Before leaving England we had been issued with two wonderful pamphlets on embarkation and landing, containing, amongst other details, some remarkable returns of great length and complexity which had to be given to various railway, embarkation, and landing officials. The compilation of these returns had wellnigh deprived the Orderly-Room Sergeant of his wits, and but for the fact that he was to join that mysterious body called "3rd Echelon," we might have felt inclined to abandon the returns in order to save his reason. However, done they were. The next thing was to get rid of them. This proved even more difficult than their compilation; in fact, in the end we had to admit defeat. Every official wearing "tabs," a "brassard," or in any other way disclosing an official capacity, was offered these returns. Persuasion, threats, entreaties, demands were tried in turn without success. As a last resource, just as the train was moving off, they were thrust into the hands of the R.T.O. at Boulogne, who, however, hastily returned them, muttering that they were as dead as the dodo, and retaliated by presenting us with a Movement Order and a sheaf of papers dealing with the manifold responsibilities of O.C. Train. The journey up from the Base has been so often described that it requires no particular notice here. It is a long and stately process. The train, when it moves at all, which is only occasionally and for short periods, makes a great deal of fuss about it; but if you should happen to be wandering about on the permanent way, in spite of orders to the contrary, you can always walk after it and climb on board once more. For the new-comer there was much of interest. On the outskirts of Boulogne the train passed huge dumps of war material of every possible description--guns, ammunition, wagons, trucks, stores, etc., with which gangs of "P.B." men, "Chinks," and other miscellaneous persons were coping in a leisurely fashion. As the train proceeded, the scenery of Northern France began to unfold itself. It is not very interesting--flat for the most part and agricultural, but full of differences from our own English country. The lack of hedges, the strange advertisements, the women at the level-crossings with their quaint horns, all struck a fresh note, especially for those who had never crossed the Channel before, even in the days of peace.