He suggested that four of us should get into the officer’s car and go ahead with him and begin the show, leaving the others to follow.  We were a little dubious as our Lieutenant, Sister Lampen, and “Auntie” (the Matron) were over the brow of the hill searching for the missing pin!  There seemed nothing else to be done, however, so in we all bundled.  The officer was very sporting and wished us “good luck” as we sped off in his car.

Farther along, as we got nearer the front, all the sentries were English which seemed very strange to us.  Passing through a village where a lot of our troops were billeted they gazed in wonder and amazement at the sight of English girls in that district.

One incident we thought specially funny—­It may not seem particularly so now, but when you think that for months past we had only had dealings with French and Belgian soldiers, you will understand how it amused us.  Outside an Estaminet was a horse and cart partly across the road, and just sufficiently blocking it.  The driver called out to a Tommy lounging outside the Inn to pull it over a little.  He gave a truly British grunt, and went to the horse’s head.  Nothing happened for some seconds, and we waited impatiently.  Presently he reappeared.

“Tied oop,” he said laconically, in a broad north country accent, and washed his hands of the matter.  How we laughed.  Of course a Frenchman would have made the most elaborate apologies and explanations—­a long conversation would have ensued, and finally salutes and bows exchanged, before we could have got on.  “Tied oop” became quite a saying after that.

A F.A.N.Y. eventually coped with the matter, and on we went again.  At last we espied some tents in the distance and struck off down a rutty lane in their direction.  Here we said “good-bye” to our driver wondering if the other car did not turn up, just how we should get home.  We plunged through mud that came well over the tops of our boots and, scrambling along some slippery duck boarding, arrived at the recreation tent.  No sign of the other car, so we were obliged to draft out a fresh programme in the meantime.

We took off our heavy coats while two batmen used the back of their clasp knives to scrape off the first layers of mud (hardly the most attractive footlight wear) from our boots.  We heard the M.C. announcing that the “Concert party” had arrived, and through holes in the canvas we could see the tent was full to overflowing.  Cheers greeted the announcement, and we shivered with fright.  There were hundreds there, and they had been patiently waiting for hours, singing choruses to pass the time.