to get fed, and stretch out poor grimy hands for bread and steaming
drinks. There is very little light--only one oil-lamp, which hangs from
the roof, and burns dimly. Under this we place the "marmites," and all
that I can see is one brown or black or wounded hand stretched out into
the dim ring of light under the lamp, with a little tin mug held out for
soup. Wet and ragged, and covered with sticky mud, the wounded lie in
the salle of the station, and, except under the lamp, it is all quite
dark. There are dim forms and frosty breaths, and a door which bangs
continually, and then the train loads up, the wounded depart, and a
heavy smell and an empty pot are all that remain. We clean up the
kitchen, and go home about 1 a.m. I do the night work alone.

_24 November._--We are beginning to get into our stride, and the small
kitchen turns out its gallons and buckets of liquid. Mrs. ---- has been
helping me with my work. It is good to see anyone so beautiful in the
tiny kitchen, and it is quaint to see anyone so absolutely ignorant of
how a pot is washed or a vegetable peeled.

I have a little electric lamp, which is a great comfort to me, as I have
to walk home alone at midnight. When I get up in the morning I have to
remember all I shall want during the day, as the villa is a mile from
the station, so I take my lantern out at 9.30 a.m.!

I saw a Belgian regiment march back to the trenches to-day. They had a
poor little band and some foggy instruments, and a bugler flourished a
trumpet. I stood by the roadside and cried till I couldn't see.

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