I was in a room off the "Grand Circle" of the one-time Casino, an officers' ward. One night the Sister had left me for a moment and I could have sworn I saw three Germans enter. I thought they said to me that they had come to hide and if I gave them away they would hit my leg. The mere suggestion left me dumb and I distinctly seemed to see them getting under the two other empty beds in the room. After a few minutes it dawned on me what a traitor I was, and bit by bit I eased myself up on my elbows. "I must go and tell someone these Germans are here," I thought, and turned back the clothes. After throwing the small sand bags on the floor that kept my bad leg in position, I next seized the cradle and pitched that overboard. I then carefully lifted first one leg round and then the other and sat swaying on the side of the bed. The splints naturally jutted out some distance from the end of my one leg and this struck me as being very funny. I wondered just how I could walk on them. Then I looked down at the other and the proposition seemed funnier still; though I could feel as if the leg was there, when I looked there was nothing. It was really extremely odd! I sat there for some time cogitating these matters and was just about to try how I could walk when very luckily in came an orderly. "Germans!" I gasped, pointing to the two beds. I must have looked a little odd sitting swaying there in a very inadequate "helpless" shirt belonging to the hospital! With a muttered exclamation he rushed forward just catching me in his arms, and I was back in bed in a twinkling. The whole thing was so clear to me; even now I can fancy I really saw those Germans, and the adorable V.A.D., after searching under the beds at my request, sat with me for the rest of the night. My "good" leg was tied securely down after that episode. I was dead and buried (by report) several times that first week in hospital and Sergeant Richardson from the Detail Issue Stores, who saw we always had the best rations, came up to see me one afternoon. He was so spick and span I hardly recognized him, and in his hand was a large basket of strawberries. The very first basket that had appeared in the fruiterers' that year. He sat down and told me how anxious "the boys" were to hear how I really was. All sorts of exaggerated rumours had been flying about. He related how he had first heard the news on that fatal Wednesday and how "a bloke" told him I had been killed outright. "I knocked 'im down," said the Sergeant with pride, "and when he comes to me the next morning to tell to me you wos still alive, why, I was so pleased I knocked 'im down again!" Bad luck on the "bloke," what? I was convulsed, only the trouble was it hurt me even to laugh, which was trying.