As David left the restaurant, he looked at his watch. Twenty-one fifty. He strolled around the square enjoying the cool night air, then walked in through the entryway to Brasenose and presented his orders to the guard.

"I told you the curfew is twenty-one thirty. You're twenty-eight minutes late," the guard snarled at him, then smiled. "You've just arrived, and you're already in shit, you'll not last long here."

"But you had said there is no curfew for officers."

"That doesn't concern you yet. Cadets aren't officers, they're nowt but lumps o dung waiting to be flushed away or moulded into something useful." He called inside to another guard. "Roudon, take this lump o shit to the Orderly Room and have it added to the discipline list. Mind you don't get any of it on your hands."

Roudon took David's orders and escorted him into the Orderly Room. "Here's another curfew offence. This one, twenty-eight minutes,"

The clerk stood from his desk, looked at David and smiled. "Good evening, Sir. You've found your quarters to your satisfaction?"

"Very comfortable, thank you, Corporal."

The clerk stepped to the counter and asked Roudon, "What seems to be the problem?"

"The guard looked at David's orders as he laid them on the counter. Cadet Berry was late for curfew. Twenty-eight minutes late."

"There's no curfew for officers. You know that."

"Yes, Corporal, but..."

"But what? I suggest you salute Lieutenant Berry and go back to your post."

"But..."

"Now!"

"Yes, Corporal." Roudon came to attention, saluted David, then turned and left.

The clerk picked up the sheet of paper from the counter. "I see the problem with this, Sir. Let me correct it." He took it to his desk, paged through his file of messages, amended the rank, rubber stamped the paper and wrote the reference number and his initials in the imprint's spaces. "You'll be receiving a new identity card tomorrow, but in case you wish to step out again this evening, Sir." He handed the amended orders to David. "Things are happening so fast these days, it's difficult to keep up with them."

David looked at the paper and smiled. "So I'm no longer a piece of dung."

"Some of them go a bit too far with their taunting and heckling. I'll mention it to the Guard Sergeant again."

"No, there's no need. I'm sure it's all in fun."

"We're ordered to report all harassment we deem to be personally offensive."

"If you must, but I'm sure it was all in jest." He looked at the corporal's weary appearance. "You work long hours here."

"Only for the new intakes, Sir. We're now doing every two weeks." He looked at the folders on the counter. "Only three yet to arrive."

"How many per intake?"

"Normally forty-eight, though this one's forty-nine. You were a late addition. Doesn't matter though. We usually lose half a dozen or so during the first few weeks." He looked across to the door at the sound. "Here come two more."

"Thank you for your assistance, Corporal. I'll leave you to it."

Back in his quarters, David settled into the armchair, took the little book from his pocket and continued reading. After a while, he laid the booklet down and thought. So no more Pay Book. Pay is accounted for by a Regimental Agent and deposited to bank accounts. That'll be far more convenient than lining up for pay parade and then having to keep the money safe.

He picked up the booklet and continued: Cox & Co have offices in the High Street, and an account will be opened in your name with them within a week of your arrival. If you wish instead to use Holt & Co, you are to inform the Orderly Room forthwith. He paused and looked up. Picot had mentioned Cox. I'll leave it be.

There was a knock on his door. He rose and walked across and opened it.

"Sir. I'm your batman, Private Tompkins." He saluted. "I was here earlier, but there was no answer to my knocks."

"I had gone across the Square for some dinner. Please, come in."

"No need for you to go out. I could have brought you a platter from the mess pantry, Sir." He stepped in and followed David across the room.

"Please sit." David pointed to a chair. "I'm new to all of this, so you'll have to assist me with my understanding of it."

"I don't know much about myself. You're my first go at this."

"Good, then we'll learn together. Have you been told your duties?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm to be your valet. I'll maintain your uniforms and equipment, clean your room, run errands for you and do what's necessary to ensure you're free to perform your duties."

David looked at him and nodded. "What were you doing before this?"

"Recovering, Sir. I came back from Belgium with the shakes. Bad shakes that start whenever there's loud noise. They just take over."

"Exploding shells? Gunfire?"

"Yes, Sir. Now automobiles backfiring. Anything like that."

"We'll keep you away from those."

He looked at David's shoes. "The Sergeant suggested I clean and polish your boots and press your uniform so you'll look sharp tomorrow for your first day."

"I have no uniform yet." He pointed to the booklet. "I was reading in there that I must purchase my kit. Do you know of any good military clothiers in town?"

"I don't know Oxford, Sir. I'm from London. But my father's a tailor at Hawkes and Company there. They boast of having made the uniform Admiral Nelson wore at Trafalgar and the one the Duke of Wellington was wearing when he defeated Napoleon at Waterloo. I was with the company when the war began."

"Have you the skill to measure me for uniforms?"

"No, I was working in administration, but we have senior tailors who travel. I've been asked to find business here for the company. We're one of the oldest bespoke tailors in Britain, and we have Royal Warrants going back to King George the Third."

"You're a splendid salesman. I'm sold."

"It's a great company to be with, and I'm excited to go back when the war is over."

"Let's all work on getting it over with quickly. We all have lives to get back to."