I were
convulsed, and so were all the people within earshot. "You mustn't be so
cheerful," I said, as soon as I could speak.

It was the roughest crossing I've ever experienced, and there was no
time to indulge in "that periscope feeling," so aptly described by
Bairnsfather; we were too busy exercising Christian Science on our
"innards" and trying not to think of all the indigestible things we'd
eaten the night before! We rose on mountains of waves one moment and
then descended into positive valleys the next. I swear I would have been
perfectly all right if I had not heard an officer say "I hope it will
not be too rough to get into Boulogne harbour. The last time I crossed
we had to return to Folkestone!" * * * * Luckily his fears were
incorrect, and at last we arrived in the harbour, and I never was so
glad to see France in all my life! The F.A.N.Y.s had almost given us up
for good, and were all very envious when they heard of our adventures.

Towards the end of that month the "Britannic," a hospital ship, was
torpedoed. As a preventive measure against future outrages of the kind
(not that it would have made the Germans hesitate for a moment) twenty
prisoners were detailed to accompany each hospital ship on the voyage to
England. These men, under one of their own Sergeant-Majors, sat on the
edge of the platform until all the wounded were on board, and then were
marched on into a little wooden shelter specially erected. As they sat
on the edge, their feet rested on the narrow quay along which we drove,
and I loved to go as near as possible and pretend I was going over them,
just for the fun of watching the Boches roll on their backs in terror
with their feet high in the air. A new method of saying _Kamerad_! Those
prisoners did not care for me very much, I don't think, and I always
hope I shan't meet any of them _apres la guerre_. Unfortunately this
pastime was stopped by the vigilant E.M.O.

My hut was closed for "winter decorations," and the creme de menthe
coloured panthers were covered up by a hunting frieze. It was a
priceless show, one of the field appearing in a _chic_ pair of red
gloves! I suppose they had some extra paint over from the pink coats.
Scene I. was the meet, with the fox lurking well within sight behind a
small gorse bush, but funnily enough not a hound got wind of him. Scene
III. was a good water-jump where one of the field had taken a toss right
into the middle of a stream. Considering the sandy