Work was varied, sometimes we rode out with the regiments stationed at Bisley on their field days and looked after any casualties. (We had a horse ambulance in those days which followed on these occasions and was regarded as rather a dud job.) Other days some were detailed for work at the camp hospital near by to help the R.A.M.C. men, others to exercise the horses, clean the officers’ boots and belts, etc., and, added to these duties, was all the everyday work of the camp, the grooming and watering of the horses, etc.  Each one groomed her own mount, but in some cases one was shared between two girls.  “Grooming time is the only time when I appreciate having half a horse,” one of these remarked cheerily to me.  That hissing noise so beloved of grooms is extraordinarily hard to acquire—­personally, I needed all the breath I had to cope at all!

The afternoons were spent doing stretcher drill:  having lectures on First Aid and Nursing from a R.A.M.C.  Sergeant-Major, and, when it was very hot, enjoying a splash in the tarpaulin-lined swimming bath the soldiers had kindly made for us.  Rides usually took place in the evenings, and when bedtime came the weary troopers were only too ready to turn in!  Our beds were on the floor and of the “biscuit” variety, being three square paillasse arrangements looking like giant reproductions of the now too well known army “tooth breakers.”  We had brown army blankets, and it was no uncommon thing to find black earth beetles and earwigs crawling among them!  After months of active service these details appear small, but in the summer of 1914 they were real terrors.  Before leaving the tents in the morning each “biscuit” had to be neatly piled on the other and all the blankets folded, and then we had to sally forth to learn the orders of the day, who was to be orderly to our two officers, who was to water the horses, etc., etc., and by the time it was eight a.m. we had already done a hard day’s work.

One particular day stands out in my memory as being a specially strenuous one.  The morning’s work was over, and the afternoon was set aside for practising for the yearly sports.  The rescue race was by far the most thrilling, its object being to save anyone from the enemy who had been left on the field without means of transport.  There was a good deal of discussion as to who were to be the rescued and who the rescuers.  Sergeant Wicks explained to all and sundry that her horse objected strongly to anyone sitting on its tail and that it always bucked on these occasions.  No one seemed particularly anxious to be saved on that steed, and my heart sank as her eye alighted on me.  Being a new member I felt it was probably a test, and when the inevitable question was asked I murmured faintly I’d be delighted.  I made my way to the far end of the field with the others fervently hoping I shouldn’t land on my head.