s or a month's standing, but both must be large. She is also the
possessor of this admirable and remarkable record. For two years she has
been nursing--really nursing--in France, and yet, though she belongs to
a well-known family, her photograph has never appeared in the
illustrated papers that boom war-work patriots. On this particular
evening, in the intervals of handing round medicines and cheerfulness,
our comrade the night nurse made toffee for us over a gas-burner, a
grey-haired colonel and a baby subaltern taking turns to stir the
saucepan.

The next change of scene was to the quays of Boulogne. Ambulance cars
from the several hospitals lined up before a ship side-marked by giant
Red Crosses. The stretcher casualties were carried up the gangway, down
the stairs, and into the boat's wards below. The remainder were made
comfortable on deck. Distribution of life-saving contraptions, business
with medical cards, gleeful hoots from the funnel, chug-chug from the
paddles, and hey for Blighty! across a smooth lake of a sea. Yarns of
attack and bombardment were interrupted by the pleasurable discovery
that Dover's cliffs were still white.

We seemed an unkempt crowd indeed by contrast with dwellers on this side
of the Channel. The ragged raiment of men pipped during a Somme advance
did not harmonise with plush first-class compartments of the Chatham and
Dover railway. Every uniform in our carriage, except mine and another,
was muddied and bloodied, so that I felt almost ashamed of the
comparative cleanliness allowed by life in an R.F.C. camp, miles behind
the lines. The subaltern opposite, however, was immaculate as the
fashion-plate of a Sackville Street tailor. Yet, we thought, he must
have seen some tough times, for he knew all about each phase of the
Somme operations. Beaumont Hamel? He explained exactly how the
Blankshires and Dashshires, behind a dense barrage, converged up the
high ground fronting the stronghold. Stuff Redoubt? He gave us a
complete account of its capture, loss, and recapture. But this seasoned
warrior quietened after the visit of an official who listed us with
particulars of wounds, units, and service. His service overseas? Five
months in the Claims Department at Amiens. Wound or sickness? Scabies.

Charing Cross, gateway of the beloved city! The solid old clock looked
down benignly as if to say: "I am the first landmark of your own London
to greet you. Pass along through that archway and greet