After a while we decided to lunch. We came to a café and halted.
"Have you coffee?" we asked.
"Ima."
"Will you give us all coffee?"
"We have no sugar," said the hostess; so we had no coffee.
We got out a tin of biscuits and lunched on those. As we were passing them round a soldier stopped.
"What are you selling those for?" he asked, under the impression that we were a travelling shop. We gave him some, to his great astonishment.
On we went again. Down below us in a field the corporal spotted a hayrick. Like stage villains the coachmen clambered down the hill, each with a rope—spoil from the discarded tents. They attacked the rick and soon nothing was left. As they staggered back, each hidden beneath an enormous load of hay—looking themselves like walking ricks—a Turk in black and white clothes ran down from above furiously brandishing a three-pronged fork.
"What are you doing?" he yelled.
The corporal stood stiffly and said—