Forty-three were told off to our car and here the first taste of active service really began. We were three days on board that train, but not only could we not lie down, but there was not enough room to even sit down, and when we rested we took it by relays. However, with songs and cheers the train pulled out, and in spite of our cramped quarters we managed to be happy and enjoy our first glimpse of "La Belle France." Vociferous were the exclamations of the French at every place we stopped. Women would draw their forefingers about their throats, signifying the cutting of that part of the human frame, with the word, "Allemand," signifying German. An old man, too old to serve in the army, made the motion of a bayonet thrust, informing us--at least we guessed that was what he meant--to so treat the hated Allemands. We were always surrounded by crowds of souvenir hunters, which did not disturb us at first but before we had half finished our journey they became an unmitigated nuisance, and the boys were not long in letting them know their safety depended on the distance they kept away. At last on a bleak, raw morning, we detrained at a spot where was witnessed a desperate encounter between the British and Germans in the early part of the war. A mile or so from the place is the town of Hazebrouck. It was here that the terrible toll of this conflict was brought home to us. Line after line of wooden crosses, with the names and regiments of the men who lay beneath, stretched for an appalling distance. Since then a fearful number of graves has been added, including thousands of our boys of Canada, following the battle of Ypres. Later on I noticed the poppies that abound all through sunny France, waving their pretty heads between the crosses, which gave inspiration for that beautiful poem by Lieutenant John McCrae, originally published, I believe, in the London _Punch_. It is well worth repeating: IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flanders fields the poppies grow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; while in the sky The larks still bravely singing fly Unheard amid the guns below. We are the Dead! Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset's glow, Loved, and were loved; and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe; To you from failing hands we throw The torch--be yours to hold it high, If ye break faith with us We shall not sleep 'though poppies blow In Flanders fields. After detraining we were placed in billets, ours consisting of an old barn. The near-by farm was being run by the women of the place, all the men folks being away in the trenches. These people must have made a small fortune, as the boys bought eggs, butter, coffee, etc., in abundance.