treatment.

The ward proper has certain additions: a kitchen with gas-stove and
geyser; a sink-room with geyser and cleansing apparatus of special
pattern; a bathroom with geyser; lavatories; a small room for the
isolation of a patient on the danger-list; a linen-room; and cupboards.
All these are packed neatly under that one rectangular corrugated roof
which looked so ugly and so unpromising from outside.

Do not pity the wounded soldier because he is quartered in a "hut." The
word sounds unattractive. But if it is the right kind of hut, he is in
the soundest and most sanitary type of temporary hospital that the mind
of man has yet devised. The rain-drops may rattle a shade noisily on the
roof, the asbestos lining may be devoid of ornamentation, but as he
lies in bed and contemplates that unadorned ceiling he is a deal better
off than if he were gazing at the elaborate (and dust-harbouring)
cornices of the So-and-So Club's grandiose smoking-lounge in Pall Mall.




V

FROM THE "D" BLOCK WARDS


If you walk up the corridor at half-past four on certain afternoons of
the week you will meet a mob of patients trooping from their wards to
the concert-room. Being built of wood and corrugated iron, the corridor
is an echoing cave of noises. It echoes the tramp of feet--and