There was a nurse at St. Quentin whose devotion and humanity will be long remembered by the many British and French wounded officers who have passed through that ward. In my half-dazed condition I seemed to have an idea that she was some sort of angel, whose gentle voice and comforting words were so soothing to the wounded, and inspired us with confidence in our painful conditions and surroundings. On Friday, still greedily hugging my bottle of water, I was removed from St. Quentin and placed in a hospital-train bound for Hanover. I was told it was a splendidly appointed train, with every modern appliance. The journey to Hanover occupied two days and two nights, but I remember nothing of it, as I believe I was unconscious the whole time. I do remember just before leaving being presented with a haversack from the French Red Cross Society, and it was full of things which were extremely useful: a sleeping-shirt, handkerchiefs, biscuits, and similar articles. I have the haversack still. I carried it wherever I went in Germany, and never allowed it to leave my possession. On Sunday morning, September 17, the train pulled into Hanover, and the wounded were carried out and left for a time on the platform. Some girls seemed to be busy giving refreshment to the wounded. A girl came to my stretcher, pulled down the blanket which covered my face, and clumsily pushed the spout of a drinking-cup, containing coffee, into my mouth. I thought she was trying to feed me from some kind of teapot. The pot fell out of my mouth, and the coffee ran down my neck. A man picked it up, and holding it to my lips, enabled me to sip it. I felt very grateful to him, for I was badly in need of sustenance. He spoke to me very kindly. I thanked him in a whisper, and asked him if he was an officer. He replied in English: "No, I am a waiter." I think I became unconscious again. Rather unfortunate, for had I been stronger the humour of the remark would have amused me. CHAPTER XXI ALIVE It was the first night after my arrival at Hanover that I really fully recovered a state of consciousness. Although I have recorded several incidents of the week which had just passed, they were only occasional glimpses from which I would relapse again into unconsciousness, and it only comes back to me in a hazy sort of way, like dreams through a long night of sleep. But I remember well the moment when I finally awoke and took in my surroundings. It was early in the morning. I seemed to have had frightful dreams; the horror of what I had passed through had been a frightful nightmare, mocking at me, laughing at me, blowing me to pieces. I turned over on my side. Strange place this shell-hole; it seemed very comfortable. What was this I was touching--a pillow, bedclothes. Good God! I was in a bed! As my thoughts became clearer I lay perfectly still, almost in fear that any movement I might make would awaken me from this beautiful dream.