It was at about that stage that word reached us of one or two men falling out from the rear companies. At this "the Peacemaker" began jogging up and down the left of our Company--we march on the right of the road in France--and, for all his sore heels and tremendous coat, showing the skittishness of a two-year-old. And he's even good years older than any of the rest of us, or than anyone else in the Company. I chipped my fellows into starting up another song, and my Platoon Sergeant cheerfully passed the word round that if anybody in No. 1 dared to fall out he'd disembowel him with a tin-opener. As an actual fact not a single "A" Company man did fall out, though in the last lap I was a bit nervy about old Tommy Dodd in 3 Section, whose rifle I carried, and one or two others. At the end "the Peacemaker" was carrying the rifles of two men, and everybody was thankful for walls to lean against when we stood easy in this village. My chaps were splendid. "Stick it, Tommy Dodd!" I said to the old boy once, near the end. His good old face was all twisted with the pain of his feet and the mass of extra kit which no doubt his wife had made him carry. "Stick it!" says he, with his twisted grin. "Why, I'm just beginning to enjoy it, sir. Just getting into me stride, I am. I wouldn't 've missed this for all the beer in England, sir. But you wait till we get alongside them blighted Boches, sir, an' see if I don't smarten some of 'em for this. I'll give 'em sore 'eels!" It was only by lying to the extent of at least ten years that the old thing was able to enlist, and you couldn't get him to "go sick" if you drove him with a whip. The only way old Tommy Dodd's spirit could be broken would be if you sent him to the depot and refused him his chance of "smartening them blighted Boches." Everyone in the village was asleep when we got there, but on the door we found chalked up (as it might be "Lot So-and-so" at a sale) "1 Officer, 25 men, 'A' Coy.," and so on. We officers shed our packs and coats in the road--the joy of that shedding!--and went round with our platoons picking out their quarters, and shepherding them in before they could fall asleep. We knocked up the inhabitants, who came clattering out in clogs, with candle-ends in big lanterns. Most remarkably cheery and good-natured they all seemed, for that time of day; mostly women, you know, you don't find many home-staying men in France to-day. The most of the men's billets are barns and granaries, and there is a good supply of straw. I can tell you there was no need to sound any "Lights Out" or "Last Post." No. 1 Platoon just got down into their straw like one man, and no buck at all about it.