ith the M.O., and the local gossip is exchanged
for the wider knowledge (or more grandiose rumours) of the field
ambulance. Our Jock, who has a bullet in his chest, is lifted in. Straps
are fastened securely and tarpaulins tied. 'All aboard, sir!' 'Right!
Well, so long, Hadley!' 'Cheero, Scott!' The ambulances start very
cautiously, and crawl up the road. It is in execrable condition, for
work in daylight here is impossible. It is all knocked to pieces with
traffic, and frequently pitted with shell holes, and as a rule very
narrow. There is no moon, which is just as well, and no lights can be
carried. The driver feels his way through inky blackness by some sixth
sense begotten of many such journeys. Every now and then a flare lights
up the broken cobbles for a few seconds. His wheels are only a couple of
feet from the mud on either side, and if he goes into that the car
would be there for hours. A little to the right a battery of 18-pounders
is firing slowly and regularly, and the shells scream over the road on
their way to the enemy. A corner is turned and the road gets better. We
draw up at a building with no light showing, and R.A.M.C. orderlies come
up the steps from a cellar. This is the advanced dressing station; it
collects from a brigade front and there are two doctors at work. A large
window covered with sacking opens at the level of the ground into the
cellar, and the wounded are lifted through it. Some will stay here all
night, but the most seriously hurt are sent on to the casualty clearing
station five or six miles back. Hot drinks are going and are welcome,
for the injured men are trembling and sick with shock. Two new drivers
come up from their dug-out, yawning, and take over; a message has just
come in that the 'P' trenches have been 'hotted' by trench mortars and
cars must go back again at once. The ambulances move off, leaving the
doctors busy, sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The second stage in the
journey has been completed.

The cars are moving much more quickly now. Lights are still burning in
divisional headquarters, but the field ambulance headquarters are dark,
save for the lamp burning before the gate. An ambulance may have two or
three advanced dressing stations collecting from a divisional front.
Twin lamps on a pole, white and red, draw nearer and faintly light up
two flags, the Union Jack and the Red Cross. The Union Jack in Flanders
is only seen in conjunction with the Red Cross, or perhaps