Never had a field day passed without some reference to the 16th milestone on the Bedford Road, but on this particular day orders did not even mention the milestone.  This in itself was sufficient to convince us that real war had at length begun.  Long before the 16th milestone was sighted, we were diverted into a field, our kit was commented upon, and we marched back to the same old billets.  For convenience of reference this incident is entered in our diary as the march to France along the Bedford Road, and no bar was awarded.  The march formed a crisis in our history, for subsequent to it leave home was not sought so eagerly.  Positively the last words of farewell had been said, and it was difficult to devise other forms of good-bye nearer the absolute ultimate with which to engage our home friends, who, to our credit be it said, were just as anxious as we were.

It was about this time that our attention was drawn to the anomaly of the discharge rule.  A man who had served for four years could take his discharge as a time-expired soldier.  At the same time men were enlisting freely.  One young man of under 21 was said to have claimed his discharge on the very day that his grandfather, newly enlisted, entered upon three days’ “C.B.” for coming on parade with dirty boots.

It was in Luton, too, that we overcame our distrust and dislike of vaccination and inoculation against typhoid.  We remember C.S.M.  Lovett being inoculated in public to give a lead to others, and we smile now to think that in those days it was power of character and leadership only that accomplished things, and incidentally made the way smooth for a Government’s compulsory bill.

We were inspected several times, in fact so often that the clause “We are respected by everyone,” which comes in our regimental ditty—­(and how could it not!!)—­was given the alternative rendering “inspected.”  Twice his Majesty the King honoured us with a visit, and in addition General Ian Hamilton, Lord Kitchener, and others.

Regiments differ much; each has its peculiarities.  The 5th Leicestershire a county battalion, if in nothing else, excelled individually in work across country.  Though all may not have been as clever as “Pat” Collins (G.A.), who acted as guide to the commanding officer for many months—­and we have the commanding officer’s permission to add “counsellor and friend”—­there was never any difficulty in finding the way in the day or at night.  If we may anticipate our early days in France, a few months hence, we can remember being occupied all one night in extricating parties of men who had lost their way hopelessly in open country in the dark.  Those were men who came from a city battalion, brought up amongst labelled thoroughfares, street lamps, and brilliantly-illuminated shop windows.  We practised night work at Luton, and all was easy and natural, though we added to our experiences, as on the night when in the thrilling silence of a night attack the fair chestnut bolted with the machine gun; and having kicked two men and lost his character, reverted to the rank of officer’s charger.