we all became friends, and we mounted
the stairs to my room, and the bar was opened and Tom recited. Fred
insisted on it. "But," said Tom, "you always cry, Fred, when I
recite." "It doesn't matter, Tom," said Fred, "I like it." So Tom
recited and Fred cried, and Maude and I looked on and wondered and (p. 085)
drank "Spots." They left about 11 o'clock to drive back to the
aerodrome in an old ambulance they had in the yard. At about 7 a.m.
the next morning I was awakened by a violent knocking at my door, so I
shouted: "Come in," and in came Tom and Fred. They both walked over
and sat on my bed. "What on earth are you here at this hour of the
morning for?" I asked. "That's just what we've come here to find out,
bloody old Bill," said Tom. "Are you hurt, Bill?" "No," said I. "Why?"
"No furniture broken, no damage done to the room, Bill?" "No," said I.
"Why?" "Well, look here, Bill, it's like this," said Tom. "Fred and I
are puzzled as to exactly what happened. Fred, tell him what happened
to you, and then I'll tell him about myself."

Fred rubbed his chin and started: "Well, Bill, the first thing I
remember was that I found myself walking along a country road, and I
met a M.P. man. Said I: 'Can you please direct me to the Gare du
Nord?' 'Straight on,' said he, 'and you'll find it on your left. It's
about a twenty-minute walk.' So I went straight on, and sure enough I
came to the Gare du Nord, and I came on here and found Tom juggling
with the wheel of the old ambulance with its radiator against the
wall." "Yes," said Tom, "and look here, bloody old Bill, I had spent
half the night juggling with death with that wheel--thank goodness the
engine wasn't going. Then Fred woke me up. What do you make of it all,
Bill?" I couldn't make anything of it, so I dressed and we had
breakfast and they went off to their aerodrome in the Somme mud.

After this we became great friends and we had many happy evenings, (p. 086)
in some of which Tom looked for a "spot of bother," and Fred warned
him "it was a bad show." On "good nights for the troops," which meant
that the weather was impossible for bombing (they were night-bombers),
they would come into Amiens for dinner. These nights were "not devoid
of attraction," and on the "bad nights for the troops" I would often
dine at the aerodrome and see the raiders off. It was uncanny, these
great birds starting off into the blackness--to what?

Tom and Fred lived together in a little hut in