ed beside a high bank flanking a canal and not far from a small
cafe. Bunny and I went to get some hot water. It was a tumble-down place
enough, and as we pushed the door open (on which, by the way, was the
notice in French, "During the bombardment one enters by the side door")
we found the room full of men drinking coffee and smoking. I bashfully
made my way towards one of the oldest women I have ever seen and asked
her in a low voice for some hot water. As luck would have it she was
deaf as a post, and the whole room listened in interested silence as
with scarlet face I yelled out my demands in my best French. We returned
triumphantly to the waiting ambulance and had a very jolly lunch to the
now louder accompaniment of the guns. The passing soldiers took a great
interest in us and called out whatever English words they knew, the most
popular being "Good night."

We soon started on our way again, and at this point there was actually a
bend in the road. Just before we came to it there was a whistling,
sobbing sound in the air and then an explosion somewhere ahead of us. We
all shrank instinctively, and I glanced sideways at my companion, hoping
she hadn't noticed, to find that she was looking at me, and we both
laughed without explaining.

As we turned the corner, the usual flat expanse of country greeted our
eyes, and a solitary red tiled farmhouse on the right attracted our
attention, in front of which was a group of soldiers. On drawing near we
saw that this was the spot where the shell had landed and that there
were casualties. We drew up and got down hastily, taking dressings with
us. The sight that met my eyes is one I shall never forget, and, in
fact, cannot describe. Four men had just been blown to pieces--I leave
the details to your imagination, but it gave me a sudden shock to
realize that a few minutes earlier those remains had been living men
walking along the road laughing and talking.

The soldiers, French, standing looking on, seemed more or less dazed.
While they assured us we could do nothing, the body of a fifth soldier
who had been hit on the head by a piece of the same shell, and
instantaneously killed, was being borne on a stretcher into the farm. It
all seemed curiously unreal.

One of the men silently handed me a bit of the shell, which was still
warm. It was just a chance that we had not stopped opposite that farm
for lunch, as we assuredly would have done had it not been hidden
beyond the b