open pawn-shops among ex-munition-workers, and thereby accumulate old
masters, grand pianos and diamond tiaras to export to the United States.
For myself I have another plan.

There is a certain historic wood up north through which bullets whine,
shells rumble and no bird sings. After the War I am going to float a
company, purchase that wood and turn it into a pleasure-resort for the
accommodation of tourists.

There will be an entrance fee of ten francs, and everything else will be
extra.

Tea in the dug-out--ten francs. Trips through trenches, accompanied by
trained guides reciting selected passages from the outpourings of our
special correspondents--ten francs. At night grand S.O.S. rocket and
Very light display--ten francs. While for a further twenty francs the
tourist will be allowed to pick up as many souvenirs in the way of rolls
of barbed wire, dud bombs and blind crumps as he can stagger away with.
By this means the country will be cleared of its explosive matter and I
shall be able to spend my declining years in Park Lane, or, anyway,
Tooting.

Our Albert Edward has not been making any plans as to his future lately,
but just now it looks very much as if his future will be spent in gaol.
It happened this way. He had been up forward doing some O. Pipping.
While he was there he made friends with a battery and persuaded the poor
fools into doing some shooting under his direction. He says it is great
fun sitting up in your O. Pip, a pipe in your teeth, a telescope clapped
to your blind eye, removing any parts of the landscape that you take a
dislike to.