with only one motor transport lent them by the Flying Corps. They
were very nice to us, offered us lunch on packing-cases, and Major
---- cleaned my skirt with petrol for me!

[Footnote 1: Each hospital contains 78 tons of tents, furniture, stores,
&c.]

They sorted out the five kit-bags and boxes for us from the rest, as we
have to go in to-morrow and repack for duty,--only sleeping kit and
uniform to be taken, and a change of underclothing. They said we'd have
to make our own transport arrangements, as the 6th Division had taken up
everything. So in the town we saw an empty dray outside a public-house,
and after investigating inside two pubs we unearthed a fat man, who took
us to a wine merchant's yard, and he produced a huge dray, which he
handed over to us! We lent it to the Matron of No.--, and we have
commandeered the brewer for No.--'s to-morrow. Then we met a large
French motor ambulance without a French owner, with "Havre" on it, which
we knew, and sent Miss ---- in it to the _Asturias_ to try and collar it
for us to-morrow. She did.

There were a lot of Cavalry already mounted just starting, and Welsh
Fusiliers, and Argyll and Sutherlands, and swarms more. We had another
invitation to a packing-case lunch from three other M.O.'s at another
wharf, but couldn't stop.

We saw three German officers led through the crowd at the wharf. The
French crowd booed and groaned and yelled "Les Assassins" at them. The
Tommies were quite quiet. They looked white and bored. We also saw 86
men (German prisoners) in a shed on the wharf. Some one who'd been
talking to the German officers told us they were quite cheerful and
absolutely certain Germany is going to win!

_Wednesday, September 9th._--It is a month to-day since I left home, and
seems like six, and no work yet. Isn't it absolutely rotten? A big storm
last night, and the Bay of Biscay tumbling about like fun to-day: bright
and sunny again now. The French infants, boys and girls up to any age,
are all dressed in navy knickers and jerseys and look so jolly. Matron
has gone into St Nazaire to-day to get all the whole boiling of our
baggage out here to repack. P'raps she'll bring some news or some
letters, or, best of all, some orders.

This is a lovely spot. I'm writing on our balcony at the Riffelalp,
above the tops of the pines, and straight over the sea. Three Padres
are stranded at Pornichet--two were troopers in the S.A. War, and they
do duty for us. The wind