Sometimes it rained, sometimes it snowed, occasionally, very occasionally, it happened to be fine. But we got on with our work, waiting for the bugler to blow for the midday lunch. When "cookhouse" went we straightened our backs, got some of the mud off our boots, and proceeded to take what the gods (in this case the quartermaster) were good enough to give us. We always had two guesses, and we were always right. It was either bread and cheese, or bread and bully. If we were fortunate we might be able to purchase beer at a local hostelry, or Oxo at a village shop. If not so fortunate, the waterbottle or, if again lucky, a pocket-flask was brought into service.
The Kindly Shopkeeper.—Digressing for a moment, though, it may be mentioned that the various shopkeepers were always very, very good to us! They always supplied us with what we needed, if they had it, and they never put the prices up to us! At least, not much. For instance, if a resident could buy a pair of bootlaces for a penny, we were only occasionally charged more than threepence. Other things were in proportion, and Essex to-day has quite a lot of nice new shops, unknown before the advent of the First Sportsman's Battalion. It is pleasing to remember that a Navvy Battalion followed us!
To resume the trench digging. As we were later complimented on the quality of the work we did, we must have shone in the way of handling the pick and the spade. At the end of our labours, when the "fall in" was sounded, we were quite ready to say we were looking forward to a hot meal in our huts in camp, where, outside, the breezes whispered through the branches of the trees lining the drive, where the moon silvered the tin roofs of our living quarters, and all was bright and jolly—in the sergeants' mess!
So time sped away, and still we kept on wondering if we were forgotten. We sat by the fires in "stoves, hot, combustion slow," and we told the tale of the two highly placed War Office officials who were discussing the war years after it had finished. One had asked the other how the Sportsman's Battalion had shaped in "the Great Adventure," and then would come the climax. "Good God!" the other would say, "I've forgotten them. They're still at Hornchurch!"
All things have to come to a finish though, and so we found. We had night attacks, some three and four day route marches, even a recruiting march through Barking and its neighbourhood, we did our shooting tests, got through our bayonet exercises, had battalion drill in the early mornings, with a fair amount of ceremonial drill thrown in as a makeweight, and then came the rumour that a real big move was to be made, such a move that the departure for the Front could not be long delayed.
This was the move to Clipstone Camp for brigade training. We had heard so many rumours previously that we did not believe this, the latest, at first. But it was correct, and at last the Battalion, formed up in hollow square, was found on the parade ground at Grey Towers, where the Rector of Hornchurch bade us God speed and good cheer.
A few days later the Battalion, leaving two companies behind as depot companies, entrained at Hornchurch for the new camp at Clipstone.
There it went through brigade training, was equipped with its regimental transport, and afterwards moved to Candahar Barracks, Tidworth, to undergo divisional training with the 33rd Division, of which it formed a part.
Finally, after being reviewed with the Division by Queen Mary, acting in place of His Majesty the King, who was suffering from his accident sustained in France, all was in readiness for the next and biggest move of all.