properly. Those who were able for the exertion were carried out to the
garden, and used to lie under the pear-trees telling each other
wonderful stories of what they had been through, and drinking in fresh
health and strength every day from the beautiful breeze that we had on
the very hottest days up on our hill. We had to guard them very
carefully while they were in the garden, however, for if one man had
tried to escape the hospital would have been burnt down and the
officials probably shot. So two orderlies and two Red Cross
probationers were always on duty there, and I think they enjoyed it as
much as the men.

Suddenly a fresh thunderbolt fell.

One Sunday morning the announcement was made that every French patient
was to go to Germany on Monday morning at eight.

We were absolutely in despair. We had one man actually dying, several
others who must die before long, eight or ten who were very severely
wounded in the thigh and quite unable to move, two at least who were
paralysed, many who had not set foot out of bed and were not fit to
travel--we had not forgotten the amputation case of a few days before,
who was taken out dead at Charleroi station. I was so absolutely
miserable about it that I persuaded the Belgian doctor to go to the
commandant, and beg that the worst cases might be left to us, which he
very pluckily did, but without the slightest effect--they must all go,
ill or well, fit or unfit. After all the German patients were returning
to their own country and people, but these poor French soldiers were
going ill and wounded as prisoners to suffer and perhaps die in an
enemy's country--an enemy who knew no mercy.