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more than that, except that our mobile columns
would probably make them worse.

Meanwhile there was abundance of real dairy but-
ter, and I sent some across to Aunt Evelyn every week.

At the end of the third week in January my future
as an Irish hunting man was conclusively foreshort-
ened. My name came through on a list of officers
ordered to Egypt. After thinking it over, I decided,
with characteristic imbecility, that I would much
rather go to France. I had got it fixed in my mind
that I was going to France, and to be informed that
I was going to Egypt instead seemed an anti-climax.
I talked big to myself about Palestine being only a
side-show; but I also felt that I should put up a better
performance with a battalion where I was already
known. So I wired to the C.O. of our second battalion
asking him to try and get me posted to them; but my
telegram had no result, and I heard afterwards that
the C,O. had broken his leg the day after it arrived,
riding along a frost-slippery street in Ypres. I don't
suppose that the War Office would have posted me to
him in any case; and I only record it as one of life's
little contrasts—that while I was enjoying myself with
the Limerick Hounds, one of our most gallant and
popular senior officers—himself a fine horseman—
was being put out of action while riding quietly along
a road in the town which held the record for being
knocked to ruins by crumps.

A day or two later, greatly to my disgust, I was
despatched to Cork to attend an anti-gas course. I
didn't take my studies very seriously, as I'd heard it
all before and there was nothing new to learn. So on
the fourth and last day I cut the exam, and had a
hunt with the Muskerry Hounds. I had introduced
myself to a well-known horse-dealer in Cork who