Once down at the parade-ground we looked about for “Section E” and found their lines in the hundreds of rows of bell-tents. Life for the next few days was indeed “hand to mouth.” We had to go on a tent-pitching fatigue under a sergeant who kept up a continual flow of astoundingly profane oaths. Food came down our lines but seldom. When it did come you had to fetch it in a huge “dixie” and grope with your hands at the bits of gristle and bone which floated in a lot of greasy water. Some one bought a box of sardines in the next tent. “Goin' ter share 'em round?” said a hungry voice. “Nah blooming fear I ain't--wot yer tike me for--eh?” Every one was starving. I had managed to fish a lump of bone with a scrag of tough meat on it from the lukewarm slosh in our “dixie.” But some one who was very hungry and very big came along and snatched it away before I could get my teeth in it. We had continually to “fall in” in long rows and answer our names. This was “roll-call,” and roll-call went on morning, noon, and night. Even when your own particular roll-call was not being called you could hear some other corporal or sergeant shouting-- “Jones F.--Wiggins, T.--Simons, G.-- Harrison, I....” and so on all day long. There were no ground-sheets to the tents. We squatted in the mud, and we had one blanket each, which was simply crawling. We were indeed in a far worse condition than many savages. Then came the rain. We huddled into the tents. There were twenty-two in mine, and, as a bell-tent is full up with eighteen, you may imagine how thick the atmosphere became. One old man would smoke his clay-pipe with choking twist tobacco. Most of the others smoked rank and often damp “woodbines.” The language was thick with grumbling and much swearing. At first it was not so bad. But some one touched the side of the tent and the rain began to dribble through. Then we found a tiny stream of wet slowly trickling along underneath the tent-walls towards the tent-pole, and by night time we were lying and sitting in a pool of mud. About a week later when the sergeant-major told us on parade that we were “going to Tipperary” we all laughed, and no one believed it. But the next day they marched us down to the Government siding and locked us all in a train, which took us right away to Fishguard. Some of the men got some bread-and-cheese before starting, but I, in company with a good many others, did not. The boat was waiting when they bundled us out on the quay. It was a cattle-boat and very small and very smelly. There were no cabins or accommodation of any sort: only the cattle-stalls down below. Six hundred of us got aboard. Out of the six hundred, five hundred were sick. It was a very rough crossing, and we were all starving and shivering. I had nothing but what I stood up in--shirt, shorts, and cowboy-hat, and my old haversack, which contained soap, towel and razor, and also a sketch-book and a small colour-box.