On the morning of the third day we passed a French destroyer with a small prize in tow, and rejoiced greatly, and towards evening we dropped anchor off Havre.  On either side of the narrow entrance to the docks there were cheering crowds, and we cheered back, thrilled, occasionally breaking into the soldier’s anthem, “It’s a long, long way to Tipperary."[3]

We disembarked at a secluded wharf, and after waiting about for a couple of hours or so—­we had not then learned to wait—­we were marched off to a huge dim warehouse, where we were given gallons of the most delicious hot coffee, and bought scrumptious little cakes.

It was now quite dark, and, for what seemed whole nights, we sat wearily waiting while the horses were taken off the transport.  We made one vain dash for our quarters, but found only another enormous warehouse, strangely lit, full of clattering waggons and restive horses.  We watched with wonder a battery clank out into the night, and then returned sleepily to the wharf-side.  Very late we found where we were to sleep, a gigantic series of wool warehouses.  The warehouses were full of wool and the wool was full of fleas.  We were very miserable, and a little bread and wine we managed to get hold of hardly cheered us at all.  I feared the fleas, and spread a waterproof sheet on the bare stones outside.  I thought I should not get a wink of sleep on such a Jacobean resting-place, but, as a matter of fact, I slept like a top, and woke in the morning without even an ache.  But those who had risked the wool——!

We breakfasted off the strong, sweet tea that I have grown to like so much, and some bread, butter, and chocolate we bought off a smiling old woman at the warehouse gates.  Later in the morning we were allowed into the town.  First, a couple of us went into a cafe to have a drink, and when we came out we found our motor-cycles garlanded with flowers by two admiring flappers.  Everywhere we went we were the gods of a very proper worship, though the shopkeepers in their admiration did not forget to charge.  We spent a long, lazy day in lounging through the town, eating a lot of little meals and in visiting the public baths—­the last bath I was to have, if I had only known it, for a month.  A cheery, little, bustling town Havre seemed to us, basking in a bright sunshine, and the hopes of our early overwhelming victory.  We all stalked about, prospective conquerors, and talked fluently of the many defects of the German army.

Orders came in the afternoon that we were to move that night.  I sat up until twelve, and gained as my reward some excellent hot tea and a bit of rather tough steak.  At twelve everybody was woken up and the company got ready to move.  We motor-cyclists were sent off to the station.  Foolishly I went by myself.  Just outside what I thought was the station I ran out of petrol.  I walked to the station and waited for the others.  They did not come.  I searched the station, but found nothing