Many villages they came to,
Villages as like as marbles,
With a little church, a duck pond,
And a local pub, which furnished
Nothing in the world but vin rouge
(“Two vins, please, Miss,” called the Dudshires),
Beer as thin as tissue paper,
And (sometimes) a drop of cognac:
There were bars in which the soldiers
Slept on straw and ate and grumbled,