nets, a
single shot, properly placed, could do it great damage. The Zeppelin,
with its eighteen great gasbags, can suffer almost any amount of
attack and still remain in the air.

"Would you like to see the trenches?" said one of the officers,
smiling.

"Trenches? Seven miles behind the line?"

"Trenches certainly. If the German drive breaks through it will come
along this road."

"But I thought you lived in the administration building?"

"Some of us must hold the trenches," he said solemnly. "What are six
or seven miles to the German Army? You should see the letters of
sympathy we get from home!"

So he showed me the trenches. They were extremely nice trenches, dug
out of the sand, it is true, but almost luxurious for all that, more
like rooms than ditches, with board shelves and dishes on the shelves,
egg cups and rows of shining glasses, silver spoons, neat little
folded napkins, and, though the beds were on the floor, extremely tidy
beds of mattresses and warm blankets. The floor was boarded over.
There was a chair or two, and though I will not swear to pictures on
the walls there were certainly periodicals and books. Outside the door
was a sort of vestibule of boards which had been built to keep the
wind out.

"You see!" said the young officer with twinkling eyes. "But of course
this is war. One must put up with things!"

Nevertheless it was a real trench, egg cups and rows of shining
glasses and electric light and all. It was there for a purpose. In
front of it was a great barbed-wire barricade. Strategically it
commanded the main road over which the German Army must pass to reach
the point it has been striving for. Only seven miles away along that
road it was straining even then for the onward spring movement. Any
day now, and that luxurious trench may be the scene of grim and
terrible fighting.

And, more than that, these men at the station were not waiting for
danger to come to them. Day after day they were engaged in the most
perilous business of the war.

At this station some of the queer anomalies of a volunteer army were
to be found. So strongly ingrained in the heart of the British youth
of good family is the love of country, that when he is unable to get
his commission he goes in any capacity. I heard of a little chap, too
small for the regular service, who has gone to the front as a cook!
His uncle sits in the House of Lords. And here, at this naval air
station, there were young noncommiss