Tiadatha’d learnt the lesson Which is learnt by every traveller, That wherever you may wander You should never be uncomfy Any longer than you’ve got to, Never play the Spartan hero When there isn’t any need to. If you set your mind upon it, You can always coax some comfort Out of life and barren hillsides, Coax it as you’d coax a fiver From a very mean old uncle. MELIDEN, N. WALES, _March 1918_. CHAPTER XII TIADATHA’S BATTLE Many stunts did Tiadatha In the line in front of Doiran. He would often go patrolling Right up to the Bulgar trenches; Sometimes he would bring a board back With a Bulgar notice on it Asking him and all the Dudshires To surrender and be matey. Down the steep Patte d’Oie he stumbled, Up and down the winding Jumeaux, Drawing bombs from Bulgar sentries, Drawing everlasting star-shells; He would take a Lewis gun out, Strafe a post or working party, Raid a trench of Johnny Bulgar’s, Blow up several concrete dug-outs, Bring some prisoners home to breakfast. Every day the German gunners Shelled his line with crumps and shrapnel, And for months the Royal Dudshires Never moved behind their field-guns. Winter passed with mud and blizzards, Spring-time brought the sun and flowers, Also rumours of advancing, Rumours of attacks in earnest. Tiadatha heard the story From his batman, who had got it Off the driver of a lorry, Who had gleaned it from a waiter In a Salonica café. There were mighty preparations, Practising attacks and what not; Guns sprang up in every corner, Sprang up in the night like mushrooms. Dumps like lucky dips were dotted In most unexpected places, Carefully covered with tarpaulins, Camouflaged with leaves and branches; Airmen all day long were busy Taking photographs of trenches, And the Staff wrote reams of orders, Reams and reams and reams of orders, And some more when those were finished. On the days before the battle All the British guns were firing, Cutting wire and pounding trenches And O.P.s and gun emplacements; Earth and stones went splashing skywards, Just as water in a river Splashes when you throw a rock in. Four days long the guns had thundered, When one starlit April evening Came the Dudshires’ mighty battle. Not a man in all the Dudshires, None who lived to see the daylight, Ever could forget that evening, Least of all my Tiadatha. Very clear it was and starlight, And a nightingale was singing Somewhere in among the bushes; Many of the soldiers heard it In the little lulls of firing, Heard its silver notes go throbbing Out into the April evening.