September Song (36 page)

I tried to look thoughtful, as though I understood what this Goethe chap was going on about and was considering it, but, apart from a poem about daffodils, the truth was that we'd gone for the more martial stuff at Church Road School: boys on burning decks, cannons to the right of him sort of thing. Ghislaine, of course, had sent me a couple of books of French poetry, and I had found some of the pomes almost interesting, although what I'd seen of M. Apollinaire's
Alcools
I'd have to say I found not altogether comprehensible. I prefer stuff with virgules and the occasional
point d'exclamation
.

‘Well,' I said, dipping my sausage in bean juice, ‘look on the bright side, Jerry. I haven't mentioned Paris once in the last five days.'

Later, before we strolled down to the Antelope, I went back upstairs and tossed James Fitzgerald's letter into the rubbish.