ey are sent away. The whole thing is more
military than it used to be, the result, I think, of officers not having
much to do, and with a passion for writing out rules and regulations
with a nice broad pen. Two orderlies help in the kitchen, the soup is
"inspected," and what used to be "la cuisine de la dame ecossaise" is
not so much a charitable institution as it was.

One sees a good deal of that sort of thing during this war. Women have
been seeing what is wanted, and have done the work themselves at really
enormous difficulty, and in the face of opposition, and when it is a
going concern it is taken over and, in many cases, the women are turned
out. This was the case at Dunkirk station, which was known everywhere as
"the shambles." I myself tried to get the wounded attended to, and I
went there with a naval doctor, who told me that he couldn't uncover a
single wound because of the awful atmosphere (it was quite common to see
15,000 men lying on straw). One woman took this matter in hand, purged
the place, got mattresses, clean straw, stoves, etc., and when all was
in order the voice of authority turned her out.

This long waiting is being much more trying for people than actual
fighting. In every corps the old heroic outlook is a little bit fogged
by petty things. One sees the result of it in some wrangling and
jealousy, but this will soon be forgotten when fighting with all its
realities begins again.

I think Britain on the subject of "piracy" is about as fine as anything
in her history. Her determination to ignore ultimatums and threats is
really quite funny, and English people still put out in boats as they
have always done, and are quite undismayed. Our own people here continue
to travel by sea, as if submarines were rather a joke, and when going
over to England on some small and useless little job they say
apologetically, "Of course, I wouldn't go if I hadn't got to." The fact
is, if there is any danger about they have to be in it.

Some of our own corps have gone back to Furnes--I believe because it is
being shelled. The rest of us are at La Panne, a cold seaside place
amongst the dunes. In summer-time I fancy it is fashionable, but now it
contains nothing but soldiers. They are quartered everywhere, and one
never knows how long one will be able to keep a room. The station is at
Adinkerke, where I have my kitchen. It is about two miles from La Panne,
and it also is crammed with soldiers. There seems to be