What a film! My first thought was whether he would visit the battlefield. What scenes I conjured up in my imagination. To see Britain's King on the battlefield with his troops; to see him inspecting the ground; to see him in trenches lately captured from the Germans. My imagination began to run away with me. No, I thought, it will be just the ordinary reviews and reception.
But I was wrong. The scenes that I had pictured to myself I was soon to witness.
On the morrow the Captain, the still picture man and myself, left G.H.Q. for Boulogne. Arriving at the quay I looked around for any signs of preparation, but the whole place was as usual. The Captain called at the A.M.L.O.
"Do you know what time the King is due?" he asked.
The A.M.L.O. in tones of amazement ejaculated a long-drawn-out "What; never heard of his coming."
"Well, he is," said the officer. "He's arriving at midday."
"I was never informed," said the other. "I will ring up the M.L.O." He did so, and after a short time the information came through. "The King will not arrive to-day; he will be here to-morrow at 9 a.m. His sailing was altered at the last moment."
That night I turned in at the Hôtel Folkestone, making arrangements for my car to take me and my apparatus to the quay at 8.30 in the morning.
The morning fortunately was beautifully bright. I sincerely hoped it would continue. What excellent quality it promised in the films. I compared it with the weather during the last visit to France of the late Lord Kitchener; unfortunately it rained all the time.
I arrived at the quay. The French officials were gathered there, and lined up was a guard of honour, formed by the North Staffordshire Regiment. Every man had been through many engagements during the war.