Very wisely Tiadatha And his friend the gunner captain Went and bagged a carriage early, Went and bagged a first-class carriage That had still some cushions in it And some glass left in the windows, Chalked up “Captain Tiadatha And three officers” upon it, Got two merchants who were going One night only on the journey, After which they shared the carriage Tiadatha and the gunner. Early every day they halted, Washed in buckets by the trainside, Shaved and strolled about a little, Sometimes snatched a hurried breakfast At the buffet of a station. Spent the long, long days in reading, Pulling mutual friends to pieces, Talking over raids and battles, Talking over all their leave plans, Ate their very sketchy luncheons, Ate their very uncouth dinners, Cleaned their plates with bits of paper, Cleaned their knives and forks with paper, Living in acute discomfort, Pigging as they’d seldom pigged it, Turning out sometimes at Rest Camps Just to stretch their legs a little, Have a bath and get some dinner. Every night they got a fug up, Got a most uncommon fug up, Boarded up the broken windows, Lighted quite a dozen candles. All along the rack they stuck them, Stuck them on the greasy arm-rests, Got the carriage warm and cosy, Then unrolled their fat valises, Slept beneath a pile of blankets Soundly as a pair of kittens. Thus nine days and nights they travelled, All through Italy they travelled, Found at Havre their troopship waiting, Sailed at dusk upon the troopship, Sailed all night without adventure. As the dawn broke Tiadatha Saw the coast of England rising Through the misty winter’s morning, Felt his heart go beating wildly As when lover meets his mistress, Longed to kiss his lovely England, Take her in his arms and kiss her, As a son might kiss his mother. Got ashore and humped his kit off, Then went streaking up to London Making for his loved St. James’s. B.E.F., FRANCE, _August 1918_. CHAPTER XVIII HOME AT LAST Waterloo the same as ever With its old familiar noises, Hustle, bustle and excitement, Hurrying feet and anxious faces, People staggering with parcels, People pushing for their luggage, And the whistling of the engines, And the rattling of the milk cans, And the shouting of the newsboys— Thus it greeted Tiadatha Very much the same as ever, Though he found a dearth of porters, Found it hard to get a porter, Harder still to get a taxi. Who can tell of that first journey, That first taxi drive in London, Of the exile from the trenches, Of the wanderer returning— Almost every street and building Bringing back a recollection Like a long-forgotten perfume?