Saturday (8 September 1917)

R. and I got away at about 11 a.m. through “Paradise” – we had a feed at the same old place supplemented by two tiny chops from the local butcher for 9d. (2/- per lb).  Had another look round Odiham and of course gravitated towards the old inn with the village pump, where we got bread and cheese and beer – and another cigar.  On the way back we deviated via villages called Pilcot (a quaint little place with a pretty old church and cottages), Crookham-Street and Crookham itself, which latter is about a mile from camp.  R. has acquired a small flute on which he tootles as we walk through the lanes.  Sounds quite arcadian.

One thought on “Saturday (8 September 1917)”

  1. “R. has acquired a small flute on which he tootles”. Possibly an allusion to “Hennessy Tennessy tootles the flute” in the old Irish musichall song McNamara’s Band (1889)?


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