much-vaunted German submarine 'blockade' was not conspicuous, for
we neither saw nor heard of a submarine. Undoubtedly, of course,
one is conscious of the menace, and a good deal of what might be
enjoyment of the sea is spoiled by this horror. One thinks not of
the sea as inspiration of sublime thoughts and all things the poets
tell us of, but as a receptacle for submarines ... and for us if we
are hit. It was decidedly disconcerting to contemplate a dip during
the heavy weather. There would be little chance of being picked up
I should imagine. Still, we were able to appreciate the colours of
Malta, the grand snow-capped mountains of Corsica and the
neighbouring islands, while the entrance to Marseilles is a sight I
shall never forget. For colour and form I think it is perfect. In a
sense Plymouth resembles it, but as a cat the tiger. Here the rocks
run down in their limy whiteness sheer to the sea, with chateaux
and churches on impossible peaks, backed by tremendous stern
giants. Why will they not allow us on shore to get a closer
view?... Just above my head the men are concluding a concert with
the 'King,' the 'Marseillaise' (I wonder do they appreciate that
here it was first sung in its grandeur under Rouget de Lisle), and
then with what should be our national song, 'Rule Britannia.' Well
might they sing that with zest after the voyage we have concluded
to-day."

After standing out in the harbour at Marseilles for 24 hours, we first
set foot in France on March 10th. No time was wasted at Marseilles, and
we were soon entrained for a long journey northward. In the first hours
before dark we were able to enjoy the magnificent scenery of the coast
region near Marseilles. At Orange we halted for a meal at midnight. Next
day was a glorious journey up the Rhône Valley, passing through Lyons,
Chalons-sur-Saone and Dijon. Wherever the train stopped crowds of