German aeroplanes had passed overhead almost every clear windless
night, but the buzz of propellers, that often went on for hours, and the
dull boom of bombs exploding far away had never caused anything more
than slight uneasiness and apprehension.

One night, after we had been at the C.C.S. for about a month, we heard
the uproar of a distant air-raid. Early the next morning a number of
motor-ambulances arrived with their loads of wounded men. A camp, a mile
or two from the station, had been bombed and fifty men had been killed
and many more wounded. One of the "cases" brought into the theatre had
been hit on the forehead. The bomb-fragment had not penetrated the
skull, but had passed along its surface. The scalp hung over the
forehead loosely like an enormous flap, the red, jagged edge nearly
touching the eyebrows. Since then I thought of this man every time there
was an air-raid.

The event increased our uneasiness. After each "bombing-stunt" we
thought: "We were lucky this time--it will be our turn next though."
Moreover, we began to realize our helplessness. We were compelled to
remain in our tents during a raid and there was no possibility of taking
shelter. We could have put on our steel helmets--they would at least
have afforded some head protection, but hardly any of us had the courage
to do anything that might be regarded by the others as a sign of fear.

The discussion about the bombing of hospitals had made us all think of
air-raids. We had nearly finished our day's work when we noticed a few
clouds on the horizon. We felt relieved. Perhaps the sky would be
overcast and we would have an undisturbed night.