Slowly the day drags on. For fear that anything should be late, everything has been finished hours too soon. One last visit is paid to our old haunts and our old friends, and now it is time to collect our kit and get ready for the parade--"_the_ parade," we call it, because it is different from all others. Never since the days of 1914 have we paraded with such alacrity and "dressed" with such zeal. Weird rites prescribed by King's Regulations for regiments proceeding on active service are about to be performed. The moon shines brightly, as befits this solemn ceremony. Two sergeants, not proceeding with the battalion, are standing by while the roll is called, and woe betide the absentee with such witnesses to proclaim his guilt! Surely no one, having waited so long, will now miss the chance, but yet something seems to be wrong. Company Sergeant-Majors and the Regimental Sergeant-Major are in solemn conclave with the Orderly Sergeants. Two men are missing. Reference is promptly made to the Adjutant, who is standing by, and more discussion follows. It is all right, no one has missed his chance, but the Commanding Officer's and Adjutant's servants are proceeding by taxi to the station in charge of some kit. And now it is time to move off. As companies in turn form fours and move out of the barrack gate, it is odd to feel that we shall never again execute this familiar movement on this well-remembered spot. Quietly, in the dead of night, we move down on the frosty road to Brookwood Station. The battalion is to go in two trains, with a short interval between, the second train under the orders of Major C. W. Wilson. At Brookwood the ladies of the district are dispensing hot drinks and buns. Modern conditions have taken away the glamour of war. No longer do we leave for the fight amid a crowd of cheering people, with flags flying and bugles blowing. The ladies of Brookwood, and our unlucky pals who could not bluff the doctor, are the only ones to see us depart, but their send-off leaves nothing to be desired. The run to Folkestone was only a matter of a couple of hours, and the early morning light saw us detraining at the Jetty Station. Here the arrangements were excellent. The R.T.O. was full of information, and guides appeared to conduct the troops to the Rest Camp. This was a crescent of pre-war lodging-houses and an hotel, all railed in. As the companies marched through the gate, the guides took them to their destined houses, where breakfast was served. The officers were conducted to the hotel and similarly provided for. The hour of parade for embarkation was simultaneously communicated to officers and men.