eed forthwith to report to the O.C. of No.--
Field Ambulance for duty," so hell became heaven, and here I am at
railhead waiting for a motor ambulance to take me and my baggage to
No.-- F.A. wherever it is to be found.

The Railway Transport Officer at Boulogne let me come up as far as St
Omer (or rather the next waiting place beyond), on No.-- A.T., and get
sent on by the R.T.O. there. We waited there all yesterday, lovely sunny
day, and in the evening the R.T.O. sent me on in a supply train which
was going to the railhead for No.-- F.A. The officer in charge of it was
very kind, and turned out of his carriage for me into his servant's, and
apologised for not having cleared out every scrap of his belongings. The
Mess of No.-- saw me off, with many farewell jokes and witticisms.

This supply train brings up one day's rations to the 1st Corps from
Havre, and takes a week to do it there and back. This happens daily for
one corps alone, so you can imagine the work of the A.S.C. at Havre. At
railhead he is no longer responsible for his stuff when the lorries
arrive and take up their positions end on with the trucks. They unload
and check it, and it is done in four hours. That part of it is now going
on.

When we got to railhead at 10.15 P.M. the R.T.O. said it was too late to
communicate with the Field Ambulance, and so I slept peacefully in the
officer's bunk with my own rugs and cushion. We had tea about 9 P.M. I
had had dinner on No.--.

This morning the first thing I saw was No.-- A.T. slumbering in the sun
on the opposite line, so I might just as well have come up in her,
except that there was another Sister in my bed.

After a sketchy wash in the supply train, and a cup of early tea from
the officer's servant, I packed up and went across to No.-- for
breakfast; many jeers at my having got the sack so soon.

The R.T.O. has just been along to say that Major ---- of No.-- Clearing
Hospital here will send me along in one of his motor ambulances.

11 A.M.--Had an interesting drive here in the M.A. through a village
packed with men billeted in barns and empty houses--the usual aeroplane
buzzing overhead, and a large motor ambulance convoy by the wayside.

We are in the town itself, and the building is labelled No.-- F.A.
Dressing Station for Officers. The men are in a French Civil Hospital
run very well by French nuns, and it has been decided to keep the French
and English nurses quite separate, so the only differen