Soon they reached Itea village, Put up at the local Rest Camp, At the ever-present Rest Camp. Spent three warm and sunny days there, And my happy Tiadatha Quickly found a kindred spirit, Found a red tabbed gunner captain, Wandered with him round the village That lay sleepy in the sunlight, Yet awake to pouch the drachmae Of the passing British soldier. And they rowed out to an island, Lay and watched the sea for ages Underneath a cloudless heaven, With a pleasant sense of freedom, Sense of having slipped the handcuffs Of the army for a little. Did a bit of tripperising, Went to see the sights of Delphi, Delphi in its ancient splendour, In the ruins of its splendour, Standing high upon the hillside, Looking on the Gulf of Corinth. Wandered round and saw the Oracle, Wandered round and saw the Stadium, Where of old the Greeks ran races; Toed the mark and ran a hundred, To the wonder of some Frenchmen, Who were also tripperising. Then one afternoon the leave boat Steamed into the tiny harbour, And at dawn the morning after Bore rejoicing Tiadatha And his party off to Taranto. Every time the steamer’s screw turned, Every single knot she covered, Tiadatha felt his heart thrill, Felt his England drawing nearer, Felt St. James’s drawing nearer, And the things he loved so well there. And they dodged the lurking U-boats That were hanging round like footpads, Came to anchor at Taranto, In Taranto’s crowded harbour, Where the seaplanes skim like seagulls O’er the surface of the water. Disembarked and found the Rest Camp, Yet another Army Rest Camp, Sumptuous to Tiadatha After those of Macedonia, Which had usually consisted Of a dozen flapping bell tents, Pitched upon a windy hillside. And they found Taranto crowded, Crawling with expensive Generals Waiting for their turn with others. Vanished were their hopes of Rapide, Hopes of going on by Rapide, Seeing Rome and seeing Paris. “Never mind,” said Tiadatha, To the red-tabbed gunner captain, “Every day we hang about here, Every day the journey’s lengthened, Means a day of warfare over, Means the end a little nearer.” So they sojourned at the Rest Camp, Loafed about and wrote some letters, Patronised the bar when open, Quaffing Bass again with gusto, And at six o’clock one evening Started on the daily troop train, Started on their journey Northwards.