A splendid diversion was caused one day when the Huns came over in full force (thirty to forty Gothas) in a daylight raid. I was delighted! This was something I really _did_ understand. It was topping to hear the guns blazing away once more. Everyone in the place seemed to be ringing their electric bells, and, afraid I might miss something, I put my finger on mine and held it there. Presently the matron appeared: "You can't be taken to the cellar," she said, "it's no good being nervous, you're as safe here as anywhere!" "It wasn't that," I said, "I wondered if I might have a wheel chair and go along the corridor to see them." "Rubbish," said she, "I never heard of such a thing," and she hurried on to quiet the patient in the next room. But by dint of screwing myself half on to a chair near the window I did just get a glimpse of the sky and saw about five of the Huns manoeuvring. Good business! One of the things I suffered from most, was visitors whom I had never seen in my life before. There would be a tap at the door; enter lady, beautifully dressed and a large smile. The opening sentence was invariably the same. "You won't know who I am, but I'm Lady L----, Miss so-and-so's third cousin. She told me all about you, and I thought I really _must_ come and have a peep." Enters and subsides into chair near bed smiling sweetly, and in nine cases out of ten jiggles toes against it, which jars one excessively. "You must have suffered _terribly_! I hear your leg was absolutely _crushed_! And now tell me all about it! Makes you rather sick to talk of it? Fancy that! Conscious all the time, dear me! What you must have gone _through_! (Leg gives one of its jumps.) Whatever was that? Only keeping your knee from getting stiff, how funny! _Lovely_ having the _Croix de Guerre_. Quite makes up for it. What? Rather have your _leg_. Dear me, how odd! Wonderful what they do with those artificial limbs nowadays. Know a man and really you can't tell _which_ is which. (Naturally not, any fool could make a leg the shape of the other!) Well, I really _must_ be going. I shall be able to tell all my friends I've _seen_ you now and been able to cheer you up a little. _Poor_ girl! _So_ unfortunate! Terribly cheerful, aren't you? Don't seem to mind a bit. Would you kindly ring for the lift? I find these stairs _so trying_. I've enjoyed myself so much. Goodbye." Exit (goodby-ee). In its way it was amusing at first, but one day I sent for the small porter, Tommy, aged twelve (I had begun to sympathise with the animals in the Zoo). "Tommy," I said, "if you _dare_ to let anyone come up and see me unless they're _personal_ friends, you won't get that shell head I promised you. Don't be put off, make them describe me. You'll be sorry if you don't."