One day, it was June then, the dressings were done at least an hour earlier than usual, and the Colonel came in full of importance and ordered the other two beds to be taken out of the ward.  The Sister could get nothing out of him for a long time.  All he would say was that the French Governor-General was going to give me the freedom of the city!  She knew he was only ragging and got slightly exasperated.  At last, as a great secret, he whispered to me that I was going to be decorated with the French Croix de Guerre and silver star.  I was dumbfounded for some minutes, and then concluded it was another joke and paid no more attention.  But the room was being rapidly cleared and I was more and more puzzled.  He arranged the vases of flowers where he thought they showed to the best advantage, and seemed altogether in extremely good form.

At last he became serious and assured us that what he had said was perfectly true.  The mere thought of such an event happening made me feel quite sick and faint, it was so overwhelming.

The Colonel offered to bet me a box of chocolates the General would embrace me, as is the custom in France on these occasions, and the suggestion only added to my fright!

About 11 o’clock as he had said, General Ditte, the governor of the town, was announced, and in he marched, followed by his two aides-de-camp in full regalia, the English Base Commandant and Staff Captain, the Colonel of the hospital, the Belgian General and his two aides-de-camp, as well as some French naval officers and attaches.  Boss, Eva, and the Sister were the only women present.  The little room seemed full to overflowing, and I wondered if at the supreme moment I would faint or weep or be sick, or do something similarly foolish.  The General himself was so moved, however, while he read the “citation,” and so were all the rest, that that fact alone seemed to lend me courage.  He turned half way through to one of the aides-de-camp, who fumbled about (like the best man at a wedding for the ring!) and finally, from his last pocket, produced the little green case containing the Croix de Guerre.

The supreme moment had arrived.  The General’s fingers trembled as he lifted the medal from its case and walked forward to pin it on me.  Instead of wearing the usual “helpless” shirt, I had been put into some of the afore-mentioned Paris frillies for the great occasion, and suddenly I saw two long skewer-like prongs, like foreign medals always have, bearing slowly down upon me!  “Heavens,” I thought, “I shall be harpooned for a certainty!” Obviously the rest of the room thought so too, and they all waited expectantly.  It was a tense moment—­something had to be done and done quickly.  An inspiration came to me.  Just in the nick of time I seized an unembroidered bit firmly between the finger and thumb of both hands and held it a safe distance from me for the medal to be fixed; the situation was saved.  A sigh of relief (or was it disappointment?) went up as the General returned to finish the citation, and contrary to expectation he had not kissed me!  He confided to someone later I looked so white he was afraid I might faint. (It was a pity about that box of chocolates, I felt!)