went indoors to pay our respects to the opulent Quartermaster, who had retired from Battalion duties after the First Battle of Ypres. He assured us that he could easily spare his car for a few hours since he had the use of two; whereupon Dottrell said he’d been wondering how he managed to get on with only one car.
In Amiens, at the well-known Godbert Restaurant, we lunched like dukes in a green-shuttered private room. “God only knows when we’ll see a clean tablecloth again,” remarked Barton, as he ordered langoustes, roast duck, and two bottles of their best “bubbly.” Heaven knows what else the meal contained; but I remember talking with a loosened tongue about sport, and old Joe telling us how he narrowly escaped being reduced to the ranks for “making a book” when the Battalion was stationed in Ireland before the war. “There were some fine riders in the regiment then; they talked and thought about nothing but hunting, racing, and polo,” he said; adding that it was lucky for some of us that horsemanship wasn’t needed for winning the war, since most mounted officers now looked as if they were either rowing a boat or riding a bicycle uphill. Finally, when with flushed faces we sauntered out into the sunshine, he remarked that he’d half a mind to go and look for a young lady to make his wife jealous. I said that there was always the cathedral to look at, and discovered that I’d unintentionally made a very good joke.