It was when we were marching out from broken houses about the minehead at Annequin that we first met again our old stable companions, the Royal Irish--and that I first saw Willie Redmond in France at the head of his company.
He was on foot as always, for he never could be persuaded to ride while the men were marching, and I never saw more geniality of greeting on any countenance than was on his when he came up with outstretched hand to where I was sitting by the roadside--for we had halted to see them go by.

Here was a man utterly in his element, radiant literally in the enthusiasm of his devotion.

He refused to listen to our talk of the bad time we had been through in the place where they were to succeed us (and in two winters of that war I never saw worse); all his talk was of the good time which we should have in the billets we were going to, which they had just left.

Back there, in and about Allouagne, they rejoined us; and I remember dining with him in his company mess and hearing his eulogies of the splendid fellows that his company officers were.

Then, about the time we moved up into trenches, our first leaves began and he got home in March.