One of the first things we had to learn was that our ancient cathedral
town has its bounds and limits for the legions of the lads in khaki.
Beyond a certain line, the two-mile boundary, we dare not venture
alone without written permission, and we can only pass the limit in a
body when led by a commissioned officer.

The whole world, with the exception of the space enclosed by this
narrow circle, is closed to the footsteps of Tommy; he cannot now
visit his sweetheart, his sweetheart must come and visit him. The
housemaid from Hammersmith and the typist from Tottenham have to come
to their beaux in billets, and as most of the men in our town are
single, and nearly all have sweethearts, it is estimated that five
or six thousand maidens blush to hear the old, old story within the
two-mile limit every week-end.

Once only every month is a soldier allowed week-end leave, and then
he has permission to be absent from his billet between the hours of
3 p.m. on Saturday and 10 p.m. on Sunday. His pass states that during
this time he is not liable to be arrested for desertion. Some men use
one pass for quite a long period, and alter the dates to suit every
occasion.

One Sunday, when returning from week-end leave, I travelled from
London by train. My compartment was crowded with men of my division,
and only one-half of these had true passes; one, who was an adept
calligraphist, wrote his own pass, and made a counterfeit signature
of the superior who should have signed the form of leave. Another had
altered the dates of an early pass so cleverly that it was difficult
to detect the erasure, and a number of men had no passes whatsoever.
These boasted of having travelled to London every week-end, and they