Clean, well-set-up fellows are the sentries in the town furnished by the famous Territorial regiment incorporated in the G.H.Q. troops. The trim General with the blue arm-band you will often see walking about the town commands the G.H.Q. troops, and, as far as the British Army is concerned, represents law and order in the town. The Territorial regiment concerned has a drum-and-fife band that gives concerts twice daily on the _Grand’ Place_, to the huge delight of the populace. It also organises smoking-concerts of its own, at which a fine array of talent is forthcoming. The pianist at entertainments of all sorts organized by our army in the field within a wide radius of G.H.Q. is a private of this battalion, a musician of no mean order. If you want an idea of the medley of mankind that swarms at G.H.Q., come in here to the Fortnum and Mason’s of the place. At all hours of the day the shop is full of officers and men, mess presidents and orderlies, ordering biscuits and liqueur and wine and tinned fruits and cake and macaroni and sardines and Heaven knows what. The trim young ladies who serve know us all by our units, if not by our names. You may hear them rating the patient and ox-like _garçon_, a stolid man of fifty or thereabouts. “_Eh bien! le whisky pour l’Intelligence? Où est-ce? Vous ne voyez pas que le Capitaine attend les conserves pour les Indiens? Voyons, dépêchez-vous!_” One afternoon in the shop I met a Guardsman of my acquaintance, _liaison_ officer with a French army. “The beggars won’t let me pay my mess-bill,” he protested, “so I am getting something in the way of a contribution to the mess. What do you think of asparagus?” And he went off presently to his car with a huge bundle of _asperges d’Argenteuil_ under each arm. There is no social life whatsoever at G.H.Q. For one thing, many of the leading inhabitants have left the war-zone, and gone to live in Paris or elsewhere; for another, the army in the field is far too busy for calling and dining. There are no amusements. There is a theatre, but it is empty. There is not even a cinematograph show. There are sing-songs arranged by one or other of the different services from time to time, and one of the A.S.C. convoys has a “rag-time band,” with mouth-organs and combs and tin cans by way of instruments, which is said to be very successful. But the fact is that no one has the time to organize amusements for the army. For G.H.Q. is the hub of the army, the power-house that supplies the driving-force to our army in the field.