The trip we have just made was tremendously exciting. Although it was
night-time when we went up the river, this did not detract in the least
from the reception our men got. All the villagers turned out, fired
off crackers, and hung Chinese lanterns on the trees on the sides of
the hills. This had a very charming effect. Towards midnight, however,
a thick fog set in, and we were obliged to anchor till morning. The
fog cleared away about 6 A.M., and we found ourselves lying opposite
a small village which seemed to be deep in slumber. Not for long,
though. Our men began to sing “It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,”
“Rule, Britannia,” and “The girl I left behind me.” Window blinds went
up, windows were thrown open, and people came out on to the verandahs
in their “nighties” waving British flags, laughing and cheering and
singing. By Jove, it sounded fine. Just imagine, if you can, high
wooded slopes on each side, and this little village nestling amongst
the trees; the morning mist quickly rising to reveal a bright sunny
day, and you have it. One party of girls came down to the river-bank
and started singing in return in French, much to everyone’s amusement,
as it was easy to see they had just tumbled out of bed. The quayside
was very busy that day, as a large number of ships were all discharging
horses, men, guns, and all the munitions of war. The whole of the
population turned out, and as our men rode away in a never-ending line
one’s heart thrilled with pride, so businesslike and smart did they
look in their khaki, their bronzed faces giving them the appearance
of first-rate old campaigners, and inspiring everyone who saw them
with the greatest confidence. I have seen many soldiers of many
nationalities, but never soldiers who were a patch on those we are
sending across to fight our battles. Good fortune be with them, and God
bless them, is all I can say: _An Anonymous Sergeant_.