Boozy voices yelled out—
“'S long way... Tipper-airy...”
“Good-bye, Bill... 'ave... 'nother swig?”
“Don't ferget ter write, Bill...”
“Aw-right, Liz... Good-bye, Albert...”
We were locked in the carriage. There was much shouting and laughing.... And so to Aldershot.
CHAPTER II. A LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY
Aldershot was a seething swarm of civilians who had enlisted. Every class and every type was to be seen. We found out the R.A.M.C. depot and reported. A man sat at an old soapbox with a lot of papers, and we had to file past him. This was in the middle of a field with row upon row of bell-tents.
“Name?” he snapped.