We had had a good many air raids before Christmas and I hoped Fritz would reserve his efforts in that direction till I could go about on crutches again.  No such luck, however, for at 10 o’clock one night the warnings rang out.  I trusted, as I had had my operations so recently, I should be allowed to remain; but some shrapnel had pierced the roof of the ward in a former raid and everyone had to be taken down willy-nilly.  I hid under the sheets, making myself as flat as possible in the hopes of escaping.  I was discovered of course and lifted into a wheel chair and taken down in the lift to the Padre’s room, where all the W.A.A.C.s were already assembled.  Our guns were blazing away quite heartily, the “London front” having recently been strengthened.  Just as I got down, the back wheel of my chair collapsed, which was cheering!

We sat there for some time listening to the din.  Everyone was feeling distinctly peevish, and not a few slightly “breezy,” as it was quite a bad raid.  I wondered what could be done to liven up the proceedings, and presently espied a pile of hymn-books which I solemnly handed out, choosing “Onward Christian Soldiers” as the liveliest selection!  I could not help wondering what the distant F.A.N.Y.s would have thought of the effort.  In the middle of “Greenland’s spicy mountains,” one W.A.A.C. varied the proceedings by throwing a fit, and later on another fainted; beyond that nothing of any moment happened till the firing, punctuated by the dropping bombs, became so loud that every other sound was drowned.  Some of the W.A.A.C.s were convinced we were all “for it” and would be burnt to death, but I assured them as my chair had broken, and I had no crutches even if I could use them, I should be burnt to a cinder long before any of them!  This seemed to comfort them to a certain extent.  I could tell by the sound of the bombs as they exploded that the Gothas could not be far away; and then, suddenly, we heard the engines quite plainly, and there was a terrific rushing sound I knew only too well.  The crash came, but, though the walls rocked and the windows rattled in their sockets, they did not fall.

Above the din we heard a woman’s piercing scream, “Oh God, I’m burning!” as she ran down the street.  Simultaneously the reflection of a red glare played on the walls opposite.  All was confusion outside, and the sound of rushing feet pierced by screams from injured women and children filled the air.  It was terrible to sit there powerless, unable to do anything to help.  The hospital had just been missed by a miracle, but some printing offices next door were in flames, and underneath was a large concrete dug-out holding roughly 150 people.  What the total casualties were I never heard.  Luckily a ward had just been evacuated that evening and the wounded and dying were brought in immediately.  It was horrible to see little children, torn and maimed, being carried past our door into the ward.  The hum of the Gotha’s engines could still be heard quite distinctly.