TO FRANCE (APRIL 1917) The boat was crowded.

Khaki, everywhere khaki; lifebelts, rain and storm, everything soaked.

Destroyers, churning through the waves, played strange games all round us.

Some old-time Tommies, taking everything for granted, smoked and laughed and told funny stories.
Others had the look of dumb animals in pain, going to what they knew only too well.

The new hands for France asked many questions, pretended to laugh, pretended not to care, but for the most part were in terror of the unknown.
It was strange to watch this huddled heap of humanity, study their faces and realise that perhaps half of them would meet a bloody end before a new moon was over, and wonder how they could do it, why they did it--Patriotism?
Yes, and perhaps it was the chance of getting home again when the war was over.