At Rouen he continued to enjoy himself, even when censoring letters at a five-hour stretch. ‘It is rather fun doing this job up to the 500th letter—then Tommy’s hand-writing and “love messages” get a bit wearisome!’ But all his life it took a[3] great deal to weary Oscar, and at Rouen he found a variety of compensations for the ten days he was kept there with his draft. There were sprees and sight-seeings, now ‘in good company,’ duly detailed, again on ‘a bit of a “Tourist Stunt,” all on my only oh’; there was Bon Sécours, followed by ‘a whacking big tea at a Patisserie in the town’; the Cloche Horlogue (‘the topping big clock half way along the street of that name which leads to the Cathedral’—itself ‘a topping one’); also ‘a splendid little Restaurant we have discovered,’ and a certain ‘great dinner’ which ‘started on oysters and finished on Crème de Menthe,’ not to add ‘a priceless Music Hall—awful rot but very funny.’ As a last resort there was the Divisional Mess, with its Irish doctor (‘entertains us a bit!’), its gramophone, its ‘priceless birds’ with single eye-glasses (‘so the whole place twinkles like stars, on a moonlight night!’) and a friend old or new at every turn. I told you I had met Jack Power—well, on Thursday we visited the Cathedral together and climbed the steeple, from the top of which we got a splendid view of the city. Jack is mad keen on bells, so we had a good look at the old bell at the top of the Cathedral. Then yesterday we met again, and visited the Church of St. Ouen—have you ever seen it? It is a magnificient church—one of the finest churches which is not a Cathedral in the world, I should think. Jack Power[4] used to be a ‘Church-crank’ I remember, so he is an excellent fellow for this kind of thing! He is only just fit, having been in hospital for weeks after coming back from the front unfit. His great new friend was young Willoughby Rooke, like himself an only son, his own age yet a veteran of Mons, severely wounded in the winter and now on his way back to the trenches. Somebody had brought them together as ‘mad fishermen’; but they found they had other enthusiasms and some friends in common, to one of whom they wrote of each other, besides themselves exchanging letters at the front. Through them their respective people made friends in London; and long after the light of each home had gone out, a film from Oscar’s camera, left behind at Rouen, produced an excellent likeness of ‘Rookie,’ laughing, with the base camp for background.[3]