ed after the A.D.C. had smoked a little
of it, and the box was to be hung in the mess of the squadron. It was
all a great success. Maurice made a splendid speech. We all cheered,
and then the cigar was cut (to bits nearly). Maurice smoked a little,
and it was put safely in its box. Then Maurice was given the first log
to cut. This was done, but Maurice was now worked up, so he took his
cap off and cut this in halves. He was then proceeding to take off his
tunic for the same purpose, but was carried away from the scene of
execution by a cheering crowd. It was a great day. I remember Maurice
saw me back to Cassel about 1 a.m., after much ping-pong and music. (p. 054)
"I'll go back to the shack where the black-eyed Susans," etc., was the
song of the moment then in the squadron.

Shortly after this Major Bloomfield was ordered home, promoted and, I
think, sent to America. At this loss, a great gloom fell over the 56th
Squadron. I never saw any squadron in France that was run nearly so
well as the 56th under Bloomfield, nor any Major loved more by his
boys.

[Illustration: XXII. _The Return of a Patrol._]

CHAPTER VIII (p. 055)

CASSEL AND IN HOSPITAL (NOVEMBER 1917)

About this time I went to Paris and met several Generals and Mr.
Andrew Weir (now Lord Inverforth), and it was arranged that Aikman was
to go home to the War Office and that I, perhaps, might have my
brother out later to look after me. Aikman left, and I was very
lonely. A better-hearted companion and a kinder man one could not
meet, and regarding the intricacies of "King's Regulations" and
such-like things, he was a past master.

After this, whenever I went to Paris, the great thing was to stop on
the way at Clermont and lunch with "Hunchie." "Hunchie" kept the
buffet at the station. He had a broken back and had been a chemist in
Paris, but said he had come to the station at Clermont for excitement.
It was so exciting that Maude proposed stopping there for a rest cure!
But "Hunchie's" lunches were excellent. I remember one day on my way
to Paris, I asked him at lunch if he had any Worcestershire Sauce; he
had not. He asked me when I was coming back North again. I said the
next day, which I did, and stopped for lunch. He had the sauce. He had
been to Paris to get it. "Hunchie" was a wonder, so was Madame, and so
was their dog "Black."

One spot in Paris, the Gare du Nord, will always mea