The Journey

Our reward for joining the army was a massive celebration on a national scale as we paraded through London to the cheers of millions of onlookers, some crying, others throwing us chocolates and cigarettes for our hopefully short stay in France. On of the things that I remember finding strange about the whole thing was that there weren't just British people, there were people who ahd signed up from Australia and India as well, who weren't threatened by the war themselves but, as part of the British empire, were obliged to send some sort of force to help us in the slog.

As the march finished outside Buckingham Palace a huge cannon fired, its thunderous noise reverberating of the white walls of the Monarch's residence. And so began a minutes silence, to remember all those who had already given their brave lives out there in the killing fields.

Then the goodbyes had been said and I was waiting at Piccadilly train station. A steady stream of people entered the thronging trains and I couldn't help but wonder how many of them would still be alive and well after the war, and what awaited them during it. My train came, the 5:45 to Ypres. I bounced aboard, my stomach full of sausages and eggs, what would be the best meal i had for a long time.

4 Hours into the journey, the peace of my compartment was disrupted my an obviously already established group of friends. They were a cheery bunch, and promptly plonked themselves down on the seat next to me. There was one slightly plump camp looking one who introduced himself as Spatrick (www.myworldwar.blogspot.com), a man of medium build with a prominent nose called Mund (www.bangwazoo.blogspot.com), another called Hugh (www.myww1trenchdiary.blogspot.com), Chrisps Mcboner (www.oychimichi.blogspot.com) and last and least Chrabbott (www.trenchdiary2.blogspot.com).

I chatted with them for the rest oif the journey, and when we reached Ypres got given 10 press-ups for talking with them by my our new man in charge, Corporal Bellenden.