A Soup Kitchen brought out by Betty also belonged to our hospital equipment.  It did excellent work down at the Gare Centrale, providing the wounded with hot soup on their arrival.  Great was our excitement when it was commissioned by a battery up the line.  Betty and Lewis set off in high spirits, and had the most thrilling escapes and adventures in the Ypres section that would alone fill a book.  They were with the Battery in the early summer when the first gas attack swept over, and caught them at “Hell fire Corner” on the Ypres-Menin road.  It was they who improvised temporary masks for the men from wads of cotton wool and lint soaked in carbolic.  Luckily they were not near enough to be seriously gassed, but for months after they both felt the after effects.  Even where we were, we noticed the funny sulphurous smell in the air which seemed to catch one with a tight sensation in the throat, and the taste of sulphur was also perceptible on one’s lips.  We were to have taken turns with the kitchen, but owing to this episode the authorities considered the work too dangerous, and after being complimented on their behaviour they returned to Lamarck.

We had a lot of daylight Taube raids, Zeppelins for the moment confining all their efforts to England.  It was fascinating to watch the little round white balls, like baby clouds, where the shrapnel burst in its efforts to bring the marauders down.

Very few casualties resulted from these raids and we rather enjoyed them.  One that fell on the Quay killed an old white horse; and a French sailor found the handle of the bomb among the shrapnel near by and presented it to me.  It seemed odd to think that such a short while before it had been in the hands of a Boche.

Jan was a patient we had who had entirely lost his speech and memory.  We could get nothing out of him but an expressive shrug of the shoulders and a smile.  He was a good looking Belgian of about twenty-four; and it was my duty to take him out by the arm for a short walk each morning to try and reawaken his interest in life.

One day I saw the French Governor of the town coming along on horseback followed by his ordnance (groom).  How could I make Jan salute, I wondered?  I knew the General was very particular about such things, and to all appearance Jan was a normal looking individual. “Faut saluer le General, Jan,” I said, while he was still some distance away, but Jan only shrugged his shoulders as much as to say, “I might do it, but on the other hand I might not!” What was I to do?  As we drew nearer I again implored Jan to salute.  He shrugged his shoulders, so in desperation, just as we came abreast I put my arm behind him and seizing his, brought it up to the salute!  The General, whom I knew, seemed fearfully amused as he returned it, and the next time we met he asked me if I was in the habit of going for a walk arm in arm with Belgian soldiers, who had to be made to salute in such a fashion?