“This place,” he said, glancing at me, “is a strange Street of Adventure.”

It reminded me of another reference to that tale of mine when I was among a crowd of London lads who had just been engaged in a bloody fight at a place called The Hairpin.

A young officer sent for me and I found him in the loft of a stinking barn, sitting in a tub as naked as he was born.

“I just wanted to ask you,” he said, “whether Katharine married Frank?”

The sergeant at Gommecourt was anxious to show me his own Street of Adventure.

“I belong to Toc-emmas,” he said (meaning trench-mortars), “and my officers would be very pleased if you would have a look at their latest stunt. We’ve got a 9.2 mortar in Pigeon Wood, away beyond the infantry. It’s never been done before and we’re going to blow old Fritz out of Kite Copse.”