Coming back from B. one day I started a huge hare, and with the utmost difficulty prevented the good Susan from turning off the road, lepping the ditch, and pursuing ‘puss’ across the flat pastures.  Some sporting ’bus, I tell you!

The Tanks made their first appearance in September, and weird and wonderful were the descriptions given by the different men I asked whom I carried on my ambulance.  They appeared to be anything in size from a hippopotamus to Buckingham Palace.  It was one of the best kept secrets of the war.  When anyone asked what was being made in the large foundries employed they received the non-committal reply “Tanks,” and so the name stuck.

My last leave came off in the autumn, and while I was at home Lamarck Hospital closed on its second anniversary—­October 31, 1916.  The Belgians now had a big hut hospital at the Porte de Gravelines, and wished to concentrate what sick and wounded they had there, instead of having so many small hospitals.  A great celebration took place, and there was much bouquet handing and speechifying, etc.

Our work for the Belgians did not cease with the closing of Lamarck, and a convoy was formed with the Gare Centrale as its headquarters, and so released the men drivers for the line.  The hospital staff and equipment moved to Epernay, where a hospital was opened for the French in an old Monastery and also a convoy of F.A.N.Y. ambulances and cars was attached, so that now we had units working for the British, French, and Belgians.  Another unit was the one down at Camp de Ruchard, where Crockett so ably ran a canteen for 700 convalescent Belgian soldiers, while Lady Baird, with a trained nurse, looked after the consumptives, of whom there were several hundreds.  It will thus be seen that the F.A.N.Y. was essentially an “active service” Corps with no units in England at all.

I had a splendid leave, which passed all too quickly, and oddly enough before I left home I had a sort of premonition that something was going to happen; so much so that I even left an envelope with instructions of what I wanted done with such worldly goods as I possessed.  I felt that in making such arrangements I might possibly avert any impending catastrophe!

Heasy was on leave as well, and the day we were due to go back was a Sunday.  The train was to leave Charing Cross at four, which meant that we would not embark till seven or thereabouts.  It was wet and blustery, and I did not relish the idea of crossing in the dark at all, and could not help laughing at myself for being so funky.  I had somehow quite made up my mind we were going to be torpedoed.  The people I was staying with ragged me hard about it.  It was the 5th of November, too!  As I stepped out of the taxi at Charing Cross and handed my kit to the porter, he asked:  “Boat train, Miss?” I nodded.  “Been cancelled owin’ to storm,” he said cheerfully.  I leapt out, and I think I shook him by the hand in my joy.