I have found a whole new household of “eclopes” at Adinkerke, who want cigarettes, socks, and shoes all the time.  They are a pitiful lot, with earache, toothache, and all the minor complaints which I myself find so trying, and they lie about on straw till they are able to go back to the trenches again.

The pollard willows between here and Adinkerke are all being cut down to build trenches.  They were big with buds and the promise of spring.

14 March.—­I went to the station yesterday, as usual.  Suddenly I couldn’t stand it any more.  Everyone was cleaning.  I was getting swept up with straw and mopped up with dirty cloths.  The kitchen work was done.  I ate my lunch in a filthy little out-building and then I fled.  I had to get into the open air, and I hopped on to an ambulance and drove to Dunkirk.  I had a good deal to do there getting vegetables, cigarettes, etc., and we got back late to the station, where I heard the Queen had paid a visit.  Rather bad luck on almost the only day I have been away.

I am waiting anxiously to hear if the report of the new British advance yesterday is true.  When fighting really begins we are going to be in for a big thing; one dreads it for the sake of the boys we are going to lose.  I want things to start now just to get them over, but I rather envy the people who died before this unspeakable war began.

* * * * *

To Mrs. Keays-Young.

CARE OF FIELD POST OFFICE, DUNKIRK,
17 March.

MY DEAREST BABY,

[Page Heading:  CAPTAIN L. M. B. SALMON]

I have (of course) been getting letters and parcels very badly lately.  I am sending this home by hand, which is not allowed except on Red Cross business, but this is to ask how Lionel is, so I think I may send it.  My poor Bet!  What anxiety for her!  This spring weather is making me long to be at home, and when people tell me the crocuses are up in the park!—­well, you know London and the park belong to me!  Are the catkins out?  We can get flowers at Dunkirk, but not here.

Not a word of war news, because that wouldn’t be fair.  A shilling wire about Lionel would satisfy me—­just “Better, and Bet well,” or something of that sort.

Always, my dear,
Your loving,
S. MACNAUGHTAN.

P.S.—­Your two letters and Bet’s have just come.  To be in touch with you again is very pleasant.  I can’t tell you what it was like to sit down to a pretty, clean breakfast to-day with my letters beside me.  Someone brought them here early.

I heard to-day that I am going to be decorated by the King of the Belgians, but don’t spread this broadcast, as anything might happen in war.

* * * * *

20 March.—­I met an Englishman belonging to an armoured car in Dunkirk a couple of days ago.  He told me that the last four days’ fighting at La Bassee has cost the British 13,000 casualties.  Three lines of holes in the ground, and fighting only just beginning again!  Bet’s fiance has been shot through the head, but is still alive.  My God, the horror of it all!  And England is still cheerful, I hear, and is going to hold race-meetings as usual.