A rival company was already established in the village. They called themselves "The Bow Bells," and put on a sketch entitled 'Blighty -- What Hopes?' They were the Divisional Concert Party.
We hoped they all would be soon in Blighty to give us a chance.
This company charged an admission of a franc per head, and that night our company went en masse to see their performance. It really was good.
I had a sinking sensation when I thought of running my sketch in opposition to it.
In one of their scenes they had a soubrette called Flossie. The soldier that took this part was clever and made a fine appearing and chic girl. We immediately fell in love with her until two days after, while we were on a march, we passed Flossie with her sleeves rolled up and the sweat pouring from her face unloading shells from a motor lorry.
As our section passed her I yelled out: "Hello, Flossie, Blighty -- What Hopes?" Her reply made our love die out instantly.
"Ah, go to hell!"
This brought quite a laugh from the marching column directed at me, and I instantly made up my mind that our sketch should immediately run in opposition to 'Blighty -- What Hopes?'
When we returned to our billet from the march, Curley Wallace, my theatrical partner, came running over to me and said he had found a swanky place in which to produce our show.
After taking off my equipment, and followed by the rest of the section, I went over to the building he had picked out. It was a monstrous barn with a platform at one end which would make an ideal stage. The section got right on the job, and before night had that place rigged out in apple-pie order.