The messenger from Lapovo had also now returned with the bad news that our hospital there had been evacuated, by order of the military authorities, two days before he arrived, whilst Lapovo was being heavily bombarded. Doctor Cockburn and her little unit ultimately joined the Kragujevatz party, and escaped to England under Doctor Curcin's care. We, ourselves, now at Berzan, expected marching orders every minute; the firing line was close upon us, and the guns made such a noise it was difficult to sleep. The quartette (dispenser, sergeant, Sandford and Merton) all came up and suggested that we should move on without waiting for orders. But the shells were not dropping in our camp, and I saw no reason for interfering with the arrangements for evacuation made at headquarters. It would never do to allow a panic or "skedaddle" principle to invade our camp. That would be a worse enemy than the Germans. And--in House of Commons language--my answer was in the negative. The order to move came at nine next morning, Wednesday, October 29th, and the speed with which the column put itself this day in marching order was exemplary. Rain was falling in torrents as we trekked along the muddy road to Bagrdan. Would this place also be evacuated, or should we be able to buy some much-needed articles of clothing here? But from the first moment of retreat, during the next three months, we never entered a town or village that had not either just been evacuated or that was not about to be evacuated for the enemy. Houses deserted, shops shuttered, all eyes, as it were, closed, that they should not see the scenes of sorrow as the fugitives fled in silence through their streets; that they should not witness the galling spectacle of the triumphant entry of the enemy. Evacuation meant, of course, cessation of all means of communication with the outer world. During three months we were without letters, or news of any sort from home. Powers of mind, soul, body, were all concentrated, driven inwards, on the tragedy in which we had literally a walking part. It was terrible enough to see town after town abandoned to the enemy; I pictured what we should feel if our English towns from Newcastle to Falmouth, were all to fall, in regular routine, as prizes to the triumphant Germans. But the abandonment of stations on the railway line, the main artery of national life, that seemed an even sadder sight. When we arrived at Bagrdan the station was already dismantling. We encamped, according to instructions, in a field near the station, but when heavy rain made the ground a swamp, I asked permission to shelter in the station rooms. In the morning these were not available, and we were obliged to do the best we could with sodden tents, but in the afternoon we were allowed to take possession, because by then the station was dismantled in readiness for evacuation.