And so you may pass through the chalk that lies in that desolate lane
with memories of more silent and happier hills; it all depends on what
the chalk means to you: you may be unfamiliar with it and in that case
you will not notice it; or you may have been born among those
thyme-scented hills and yet have no errant fancies, so that you will
not think of the hills that watched you as a child, but only keep your
mind on the business in hand; that is probably best.

You come after a while to other trenches: notice boards guide you, and
you keep to Windmill Avenue. You go by Pear Lane, Cherry Lane, and
Plum Lane. Pear trees, cherry trees and plum trees must have grown
there. You are passing through either wild lanes banked with briar,
over which these various trees peered one by one and showered their
blossoms down at the end of spring, and girls would have gathered the
fruit when it ripened, with the help of tall young men; or else you
are passing through an old walled garden, and the pear and the cherry
and plum were growing against the wall, looking southwards all through
the summer. There is no way whatever of telling which it was; it is
all one in war; whatever was there is gone; there remain to-day, and
survive, the names of those three trees only. We come next to Apple
Lane. You must not think that an apple tree ever grew there, for we
trace here the hand of the wit, who by naming Plum Lane's neighbour
``Apple Lane'' merely commemorates the inseparable connection that
plum has with apple forever in the minds of all who go to modern war.
For by mixing apple with plum the manufacturer sees the opportunity of
concealing more turnip in the jam, as it were, at the junction of the
two forces, than he might be able to do without this unholy alliance.

We come presently to the dens of those who trouble us (but only for
our own good), the dugouts of the trench mortar batteries. It is noisy