The next morning, about breakfast time, the first shell burst near the camp—­a short rapid squeal followed by a sharp report.  The second shell burst a few minutes after, throwing up earth and smoke.  A steel fragment came sailing over in a wide parabola and struck the foot of a man standing in the breakfast queue.  He limped to the first-aid hut, looking very pale.  When he got there, he had some difficulty in finding his wound, it was so slight.

We paraded and marched off.  Several shells burst in the neighbouring fields.  We reached the ration dump and began to load the train.  A civilian arrived with the newspapers.  Our N.C.O.’s were powerless to stop the general stampede that surged towards the paper-vendor.

The Germans had advanced on a wide front ...  Armentieres had fallen.  The news was several days old and much might have happened since.

We went back to our work and discussed events.  We were bullied and threatened with arrest, but we talked in groups while we carried cases of rations.  Would we be involved in the advance?  We might even be captured—­that would at least be an experience and a change.

In the evening a few of us went to the St. Martin to see if the old woman and her daughter had been able to fetch their property away.  We observed that the windows, where tinned fruit, chocolate, cakes, soap, postcards, and other articles used to be exhibited, had been cleared completely.  We entered and found one of the girls in tears: 

“All gone—­all gone—­I show you—­you come into de cellar—­all de wine gone—­bottles all, all broken.  English soldiers come in de night and take everysing ’vay—­ve nussing left—­it’s de soldiers in de camp over zair in de field—­zey plenty drunk dis morning—­ve lose everysing—­ve poor now.”

Besides the windows, the till and the shelves had been cleared, and empty drawers and boxes had been thrown on to the floor.  We went down into the cellar.  All the cases had been opened and the stone floor was littered with empty and broken bottles.  The girl began to sob again when she saw the ruin that had been inflicted: 

“All gone, all gone—­ve poor now.”

“Why don’t you complain to the Town Major?” one of us suggested.

“Complain?—­vat’s de use complain?—­de Town Major, he nice man, he kind to us, but he no find de soldiers dat come, and if he find zem he punish zem but ve get nussing.  Vat’s de use punish zem if ve get nussing?  All gone, ve poor now—­oh, dis var, dis var—­dis de second time ve refugeess—­ve lose eversing 1914, ve come here from Zandvoorde and ve start again—­ve do business vis soldiers, soldiers plenty money, ve do goot business, and now ve refugeess again and ve novair to go.  If de Shermans come, ve do business vis de Shermans—­but de shells come first and ve all killed—­ah, dis var, dis var!  Vat’s de use fighting?  All for nussing!  Var over, me plenty dance!”

We ascended the cellar stairs.  The mother was in the main room, wiping her eyes.  We said good-bye to her and her daughter, feeling ashamed of our uniforms, and walked out into the street.