, &c. Two
thousand feet passed muster, and boots were put on again.
The quartermaster's stores claimed our attention afterwards, and (p. 023)
the attendants there were almost uncannily kind. "Are you sure you've
got everything you want?" they asked us. "There mayn't be a chance to
get fitted up after this." Socks, pull-throughs, overcoats, regimental
buttons, badges, hats, tunics, oil-bottles, gloves, puttees, and laces
littered the floor and were piled on the benches. We took what we
required; no one superintended our selection.
At St. Albans, where we had been turned into soldiers, we often stood
for hours waiting until the quartermaster chose to give us a few
inches of rifle-rag; here a full uniform could be obtained by picking
it up. And our men were wise in selecting only necessities; they still
remembered the march of the day before. All took sparingly and chose
wisely. Fancy socks were passed by in silence, the homely woollen
article, however, was in great demand. Bond Street was forgotten. The
"nut" was a being of a past age, or, if he still existed, he was
undergoing a complete transformation. Also he knew what socks were
best for the trenches.
At noon we were again ready to set out on our journey. A tin of
bully-beef and six biscuits, hard as rocks, were given to each man (p. 024)
prior to departure. Sheepskins were rolled into shape and fastened on
the tops of our packs, and with this additional burden on the shoulder
we set out from the rest-camp and took our course down the hill.
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