When the Germans retreated from Gommecourt, where so many boys of the
56th (London) Division had fallen on the 1st of July, I went through
that evil place by way of Fonquevillers (which we called "Funky
Villas"), and, stumbling over the shell-craters and broken trenches
and dead bodies between the dead masts of slashed and branchless
trees, came into the open country to our outpost line. I met there a
friendly sergeant who surprised me by referring in a casual way to a
little old book of mine.
"This place," he said, glancing at me, "is a strange Street of
Adventure."
It reminded me of another reference to that tale of mine when I was
among a crowd of London lads who had just been engaged in a bloody
fight at a place called The Hairpin.
A young officer sent for me and I found him in the loft of a stinking
barn, sitting in a tub as naked as he was born.
"I just wanted to ask you," he said, "whether Katharine married
Frank?"
The sergeant at Gommecourt was anxious to show me his own Street of
Adventure.
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