THE RETURN-LEAVE TRAIN.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXVII, Issue 17926, 21 October 1918, Page 3

THE RETURN-LEAVE TRAIN.

The Return-Leave train has become one of tho institutions of our national life. Every family in, the land has seen it, either in reality or in vision, steaming away from Victoria into the Unknown Country. The;;e is a “ Staff Train ' in the afternoon, but one does no I associate poignancy with red tabs. You will see the real leave-takings if you go to Victoria in the raw of the morning. Subalterns, • sergeants, gapphfs .' rt company commanders and cooks travel by tins early special to * ranee. The afternoon train is filled with concentrated B’s—Brigadiers, Brass-hats, Brigade-majors; and with them n sprinkling of uurscs, V.A-D.’s. politicians proceeding Paris-wards, “ Waaes,” journalists travelling to Headquarters for a Cook’s tour of .the front,, financiers, pacifists, spies, and - larger and smaller fry of all varieties, . - - I ■ This being the account of an ordinary infantry subaltern we arc* not concerned with the Staff train. We hare seen it. Some day rre hopo te ride in it. Let us therefore return to the Tommy’s Special, to our corporals and cooks, to the men who will live W’th us the life of trench and billet. An hour and a hslfbefoto its time of departure some of then begin to arrive —drafts from Ireland and the north, Australians, Canadians, men from the counties, and front London, little groups of sleep-heavy soldiers, slung around with the amazing impedimenta of warpack. gas-masks, shrapnel-helmet, water-bottle, bandoliers, wallet, all of which go to tho make-up o', the British soldier’s field equipmuent.. .’ We stand about on the platform, smoking, chatting, furtively eyeing those who are to be our travelling companions, avoiding the eyes of mother and sweetheart. nutting' up a fine pretence of cheerfulness. The crowd begins to thicken. The atmosphere, grows heavy with cheap smoke. Military police prowl up and down. Officers begin to report to the R.T.O, and the long train gradually fills.

You know these awkward partings—tremulous deep thoughts unsaid, hopes unexpressed, brave attempts at nonchalance; over it all the sen:c of Kismet. Yuiu subaltern who has* been “ out. before affects an air of boredom. Mrous along the platform emitting whiffs of smoke, and regards with amused derision tho obviously new-hand. The breakfast saloons exhale appetising odours of coffee and bacon. Sev-' urai biudeiied subs, have already taken their places at the tables and are ordering* their meals with magnificent unconcern. Outside on the platform thi- lust "good-byes” are spoken; but not with words. Blight? seems yev dear during these final Render-bitter moments. Youth is calling to love and Life. But there is a grim job to do. And all the world seems grey. Finally the long train glides quietly away from the platform. There is a weird suggestion of ifinalitr about- it ns it rolls over Grosve.nor Bridge and disappears round tlio bend bv Battersea. ‘Wo grow cheerful after breakfast. Youth is youth after all; and there is Adventure ahead. “What part of the Line are you going to?” says one old-stager to an°t“loh. the same merry old spot—the salient.” replies the other. . « What a mess of a place • I had six months at V ipers!” The conversation, . couched foi the n,am part in lurid expletives, becomes reminiscent. The two direover mu ua friends in the tram. and for the last hour of the run they plav hi idge. Thus does England M ™ r *“ “ Grenade,” in the ", Daily Mail.