One sees a good deal of that sort of thing during this war.  Women have been seeing what is wanted, and have done the work themselves at really enormous difficulty, and in the face of opposition, and when it is a going concern it is taken over and, in many cases, the women are turned out.  This was the case at Dunkirk station, which was known everywhere as “the shambles.”  I myself tried to get the wounded attended to, and I went there with a naval doctor, who told me that he couldn’t uncover a single wound because of the awful atmosphere (it was quite common to see 15,000 men lying on straw).  One woman took this matter in hand, purged the place, got mattresses, clean straw, stoves, etc., and when all was in order the voice of authority turned her out.

This long waiting is being much more trying for people than actual fighting.  In every corps the old heroic outlook is a little bit fogged by petty things.  One sees the result of it in some wrangling and jealousy, but this will soon be forgotten when fighting with all its realities begins again.

I think Britain on the subject of “piracy” is about as fine as anything in her history.  Her determination to ignore ultimatums and threats is really quite funny, and English people still put out in boats as they have always done, and are quite undismayed.  Our own people here continue to travel by sea, as if submarines were rather a joke, and when going over to England on some small and useless little job they say apologetically, “Of course, I wouldn’t go if I hadn’t got to.”  The fact is, if there is any danger about they have to be in it.

Some of our own corps have gone back to Furnes—­I believe because it is being shelled.  The rest of us are at La Panne, a cold seaside place amongst the dunes.  In summer-time I fancy it is fashionable, but now it contains nothing but soldiers.  They are quartered everywhere, and one never knows how long one will be able to keep a room.  The station is at Adinkerke, where I have my kitchen.  It is about two miles from La Panne, and it also is crammed with soldiers.  There seems to be no attempt at sanitation anywhere.

I wish I had more interesting news to tell you, but I am at my station all day, and if there is anything to hear (which I doubt) I do not hear it.

There is a barge on the canal at Adinkerke which is our only excitement.  It is the property of Maxine Elliott, Lady Drogheda, and Miss Close, and to go to tea with them is everyone’s ambition.  The barge is crammed with things for Belgian refugees, and Maxine told me that the cargo represents “nearer L10,000 than L5,000.”  It is piled with flour in sacks, clothing, medical comforts, etc.  The work is good.

I am sending home some long pins like nails.  They are called “Silent Death,” and are dropped from German aeroplanes.  Boys pick them up and give them to us in exchange for cigarettes.

[Page Heading:  MRS. PERCIVAL’S SLIPPERS]