What have I got out of the war? Well, it is something to have been through part of that bellowing hell of “Passchendaele”; to have taken part in one of the terrific actions that resulted in barring the Hun’s onrush in the spring, and to have gone through the roaring autumn of 1918, witnessing his ultimate disintegration and downfall.
9 p.m. This evening, having no ticket, I hung about the portals until my good fairy in the form of a Tommy with two tickets to spare arrived. Harlekin (Arlecchino), and Turandot, both by Ferruccio Busoni – the former in the nature of a farce, light and broadly humorous, the latter almost pantomime, a mixture of the bizarre and the superb, with all sorts of attendant nonsense, in scenes of “more than oriental splendour”.
During the performance I made friends with a lonely French Soldat who was in Cologne for the day. We promenaded during the interval, and the Huns stared, and he ogled the mademoiselles.