"You're damned unlucky about dinner," said Snogger, coming up at that moment. "There's no dinner, not yet for a while, anyhow. We're going away from 'ere by buses soon as they come along."
"Where to?" asked Bowdy Benners.
"'Ome," Snogger answered sarcastically. "'Ome to the trenches. Big doins up there, I s'pose."
"It's like the blurry Army," Bubb remarked with an air of finality. "Turnin' us out to fight when we're just ready for a bit o' grub. I never could 'old with this 'ere war. Look, there they come, curse 'em!"
An omnibus came in sight, then a second, a third; coming from a village through which the battalion had just passed. As the vehicles drew up the spirits of the soldiers seemed to rise, jokes were passed with the drivers, mock enquiries were made and jesting answers were given: "Is this the bus for Wandsworth?" "Not this one—next along this way, No. 32." "Fares, please." "Full inside; room for two on top," etc.
The soldiers got on to the buses, which set off hurriedly when all were aboard. Nobody seemed to know where the battalion was bound for, but all anticipated big things ahead. The soldiers' hearts vibrated with a strange expectant thrill—something great was going to happen. Where? When? The men asked one another, but none could answer the questions. They stood on the threshold of great events; children outside the door of a chamber of mysteries.
CHAPTER V
MARCHING
The good French girls will cook brown loaves above the oven fire,
And while they do the daily toil of barn and bench and byre,
They'll think of hearty fellows gone and sigh for them in vain—
The billet boys, the London lads who won't return again.