We were well on the road to recovery and the nurses there used to come and show the officers their photograph albums and fraternise, perhaps asking if we wanted a book read to us. There was some romance there but that was kept as far as possible from the eyes of the matron. She was a bit of a tartar and she frowned on that sort of thing, although it went on just the same... I used to organise dinner parties in a nearby farmer’s house where the farmer’s wife would put on a wonderful dinner, often a big joint of pork. We always used to drink far too much home-grown cider and then we used to go back in the pony trap, singing quite heartily, which brought me into disfavour with the matron. I knew she would be listening and saying, ‘Is that that Collins again?’ And, if we knew she was within earshot, we would be singing at the top of our voices some rude verses about her. If she had had any sense of humour - she may have had for all I knew - she would have appreciated them because they were never vicious, just leg pulling. << less