Excerpt from Men and Tanks

Tosh was seated in the officers coach of a troop-train, waiting for it to start. He had been similarly engaged, off and on, for seventy-five minutes, having arisen with the lark from a comfortable bed at the officers club in order not to miss what was, according to the local R.T.O., "the only punctual train in France."

As he mused contentedly on his doings of the past fortnight, his eyes roamed over the station platform. Under the watchful scrutiny of two red-caps, a stream of soldiers was entering, reinforcements, if only in virtue of the cleanliness of their iron-ration bags. Between the ticket-office and the hut, sacred to the R.T.O., a glimpse could be caught of that quaint little train by which Tosh had so often journeyed to the seaside health-resort some six miles out of town.

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