his jest.

“Perhaps you haven’t met the German sergeants,” I said.

“I’ve met our’n,” said the Sussex boy. “A man’s a fool to be a soldier. Eh, lads?”

They agreed heartily, though they were all volunteers.

“Not that we’re skeered,” said one of them. “We’ll be glad when the fighting begins.”

“Speak for yourself, Dick Meekcombe, and don’t forget the shells last night.”