If I Should Die, Think Only This Of Me
In six hours I begin the Pilgrimage to Calais, and shall attend the shrine of cheap smokes at Holy Adinkerke with a devotional coach excursion. By all accounts Calais is rather a dump, having had to be rebuilt in the modern style after the Germans bombed it in 1940, and the English in 1944. Yet the French still retain their old warm hospitality to the stranger within their midst.
This, Bertha No. 2, from World War I won’t be trained on the place; but I’m sure that after a while I’ll wish it was, and that I had the handling of it.
