Wild rumours had got round the camps and town that the “lady drivers had got it proper,” been “completely wiped out,” in fact not one left alive to tell the lurid tale.  So that wherever we drove the next morning we were greeted with cheery nods and smiles by everyone.  The damage to the town was considerable, but the loss of life singularly small.  The Detail Issue Stores had gone so far as to exchange bets as to whether we would appear to draw rations that morning, and as I drove up with Bridget on the box we were greeted right royally.  One often found large oranges in one’s tool box, or a bag of nuts, or something of the kind, popped in by a kindly Tommy who would pass the car and merely say:  “Don’t forget to look in your tool-box when you get to camp, Miss,” and be gone before you could even thank him!  All the choicest “cuts” were also reserved for us by the butcher and we were altogether spoilt pretty generally.

Tommy is certainly a nailer at what he terms “commandeering.”  I was down at the M.T. yard one day and as I left, was told casually to look in the box when I got to camp.  I did so, and to my horror saw a wonderful foot pump—­the pneumatic sort.  I had visions of being hauled up before a Court of Enquiry to produce the said pump, which was a brand new one and painted bright red.  On my next job I made a point of going round by the M.T. yard to return the “present.”  I found my obliging friend, who was pained in the extreme at the mere mention of a pump.  “Never ’eard of one,” he affirmed stoutly.  “Leastways,” he said reminiscently, looking at me out of the corner of his eye, “I do seem to remember something about a stawf car bein’ in ’ere this morning when yours was”—­and he smiled disarmingly.  “Look ’ere,” he continued, “you forget all about it, Miss.  I ’ates to see yer puffing at the tyres with them old-fashioned ones, and anyway,” with a grin, “that car’s in Abbeville now!”

Another little example of similar “commandeering” was when my friend of the chopped sticks turned up one day with a small Primus stove:  “I ’eard you was askin’ for one, and ’ere it is,” and with that he put it down and fled.  After the pump episode I was full of suspicions about little things that “turned up” from nowhere, but for a long time I had no opportunity of asking him exactly where the gift had come from.  One night, however, one of the doctors from the adjacent hut hospital was up in camp, and Primus stoves suddenly cropped up in the conversation.  “Most extraordinary thing,” said he, “my batman is as honest as the day, and can’t account for the disappearance of my stove at all.  No one went into my hut, he declares, and yet the stove is gone, and not so much as a sign of it.  One thing is I’d know it if I saw it again.”  I started guiltily at this, and got rather pink—­“Look here,” I said, “come into my hut a moment.”  He did so.  “By Jove! that’s my stove right enough,” he cried, “I know the scratches on it.  How on earth did you get it?” “That