I awoke at about three in the afternoon, got hold of a bucket of water
and proceeded to have a wash. Having shaved, washed, brushed my hair,
and had a look at the general effect in the polished back of my
cigarette case (all my kit was still at the docks), I emerged from my
canvas cave and started off to have a look round.

I soon discovered a small café down the road, and found it was a place
used by several of the officers who, like myself, were temporarily
dumped at the Camps. I went in and got something to eat. Quite a good
little place upstairs there was, where one could get breakfast each
morning: just coffee, eggs, and bread sort of thing. By great luck I met
a pal of mine here; he had come over in a boat previous to mine, and
after we had had a bit of a refresher and a smoke we decided to go off
down to Havre and see the sights.

A tram passed along in front of this café, and this we boarded. It took
about half an hour getting down to Havre from Bléville where the Camps
were, but it was worth it.

Tortoni's Café, a place that we looked upon as the last link with
civilization: Tortoni's, with its blaze of light, looking-glass and gold
paint--its popping corks and hurrying waiters--made a deep and pleasant
indent on one's mind, for "to-morrow" meant "the Front" for most of
those who sat there.

As we sat in the midst of that kaleidoscopic picture, formed of French,
Belgian and English uniforms, intermingled with the varied and gaudy
robes of the local nymphs; as we mused in the midst of dense clouds of
tobacco smoke, we could not help reflecting that this _might_ be the
last time we should look on such scenes of revelry, and came to the