my who
had been left on the field without means of transport. There was a good
deal of discussion as to who were to be the rescued and who the
rescuers. Sergeant Wicks explained to all and sundry that her horse
objected strongly to anyone sitting on its tail and that it always
bucked on these occasions. No one seemed particularly anxious to be
saved on that steed, and my heart sank as her eye alighted on me. Being
a new member I felt it was probably a test, and when the inevitable
question was asked I murmured faintly I'd be delighted. I made my way to
the far end of the field with the others fervently hoping I shouldn't
land on my head.

At a given command the rescuers galloped up, wheeled round, and,
slipping the near foot from the stirrup, left it for the rescued to jump
up by. I was soon up and sitting directly behind the saddle with one
foot in the stirrup and a hand in Sergeant Wicks' belt. (Those of you
who know how slight she is can imagine my feeling of security!) Off we
set with every hope of reaching the post first, and I was just settling
down to enjoy myself when going over a little dip in the field two
terrific bucks landed us high in the air! Luckily I fell "soft," but as
I picked myself up I couldn't help wondering whether in some cases
falling into the enemy's hand might not be the lesser evil! I spent the
next ten minutes catching the "Bronco!" After that, we retired to our
mess for tea, on the old Union Jack, very ready for it after our
efforts.

We had just turned in that night and drawn up the army blankets,
excessively scratchy they were too, when the bugle sounded for everyone
to turn out. (This was rather a favourite stunt of the C.O.'s.) Luckily
it was a bright moonlight night, and we learnt we were to make for a
certain hill, beyond Bisley, carrying with us stretchers and a tent for
an advanced dressing station. Subdued groans greeted this piece of news,
but we were soon lined up in groups of four--two in front, two behind,
and with two stretchers between the four. These were carried on our
shoulders for a certain distance, and at the command "Change
stretchers!" they were slipped down by our sides. This stunt had to be
executed very neatly and with precision, and woe betide anyone who
bungled it. It was ten o'clock when we reached Bisley Camp, and I
remember to this day the surprised look on the sentry's face, in the
moonlight, as we marched through. It was always a continual source of
wond