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on their journey. It took hours to put the cavalry regiment aboard their ships. Both Lucas’ squadron, featuring the Harvey brothers and the one led by Francis Grenfell, boarded HMT Welshman slowly, walking and slinging the horses aboard. The whole experience was an uncomfortable strain on the animals. The Welshman was ‘merely a converted cattle-boat’ and the officers spent much of their time below with their mounts attempting to care for them. Glad of the fine weather, they then curled up in the open and attempted to sleep on deck. At Boulogne, disembarking was again a particularly trying time. Horses ran off and men gave chase while others lounged on the quay waiting for orders. Finally they faced a 3-mile march to a rest camp littered with bell tents.
    The following day a weird and numerous collection of French interpreters turned up. All of the cavalry regiments were receiving such men, who were in the main well-to-do French reservists who would live with the NCOs. Provided by the French authorities, their allocation varied. The 3rd Hussars got a dozen, whilst the Household Cavalry Composite regiment got two, quickly dubbed ‘Tired Tim’ and ‘Weary Willie’. The Ninths appeared with a large supply of maps ‘on which it would have been possible to follow every stage of the expected advance of the BEF across France and the Rhine to Berlin, had the fortunes of war not led it in exactly the opposite direction, of which there were few, if any maps available.’
    As soon as the troops arrived in France they were met with cheering crowds. Whilst the Ninth had headed for Boulogne, the majority of the BEF would be disembarking at Havre. As some Royal Fusiliers left their ship the French soldiers on the quay cheered them. They tried to show solidarity by attempting the ‘Marseillaise’, but when they turned to a rendition of ‘Hold your hand out, naughty boy’ they did so so seriously that the locals started whipping off their hats in reverence for what they thought must be the national anthem.
    George Fletcher was overcome by the adoration. At every corner women were blowing kisses. They were showered with gifts: chocolate, fruit and flowers, and wherever they walked he found small children clustering about him and trying to grasp his hand. He would spend nearly a week waiting in the hills at Harfleur in what was, for the most part, blistering summer weather. He watched a continuous stream of regiments pour into camp and one by one move out again in the direction of the front in buoyant mood.
    The wait by the coast was frustrating. Some infantry Etonians at Boulogne had been watching famous singers performing in a gymnasium to pass the time. Francis Grenfell had no time for the operatic folly enjoyed by ‘the feet’ 2 . He had taken to heart the words of Colonel Campbell and was not about to let his squadron put their feet up in the face of the big show. Allowing time for his beloved polo was one thing, but shoddy standards were unacceptable. He found rusty boots and spurs amongst his men and set to work, lining them up. Had they not heard the colonel’s stirring words? Was not the best troop in battle nine times out of ten the one that scrubbed up best? They were the Ninth, a fact they ought to remember if they knew what was good for them. The culprits were made to march 2 miles onft and he gave ample warning for the future. Any man who turned himself out badly would have his horse taken away and be made to tramp. Another OE, Algernon Lamb, was charged with the machine gun section of the Household Cavalry contingent and had similar problems. ‘I had to speak to the men … about their general slackness and ill-discipline, which has been creeping in the last few days.’
    Opportunities for loafing amongst the cavalry turned out to be limited. Their stay at the coastal camp was brief but their train ride to Amiens for concentration with the rest of the BEF