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Because he thought it would amuse us, our week-end guest had brought us a frankly "scare" book which had just come out, and which contained very bald facts and figures purporting to be of use to the young soldier. One extract, I remember, ran something like this:

"Q. What do I do if an enemy infantryman thrusts a bayonet into my stomach?

A. You ask him to withdraw it gently, turning it very slightly to the left. Q. What are my chances of survival? A. Very small. Providing you have instant attention from a skilled surgeon, your chance is 3.102 in the hundred."

And so on and so on.

P.Y.C. wanted to take this book to bed with him, and the rest of us became very abusive and quite unreasonably angry, I remember. We hung round the wireless until after the midnight news, not even caring to go down the village and meet the neighbours, and finally we went to bed, the sickening suspicion growing upon us that something might have gone wrong with the Government's calculations, and yet still feeling in our hearts that the God of simple people would not permit us to be caught quite so sound asleep.