armchair!

We resumed the march, and striking off the road came to a rough clearing
where the tent was already being erected by an advance party. We were
lined up and divided into groups, some as stretcher bearers, some as
"wounded," some as nurses to help the "doctor," etc. The wounded were
given slips of paper, on which their particular "wound" was described,
and told to go off and make themselves scarce, till they were found and
carried in (a coveted job). When they had selected nice soft dry spots
they lay down and had a quiet well-earned nap until the stretcher
bearers discovered them. Occasionally they were hard to find, and a
panting bearer would call out "I say, wounded, _give_ a groan!" and they
were located. First Aid bandages were applied to the "wound" and, if
necessary, impromptu splints made from the trees near by. The patient
was then placed on the stretcher and taken back to the "dressing
station." "I'm slipping off the stretcher at this angle," she would
occasionally complain. "Shut up," the panting stretcher bearers would
reply, "you're unconscious!"

When all were brought in, places were changed, and the stretcher bearers
became the wounded and vice versa. We got rather tired of this pastime
about 12.30 but there was still another wounded to be brought in. She
had chosen the bottom of a heathery slope and took some finding. It was
the C.O. She feigned delirium and threw her arms about in a wild manner.
The poor bearers were feeling too exhausted to appreciate this piece of
acting, and heather is extremely slippery stuff. When we had struggled
back with her the soi-disant doctor asked for the diagnosis. "Drunk and
disorderly," replied one of them, stepping smartly forward and saluting!
This somewhat broke up the proceedings, and _lèse majesté_ was excused
on the grounds that it was too dark to recognise it was the C.O. The