"Sergeant?"

I looked up from my book to see several members of my platoon.

"Yes?"

"We're going to the estaminet for a drink – would you like to come along?

Now I can't say that this was a common occurrence, although I had gone along from time to time to keep an eye on the boys and keep them out of trouble.

I shrugged. "I guess I don't have anything better to do. Be right with you."

The estaminet was nothing much to look at – a medium-sized house, with tables and benches in what had been some family's parlour and dining room. As usual there was beer and wine to be had, and some execrable attempts to produce standard pub food.

I ordered a bottle of wine. I preferred it to French beer. I also ordered in French – fluent colloquial French. I found I got better service that way, as they then knew they couldn't pass off the average junk on me.

As I sipped my wine, I caught a few glances and slight smirks on some of the men's faces.

One of the men disappeared upstairs, and shortly after he returned, a young woman came down. Her eyes glanced along the table, and rested on me. She walked on over.

"Monsieur le sergent is lonely, perhaps?" she asked in English. It sounded like a line she had used a lot. Most estaminets had one or two professionals offering their services, despite the best efforts of the Provosts. A "cousin" of the proprietor.

It dawned on me that this was a set-up by my platoon.

Part of me thought "You're not Marie – not by a mile. But you're a woman, and not bad-looking. And monsieur le sergent is lonely, and monsieur le sergent will probably never see Marie again. Why not?"

Part of me thought back to the M.O.s lectures on VD, and the effect that a VD entry on my conduct sheet would have. The way I was feeling that wasn't enough to trump my mood. And then in my mind I heard Maman's words in the last chat we'd had before I left. She'd shooed Father out and called me up to her room.

"Mon fils, there is something I must talk to you about. Your father wanted to do so, but he is a Canadian, and would exhort you to remain pure and resist temptation. He does not understand sex very well. Sex is a gift of le bon Dieu – therefore it must be good. You must accept that it is part of you. Women may offer you sex. Some will ask money for it. Some will do it for the fun of it. Some, and these are rare, may offer because they love you."

I looked at her, amused. "Maman, do you think I do not already know this?"

"You do not. The bons pères at your college were clever at many things, but not in this. And you have no experience."

"Not even with Peggy?"

"Definitely not with her. She does not have the generosity. She is interested in a wedding ring and your bank account."

Maman's perceptiveness was uncanny, and somewhat scary.

She continued. "Mon fils, it must never be for money, or for a thrill. If it is for love, that may be forgiven, but if you truly love, you will find the courage to wait. How do I know these things? I was not always an old woman. I was young, I was beautiful, and I had many suitors. I read some of their names even now in the news of the War." She named three men, all of whom I recognized as French Generals. "Do not think that it cannot happen to you, for it can," she concluded.

Experience taught me that she was right. I saw young lads, their Sunday School Bibles still tucked into their kitbags, trotting off to the professionals who gravitate to Army camps. And I saw them come back from hospital, with a VD record and stoppage of pay. I paraded while crying girls with angry fathers searched the ranks for the father of an unborn baby.

I smiled at the French girl. "Peut-être après la guerre, cherie. Allez-vous donc." And I felt a twinge of pain, as the last time I had used that phrase, it was to Marie, as I had stopped her from undressing. And though I'd cursed that decision many times since, I knew that I had done the right thing.

I turned to my men. "Thanks for the thought, boys, but I'm kind of choosy."

And I poured myself another glass of wine.