It was my task to collect from their relatives particulars as to the whereabouts of the wounded of our neighbourhood, for the purposes of our local report. It wanted five minutes to twelve, the sacred dinner-hour of the British artisan, and one name remained upon my list, against which was a pencilled note, "Reported returning home." Did that mean that he was disabled? And should I manage to gather the necessary information before the clock struck? I knocked at the door, which was opened by a woman wearing a canvas apron with a very tight string, her head surmounted by hair-curlers and a cloth cap. "Yes, thanking you kindly," she replied in answer to my question, "me son '_as_ been wounded. 'Eard of it from the War Office. This war's a shocking business." I expressed my sympathy and asked for particulars. "Yer see, he was at Gallipoli." "At Gallipoli? Then it must have been some time ago? I understood--" "It was this way. Me son, 'e ses to me, 'Mother,' 'e says, 'don't you worry, but I've had a toe took off.' 'E never was one to put up a great shout 'bout hisself, nor nothink of that. They took 'im down to their base 'ospital. Leeharver's the name. Perhaps you know it?" I cast my mind over the Ægean Islands, from which Mudros sprang up very large, and everything else sank into oblivion. "I'm afraid I don't," I owned apologetically. "Thought perhaps you might. L-E first word, H-A-V-R-E second--Leeharver." "Oh-h, to be sure, Le Havre. I mean--yes, now you mention it, I think I have heard of it. And is your son still there?" Me son, 'e ses the vermin there was something shocking, and they spent all their spare time 'unting theirselves." "What? _not_ in the hospital? Oh, I see; you mean in the trenches." "And 'im," she continued, not noticing my remark, 'and 'im that partic'lar 'bout 'is linen; couldn't use a 'andkerchief not unless it was spotless; must 'av a clean one every Sunday as reg'lar as the week come round. It do seem 'ard, don't it? They've pinched his sweater too. S'pose I shall 'av to get 'im another, s'pose I shall; but it's a job to know how to get along these times. And now margarine's up this week, that's the latest." "But your son," I ventured tentatively--"is his foot still bad?" "Oh, 'is _foot's_ right enough. It's 'is teeth that's the worry. 'E ses to me, 'Mother,' he ses, 'afore I can do any good I must 'ave me teeth seen to.' Oh, this fighting's cruel work!" Could he have been wounded in the jaw? The thought was horrible, but I remarked with affected cheerfulness, "Well, come, anyhow he is able to write." "Oh, 'e can _write_ right enough--got the prize at school for 'rithmatic, 'e did." "Yes, but I mean if he is able to write he can't be so very bad." "Oh, 'e didn't _write_ that. That was August come a twelvemonth. The very first thing they done to him was to take out pretty near 'alf 'is teeth. The military authorities do pull you about something shocking."