them what they were going to do.  ’Why, go to the Y.M.C.A., of course,’ they replied.  ’Is there really one here?  What luck!’ We all followed the guide.  It was in a market hall, but liberally placarded with the familiar Red Triangle, and so there was no mistaking it.  Like most other canteens of the Y.M. it had a long counter and about twelve small tables.  The ever-refreshing cup of tea and the good old English slab cake were in plenty, and we asked for nothing better....  It was quite exciting to sit and have tea at a table.  Afterwards there was a concert.  The artists were A.S.C. men, and, although very markedly amateur, we enjoyed the evening, which was decidedly a change from our usual evening of cards.  Unfortunately we marched away next day and so were unable to get full advantage from that depot.  It was one of the Y.M.’s smaller ventures and lacked many of the usual articles of comfort that their huts are renowned for.  However, it served its purpose.  Troops were able to procure English cigarettes and chocolates, and at the same time have a good tea and a jolly evening.  A toast to the Y.M. should always be drunk in hot tea, for supplying it to us in France.  It’s one of the chief blessings the Association confers on the army.”

The battalion was soon in huts some way behind the firing line.

Sydney Baxter writes to one of his friends in the office: 

“Glad to hear everything is O.K., and that you are still smiling.  Thank God for that.  Whatever happens, still keep smiling.  The greatest tonic out here is to know the girls are working so hard, and all the time willingly and smilingly.  We know you all miss the boys as they do you, and to read that our friends at home are enjoying themselves is enjoyment to us.  We are out to have the harder tasks, and we want you all at home to have the benefits.  That’s why we feel so bitter against the Air Raids.

“Well now, I am glad to write the usual formula.  I am very fit and well, and not having such a bad time; things are fairly quiet this side, but not for long, I hope.  Everyone is expecting a move and looking forward to it in the sense that it will help to finish the war.

“We have had much rain the last few days, and, as these tiny huts we’re in are not waterproof, we wake up in the morning soaked and lying in puddles.  It’s the limit, I can tell you.  However, we are on active service and so are not afraid of H2O.  Now, as to my Eastertide.  My Good Friday brought with it duty.  I was on Police Picket, much the same as a village policeman.  Our duties are to see every soldier is properly dressed with belt and puttees before going out, and that there are no suspicious persons around, that all lights are extinguished by 9.30, etc.  It’s not a bad job, but on a Good Friday it’s tough.

“Sunday was as usual,—­Church Parade in the morning, and free in the afternoon,