Such interviews are of frequent occurrence at the Front, where lives momentarily touch, and then, possibly, for ever separate. Lying on a stone floor of a deserted cottage in Dickebusch that night, I passed one of the most painful, wretched and sleepless nights of my life. My brother officers were all snoring comfortably, when suddenly a knock at the door placed me on the alert. My first thought was that the Germans had got through, accordingly I made no reply; presently a gruff voice said, 'An orderly, sir,' and I cried out, 'Come in.' He had brought a dispatch to say that the whole German line had been forced back, and that the Ambulance was immediately to take up its old position on the farther side of Hooge. In a very short time an early breakfast was quickly disposed of and the column was ready to move off. The O.C., finding me utterly incapacitated by reason of my injuries, decided that I must go into hospital, for wounded men are not much use in a life where a man's fullest powers are daily called for. Fortunately, at that moment, Colonel Swan, A.D.M.S., and Lieut.-Colonel Guy Moores, D.A.D.M.S., came up in their car, and learning my condition, very kindly brought me and my kit into Ypres; saying that I must proceed to the Base. Accordingly I was deposited at Ypres station, where the R.T.O. most kindly had me cared for in his office. During the long hours of Sunday, November 1, I spent a miserable time waiting for the hospital train to start. In the course of the day, an officer in my Brigade, Lord Bury, had a chat with me, and committed to me an urgent telegram for his wife. In the course of the morning he had been arrested as a spy; and seemed very amused at the uncommon experience. At 6 p.m. I was placed on the train, and with some two or three other fellow sufferers, gradually rolled away from the sound of fire, which for three weeks past had been the daily accompaniment of one's life. I cannot speak too highly of the great care and solicitude bestowed upon the wounded in the train. For the first time one came into touch with those splendid women, literally angels of mercy, the nursing sisters. Never shall I cease to remember their loving care, and the skilful way in which they bandaged up my crushed leg. It was a long journey. Leaving Ypres at 6 p.m. on Sunday night, we didn't reach Boulogne until 3 p.m. on the Monday afternoon, a distance of not more than eighty miles. On reaching the Base I was informed that I was to be sent to England, on a hospital ship about to leave. Accordingly, with some twenty or thirty other officers, and a large number of men, we were conveyed to the ambulance, through a dense crowd of sympathizing French people.