pay the cost in intimate personal and individual
suffering and in death are not the men who made the war.

_Wednesday, February 24th._--We have been all day in Boulogne, and move
up at 8.15 this evening, which means loading up after breakfast and
perhaps unloading to-morrow evening. It has given Sister S. another day
to recover from her attack of influenza.

Have been busy one way and another all day, but went for a walk after
tea and saw over the No.-- G.H. at the Casino--a splendid place, working
like clockwork. Lots of bad cases, but they all look clean and
beautifully cared for and rigged up.

_Thursday, February 25th._--Moved up to the place with the moor during
the night. Glorious, clear, sunny morning. Couldn't leave the train for
a real walk, as there were no orders.

This time last year the last thing one intended to do was to go and
travel about France for six months, with occasional excursions into
Belgium!

'The Times' sometimes comes the next day now.

9 P.M.--The ways of French railways are impenetrable: in spite of orders
for Bailleul before lunch, we are still here, and less than ever able
to leave the train for a walk.

This is the fourth day with no patients on--the longest "off" spell
since before Christmas. It shows there's not much doing or much medical
leakage.

_Friday, February 26th._--We loaded up this morning with a not very bad
lot (mine all sitters except some enterics, a measles, and a
diphtheria), and are on our way down again.

I am all ready packed to get off at B. if my leave is in Major M.'s
office.

_Saturday, February 27th_, 9 P.M., _Hotel at Boulogne._--All the efforts
to get my seven days' leave have failed, as I thought they would.

_Wednesday, March 3rd, Boulogne._--There is not a great deal to do or
see here, especially on a wet day.

_Friday, March 5th_, 5 P.M.--On way down from Chocques--mixed lot of
woundeds, medicals, Indians, and Canadians.

I have a lad of 24 with both eyes destroyed by a bullet, and there is a
bad "trachy."

Nothing very much has been going on, but the German shells sometimes
plop into the middle of a trench, and each one means a good many
casualties.

10 P.M.--We've had a busy day, and are not home yet.

My boy with the dressings on his head has not the slightest idea that
he's got no eyes, and who is going to tell him? The pain is bad, and he
has to have a lot of morphia, with a cigarette in between.

We shall probably