I knew a bird at 'Ammersmith and free or four at Bow, But that was 'fore the war begun, a damned long time ago; But I'm a blurry Tommy now and never lose a chance When far away from dear old Smoke to kiss the girls o' France. Never lose a chance, Lead the dears a dance, 'Twasn't bad at 'Ammersmith; God! It's fun in France! (_From "Forgotten Girls."_) It was early morning; the soldiers billeted in Y---- Farm were rousing themselves and making preparations for the march up towards the firing line. It was now coming towards the Christmas season; the weather was cold and rainy, the farmyard damp and muddy, and a haze rose over the midden in the centre of the yard. Inside the farmhouse two officers were sitting down at the only table eating a breakfast of bread, butter, eggs and tea. The soldiers were in the barn preparing their early meal. The barn seen in daylight was a cold, bleak, cheerless place, with a broken roof and rough uneven floor. The men shivered as they toiled. They had slept in the cold and felt frozen when they got up. A big fire had been lit in the byre beneath; the smoke filled the whole place and stung the eyes of the soldiers who worked at the cooking. Sergeant Snogger was superintending operations upstairs and fretting, fuming and coughing. He was in a very bad temper, having lost a week's wages at the gambling table the night before. "'Urry up, you men," he yelled. "I never seed as slummicky a crush in my natural. Ye're slouchin' about same as if ye were in the trenches. Come on Bowdy! Come on Fitz! Get a blurry move on, ye Spudhole! Ye're dowsy, men, ye're dowsy! Ye must wake up. We're off from here in an hour's time and we've a long march before us. We'll be in the trenches for Christmas." "Where are we stopping to-night?" asked Fitzgerald, who was pouring tea into a messtin of boiling water, brought up from the byre. "At the Ritz," said Snogger with fine irony. "I heard we were billeting at Vinant," someone remarked. "I thought we were bound for Bethune," Bowdy Benners said as he lifted a rasher of bacon from the lid of his messtin. "You thought," spluttered Snogger. "Gawd Almighty, man, you're not paid to think in the army! If you think too much you'll find yourself damned unlucky. Anyhow, you'll find things hot in the trenches when you get there this time, I'm telling you," he continued, lowering his voice. "There's big things in the wind. We are going up by slow stages. I'm glad that we're goin'. I don't like these rests; there's too much damned work to do. Give me the trenches when I'm on the look-out for a cushy time. It's better than 'ere." The sergeant took stock of the apartment with vigilant eyes. "Now this 'as to be swept out 'fore you go 'way," he said. "All fag-ends, straw and everything 'as to be cleaned out." "Wot's the 'ell good o' cleaning this caboosh," growled Bubb. "It can't be made clean."