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 AEgean 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.”

“And where did he go after Hav—­after Leehar—­I mean after the hospital?” I was getting rather bewildered.

“Oh, ’e went to the War right enough; but ’is digestion’s that bad.  They said ’e’d feel a lot better once ’is teeth was was out, but ’e ses, ‘Mother,’ ’e ses, ’you want a mouth full of teeth to eat this bullet beef what they give us.’  Next thing was they set him to drive them machines.”

“What machines would those be?” I asked, groping for a little light.

“Why, them motors as they use out there.  ’E got meddling with one of ’em, and it was the nearest thing ’e didn’t ’ave ’is ’and in a jelly; the machine didn’t act proper, or somethink o’ that.”