Now, when I hear of this, I am not at all pleased with the steward. In fact, I am very angry indeed that he should make such a statement, because it is very likely to give a wrong impression. I mean, there are many highly placed citizens who consider it very bad form to go off beer and onto short ones until one o'clock.

On this particular afternoon I am telling you about before I got off the fairway with the story about the drink time-table, the Zone Commander does not show any interest in the time. He says: "Now look, Timings, I've got a quick one for you. We've just had a report from the police that German paratroops have landed on the aerodrome at ……..(security!!) Send out an armed party at once."

Furthermore, he tells me that these paratroops must be utterly liquidated and mopped up.

Now, I ask you! Send out an armed party at this time of the afternoon! I don't yet know which of the citizens have been enrolled or even where any of 'em live. This is a very awkward situation indeed. I mean to say, if I could borrow a bugle and blew the "Fall-in" or "Cookhouse" I very much doubt whether any of 'em

It has been said that a boy's best friend is his Quartermaster. So I think I'll go round and look him up and see if he has any brilliant suggestions to offer.

So I take myself round to where he has snaffled an empty shop which he has made into Q.M's. Stores.

He is back from his nose-bag earlier than usual, as a lot of denims was dumped on him just before lunch and, as we know, a Q.M. always has first go at anything. He has issued himself with a complete rig and, with his medal ribbons up, I must say he looks very well indeed.

I tell him that if I were not so frightfully busy I would get him to issue a set to me and we could create a very notable impression by walking round and about together and, no doubt, bring in lots of recruits.