“The weather is glorious, delightful sunshine and hot.  I am now having breakfast in a cafe in Folkestone with another officer.  We sail on the Princess Clementine at 2 this afternoon, and so will be in Boulogne about 3.30.”

I landed at Boulogne at 4 that afternoon and we went straight on to Etaples the same evening.  The following letter recounts my journey and arrival at that great camp upon the sand-hills: 

“May 27th, 1917.

“I have now, once more, safely arrived in this place, where there is nothing but sand.  I expect you will already have received my communications from Folkestone.  Is the news of the raid yet in the papers?  I was told that there were thirty German aeroplanes and one zeppelin.  Bombs were dropped on the soldiers’ camp there, and a good many soldiers were killed.  Apparently the operation made a big row, for it was heard across the water in the cathedral city in which we landed.

" ...  We went on board at 1.30, but the boat did not start until 2.50.  It was, and still is, tremendously hot.  It seems that submarines are not harassing our transport route:  for the number of ships, of various kinds, crossing was considerable.  It was a pleasant voyage; but as I saw the white cliffs of Folkestone receding from my ken I could not help recalling with what rapture I beheld them on my return from France last October, and expressing a faint wish that I were again returning rather than going out!  But, still, one will soon get used to France again; and we can always look forward to the next return.  One thing is obvious—­I am here for the hottest weather; heat, if anything, will be the trouble, not cold.

“The boat stood in the harbour for some time before we could land; but we eventually did so at 4.  After seeing about my kit I had tea at the British Officers’ Club, opposite the Gare Centrale.  Then I got into the train.  It should have left at 5.45, but, like all French trains, was very late in starting.  It did start a little before 7.  It was a train filled entirely with officers.  It ambled along in the usual leisurely fashion.  When we were about half-way we noticed that a good many were standing outside on the step; some had their legs hanging out of the window, others were actually on the roof!  When we came to a tunnel the latter dived in through the open windows.  Others got out and spoke to girls on the way, and then ran on and got back into the train.  This is how travelling is carried on ‘Somewhere in France’!

“The scenery, beautiful as it seemed last autumn, is much more beautiful now.  It is at its best:  the green grass with the dandelions and daisies, the hawthorn and the trees in bloom, little villages clustering in charming woods, the sheep and the cows, and little children cheering the train, everything sparkling in the hot sunshine; such is France—­and such was the Kent I left behind me—­at present.  As one looks upon the peaceful country-side in France to-day one can scarcely realize that war is raging in all its ferocity and barbarity so near.  It seems an anomaly.  The weather is more suggestive of cricket than of war.