Rather, I didn't really sing, I said, in a low, rhythmical tone, with a sort of half tune to it, this old verse: "And the old cow crossed the road, The old cow crossed the road, And the reason why it crossed the road Was to get to the other side." I would repeat that, over and over again, tapping my foot to keep time as I did so.

Then Mac would join in, and perhaps another of our company.

And before long everyone at the table would catch the infection, and either be humming the absurd words or keeping time with his feet, while the others did so.

Sometimes people didn't care for my song; I remember one old Englishman, with a white moustache and a very red face, who looked as if he might be a retired army officer.

I think he thought we were all mad, and he jumped up at last and rushed from the table, leaving his breakfast unfinished.