I was sent for this morning by somebody who desired to see the English Field Ambulance. Drawn up before the Hospital I found all that was left of a Hendon bus, in the charge of two British Red Cross volunteers in khaki and a British tar. The three were smiling in full enjoyment of the high comedy of disaster. They said they were looking for a job, and they wanted to know if our Ambulance would take them on. They were keen. They had every qualification under the sun. "Only," they said, "there's one thing we bar. And that's the firing-line. We've been under shell-fire for fifteen hours--and look at our bus!" The bus was a thing of heroism and gorgeous ruin. The nose of its engine looked as if it had nuzzled its way through a thousand _debacles_; its dark-blue sides were coated with dust and mud to the colour of an armoured car. The letters M. E. T. were barely discernible through the grey. Its windows were shattered to mere jags and spikes and splinters of glass that adhered marvellously to their frames. I don't know how I managed to convey to the three volunteers that such a bus would be about as much use to our Field Ambulance as an old greenhouse that had come through an earthquake. It was one of the saddest things I ever had to do. Unperturbed, and still credulous of adventure, they climbed on to their bus, turned her nose round, and went, smiling, away. Who they were, and what corps they belonged to, and how they acquired that Metropolitan bus I shall never know, and do not want to know. I would far rather think of them as the heroes of some fantastic enterprise, careering in gladness and in mystery from one besieged city to another. Saw Madame F., who looks worried. She suggested that I should come back to the Hospital. She says it must be inconvenient for the Commandant not to have his secretary always at hand. At the same time, we are told that the Hospital is filling up so fast that our rooms will be wanted. And anyhow, Dr. ---- has got mine. I have found an absurd little hotel, the Hotel Cecil in the _Place_, opposite the Hospital, where I can have a room. Then I can be on duty all day. Went down to the "Poste." Gave up my room, packed and took leave of the nice fat _proprietaire_ and his wife. Driving through the town, I meet French troops pouring through the streets. There was very little cheering. Settled into the Hotel Cecil; if it could be called settling when my things have to stay packed, in case the Germans come before the evening.