One morning--the mess had then been discussing medieval chivalry for about a fortnight--Maitland read out a passage from Mallory about a visit paid by Sir Galahad to a lonely chapel among the mountains, “where he found nobody at all for all was desolate.” Haddingly had just spent his lonely half hour in the church of St John in the Wilderness. He sighed. He found nobody there in the mornings, and could not help wishing that the battalion contained a Galahad. Dalton felt that something must be done to preserve the credit of the mess and the dignity of English manhood. He felt sure that sentiment about desolate chapels was an unwholesome thing. He scoffed: “All very well for Gallipot,” he said, “but----” “Galahad,” said Maitland. “Galahad, or Gallipot, or Golly-wog,” said Dalton. “If a man has a silly name like that, it doesn’t matter how you spell it. The point is that it would be simply ridiculous to attempt that sort of thing now. Suppose, for instance---- I put it to you, padre. Suppose you saw Maitland mounted on one of the transport gee-gees trotting up to that tin cathedral of yours--on a week-day, mind! I’m not talking about Sundays. Suppose he got down and went inside all by himself, what would you think, padre? There’s only one thing you could think, that Maitland had been drinking.” “Sir Galahad,” said Maitland, “went in to say his prayers. He was on his way to a battle. They didn’t have to wait months and months for a battle in those days. They had a scrap of some sort about once a week.” He sighed. The Turks had failed to do what was expected of them, and life in the camp was intolerably dull. He looked at Haddingly. It was plainly a padre’s duty to support a spiritual and romantic view of life against the profane jibes of Dalton. Haddingly spoke judicially. “The general tone of society in those days,” he said, “seems to have been very different from what it is now. Men had much less difficulty in giving expression to their emotions. No doubt we still feel much as they did, but----” Haddingly became aware that no one was listening to him. The attention of everyone at the table was attracted by something else. The men sat stiffly, listening intently. Haddingly heard a faint, distant humming sound. It grew louder. “Jiminy!” said Dalton, “an aeroplane!” The breakfast table was laid in the open air outside the mess tent The men rose from their seats and stared in the direction of the coming sound. It was the first time that an aeroplane had approached the camp in the desert. Its coming was an intensely exciting event, an unmistakable evidence of activity somewhere; surely a sign that activity everywhere might be expected.