On the next day Tiadatha Got his gent.’s complete equipment, Messed about with straps and buckles, Set upon it his revolver, Ammunition-pouch and compass, Stuffed the pack to overflowing, With some little things he couldn’t, Really couldn’t leave behind him. Not a man in all the Dudshires Had a pack like Tiadatha’s; When he put it on he tottered As a very strong man totters Carrying a grand piano, As a railway porter totters Humping trunks of Yankee travellers. “This is War,” said Tiadatha, As he went on the parade ground For his final march in England. Very cheerful were the Dudshires As they swung along the high road, Marching to the railway station, Off to do a job for England, Singing all the songs of those days, Playing “Keep the Home Fires Burning” On their fourpenny mouth-organs. And the simple folk of Dudshire Turned out in their scores to see them, Smiling through their tears they watched them. Standing in the cottage doorways, Waving from the cottage windows. As he sang each soldier wondered How long it would be, before he Saw again those smiling faces, Little knowing how he’d miss them, Sigh for all those smiling faces, For the sunny downs of Dudshire, For the mellow ale of Dudshire, In the days that were to follow. Then they reached the railway station, Journeyed down by train to Folkestone, And embarked upon their transport For the land of war and trenches. Should you ask me of their sailing, Ask me if the bands were playing, Buglers blowing, bagpipes wailing, Sirens tooting, people cheering, If the Quay were thronged with watchers Waving to their sons and husbands, Blowing kisses to their sweethearts, And the soldiers on the troopship Lining all along the taffrail, Singing loudly “Rule Britannia” (You have very likely heard it, _The Departure of the Troopship_, On some gramophone or other), I should make reply and tell you. There was not a band or bugle, Not a single watcher waving, Not a single soldier singing On the night that Tiadatha Sailed for France upon a troopship. Silently they left the station, Silently embarked at midnight, No one talking, no one smoking, Not a sound except the tramping Of the men along the gangway, And the gurgling water-bottles, And the rattle of equipment. Like a shadow lay the transport, Like a ghost she cast her moorings, And with her destroyer escort Steamed away into the darkness.