spent during the Great War, terminating with a visit to the Gaiety, in Manchester, in conjunction with my father and mother, where we saw a most enjoyable comedy entitled "The Two Miss Farndons."

I bid farewell to my parents on Victoria Station at 10.35 that evening—Friday, May 25, 1917; and I then proceeded to the train which was to carry me away to England's capital.

The following letter, written at Folkestone at 11.15 the following morning, describes my journey up to that moment:

"I hope you and Father got home safely last night and are not worrying. My train left Manchester at 11.20. I had to change at Stockport. In neither case could I get a carriage to myself, but I managed to doze. When dawn broke we were in Northampton. It was 6.30 when the train arrived in Euston Station. I got a taxi across London to Victoria. There was an enormous crowd of military there, bound for France. People were seeing some of them off. I could not get any breakfast there. My train left London at 7.50. The journey through Kent is really delightful, such beautiful country. I am sorry to leave dear old England; hope I shall soon be back again!

"As we passed through Shorncliffe I noticed a house in ruins. Apparently there had been an air raid. And there has indeed! There was a bad air raid here at 6.30 last night. There is a good deal of damage done in Folkestone: I have seen it while walking about the streets this morning. There have been a good many casualties.

"The weather is glorious, delightful sunshine and hot. I am now having breakfast in a cafe in Folkestone with another officer. We sail on the Princess Clementine at 2 this afternoon, and so will be in Boulogne about 3.30."

I landed at Boulogne at 4 that afternoon and we went straight on to Étaples the same evening. The following letter recounts my journey and arrival at that great camp upon the sand-hills:

"May 27th, 1917.

"I have now, once more, safely arrived in this place, where there is nothing but sand. I expect you will already have received my communications from Folkestone. Is the news of the raid yet in the papers? I was told that there were thirty German aeroplanes and one zeppelin. Bombs were dropped on the soldiers' camp there, and a good many soldiers were killed. Apparently the operation made a big row, for it was heard across the water in the cathedral city in which we landed.

" ... We went on board at 1.30, but the boat did not start until 2.50. It was, and still is, tremendously hot. It seems that submarines are not harassing our transport route: for the number of ships, of various kinds, crossing was considerable. It was a pleasant voyage; but as I saw the white cliffs of Folkestone receding from my ken I could not help recalling with what rapture I beheld them on my return from France last October, and expressing a faint wish that I were again returning rather than going out! But, still, one will soon get used to France again; and we can always look forward to the next return. One thing is obvious—I am here for the hottest weather; heat, if anything, will be the trouble, not cold.

"The boat stood in the harbour for some time before we could land; but we eventually did so at 4. After seeing about my kit I had tea at the British Officers' Club, opposite the Gare Centrale. Then I got into the train. It should have left at 5.45, but, like all French trains, was very late in starting. It did start a little before 7. It was a train filled entirely with officers. It ambled along in the usual leisurely fashion. When we were about half-way we noticed that a good many were standing outside on the step; some had their legs hanging out of the window, others were actually on the roof! When we came to a tunnel the latter dived in through the open windows. Others got out and spoke to girls on the way, and then ran on and got back into the train. This is how travelling is carried on 'Somewhere in France'!

"The scenery, beautiful as it seemed last autumn, is much more beautiful now. It is at its best: the green grass with the dandelions and daisies, the hawthorn and the trees in bloom, little villages clustering in charming woods, the sheep and the cows, and little children cheering the train, everything sparkling in the hot sunshine; such is France—and such was the Kent I left behind me—at present. As one looks upon the peaceful country-side in France to-day one can scarcely realize that war is raging in all its ferocity and barbarity so near. It seems an anomaly. The weather is more suggestive of cricket than of war.

"I got here about 8.30, and went to the mess of the 23rd Infantry Base Depot. Here I found Bridgestock, Hamer, and Allin (officers who had been at Scarborough with me, and had come out a few days earlier). They have been here nearly a week. They are going to the 3/5th Lancashire Fusiliers. I had some supper before going to bed in my tent. We are three in a tent. Leigh and Macdonald are the names of my tent companions.

"Fortunately it is Sunday to-day. So we did not get up until 7.45. I did not feel like rising until then!

"We (the twenty Lancashire Fusilier officers who arrived here yesterday) saw the Adjutant, Captain Reid, this morning, in the orderly room, and had some information given to us. I spent most of the morning at the field cashier's, waiting for an 'advance of pay book'! Then lunch. It is now about 2.30 in the afternoon.

"As I expected, I find that I have too much kit: I am told that I shall have to get rid of some when I get to my unit. I am at present writing on my nice table, but no other officers have brought out tables or chairs or anything of that kind! Well—we shall see...."

"May 28th, 1917.

"It is still boiling hot; thank goodness we have finished for to-day! I must first, however, tell you how I spent the remainder of yesterday, after writing home. I spent the afternoon in the town. I explored most of it. Happening to pass the church, I saw a great crowd. It was full inside; the west doors were open, and people were sitting in the doorway and standing out in the street watching the service. So I too stopped and watched. It was most interesting, but as the service was conducted in French (apparently the Gallican Church differs from the Roman Catholic Church in England in that the service is conducted in the vernacular), I do not know what the service was. Although most of it was in French, bits were in Latin. It was exceptionally spectacular. There were about a hundred little boys in surplices and little girls in white veils (as if dressed for confirmation), all carrying long, lighted candles. Music and hymns were proceeding all the time. The little boys and girls were standing still part of the time, and processing up and down the chancel at other times. Eventually they all processed past the senior priest, attired in full vestments; and he blew out their candles as they passed. Towards the close of the service, a little girl, carrying her candle, was brought out by the priest and stationed in front of the altar with her face to the congregation; then she recited, in French, something which sounded like a very long creed. She was only about twelve or thirteen; but she did it without a stop, and in a clear, pleasant voice. After that a bell rang, everybody bent their heads, and the priest pronounced the Benediction. Then the congregation came out, and behind came the boys and girls and the priest. The people lined the road, and the procession walked on until it reached a kind of yard leading to some institute. The people followed. They all halted inside here. Then the priest prepared to make a little speech and pronounce another Benediction; but he would