Very soon my Tiadatha Got to know the faces near him, Got to know his brother patients; They exchanged some lurid details Of their wounds and operations, Finding that a touch of shrapnel Always makes the whole world kindred. And he soon got fit to grumble, Grouse and grumble at his diet, Groused that it was mostly liquid, Yet without a drop of whisky; As an exile in the tropics Pines to smell an English primrose, So poor thirsty Tiadatha Pined to smell a Scotch-and-Soda. Gradually came convalescence, Days made up of little trials, Days made up of little pleasures, Days of unaccustomed idling, Pleasant days of doing nothing; Every morning after breakfast He would lie back on his pillows, Read his _Balkan News_ in comfort, Spend his day in eating, sleeping, Killing flies and reading novels, Writing to his green-eyed Phyllis, Taking very nasty medicine, Listening to another’s snoring; And sometimes a Dudshire brother Came and saw him for a minute, Brought some scandal from the trenches, Did my Tiadatha’s heart good. Then at last there came a morning When his smiling sister told him, “Yes, you _may_ get up this morning, Walk about a bit this morning.” In his good time, Tiadatha Washed and shaved and got some clothes on, Tried to walk about a little, Felt as though the bones were missing From his knees and from his ankles, Tottered as a baby totters Staggering from chair to table, Called his sympathetic sister, Found her arm was very helpful. Slowly like a tide his strength came, Like a rising tide his strength came, Like a rising wind his spirits. And he sat out in the sunshine, Pottered round the wards and compounds Chatting to a wounded Tommy, Chatting to a Dudshire brother, Wrote more letters, read more novels, Played the gramophone for ages, Played a game of bridge and poker, Went for picnics with his sister, Sometimes by the sandy seashore, Sometimes on a shady hillside, Recking little of the matron. Then one afternoon the General Came into the ward to see him, Pinned a ribbon on his tunic, Pinned the M.C. ribbon on him, Saying, “Well done, Tiadatha, May you have long life to wear it!” Whereupon my Tiadatha Very nearly asked the General What on earth he’d done to get it, Done to earn that precious ribbon, Having hazy recollections Of that most unpleasant evening. But was very bucked about it, Sent a cable to his mother, Sent one to his green-eyed Phyllis, Held a little celebration At the French Club on the quiet, Did himself so very proudly That his temperature went soaring In the morning like a skylark. * * * * *