"All traffic stopped between 12 and 2," he said; "the KING is passing
by."

We looked blankly at one another. I have an extraordinary respect for
HIS MAJESTY, but I did wish that he did more of his work by aeroplane
at times.

We ate sandwiches, selected and sited positions for sniping the royal
progress with our No. 2 Brownies and photographed everything we saw,
including an American cooker, the historic "Goldfish Chateau," and a
Belgian leading a little pig, with the inscription, "The only good
Bosch in the country"; but on the whole Ypres on a Sunday afternoon is
hardly more exciting than the "great commercial centre" of Scotland.

At intervals the Staff dashed up and spoke a word or two to the
traffic man, but they departed again and nothing happened. We _all_
had a turn at that traffic man, and what we don't know about his home
life, pre-war and probable post-war troubles, isn't worth putting
on any demobilisation paper. And each time we tackled him we got a
different idea of the KING'S movements--HIS MAJESTY must have had an
extraordinarily complex journey that day.

Suddenly we were free! The KING was going to lunch near the Cloth Hall
and would not be by till 2.30 P.M. Knowing that _any_ order emanating
from a Staff is liable to instant cancellation we rushed back to the
car and told the driver to "Go!" with the "G" hard, as in shell fire.
Whether we went round or over the traffic man I don't know, but we
slid with terrific speed into Ypres. Traffic was a little congested
round the ruined cathedral, and we barged right up against a panting