We were to start for Tramecourt now, but on the way we were to make a couple of stops.  Our way was to take us through St. Pol and Hesdin, and, going so, we came to the town of Le Quesnoy.  Here some of the 11th Argyle and Sutherland Highlanders were stationed.  My heart leaped at the sight of them.  That had been my boy’s regiment, although he had belonged to a different battalion, and it was with the best will in the world that I called a halt and gave them a concert.

I gave two more concerts, both brief ones, on the rest of the journey, and so it was quite dark when we approached the chateau at Tramecourt.  As we came up I became aware of a great stir and movement that was quite out of the ordinary routine there.  In the grounds I could see tiny lights moving about, like fireflies—­lights that came, I thought, from electric torches.

“Something extraordinary must be going on here,” I remarked to Captain Godfrey.  “I wonder if General Haig has arrived, by any chance?”

“We’ll soon know what it’s all about,” he said, philosophically.  But I expect he knew already.

Before the chateau there was a brilliant spot of light, standing out vividly against the surrounding darkness.  I could not account for that brilliantly lighted spot then.  But we came into it as the car stopped; it was a sort of oasis of light in an inky desert of surrounding gloom.  And as we came full into it and I stood up to descend from the car, stretching my tired, stiff legs, the silence and the darkness were split by three tremendous cheers.

It wasn’t General Haig who was arriving!  It was Harry Lauder!

“What’s the matter here?” I called, as loudly as I could.

“Been waitin’ for ye a couple of ’ours, ’Arry,” called a loud cockney voice in answer.  “Go it now!  Get it off your chest!” Then came explanations.  It seemed that a lot of soldiers, about four hundred strong, who were working on a big road job about ten miles from Tramecourt, had heard of my being there, and had decided to come over in a body and beg for a concert.  They got to the chateau early, and were told it might be eleven o’clock before I got back.  But they didn’t care—­they said they’d wait all night, if they had to, to get a chance to hear me.  And they made some use of the time they had to wait.

They took three big acetylene headlights from motor cars, and connected them up.  There was a little porch at the entrance of the chateau, with a short flight of steps leading up to it, and then we decided that that would make an excellent makeshift theater.  Since it would be dark they decided they must have lights, so that they could see me—­just as in a regular theater at hame!  That was where the headlights they borrowed from motor cars came in.  They put one on each side of the porch and one off in front, so that all the light was centered right on the porch itself, and it was bathed in as strong a glare as ever I sang in on the stage.  It was almost blinding, indeed, as I found when I turned to face them and to sing for them.  Needless to say, late though it was and tired as I was, I never thought of refusing to give them the concert they wanted!