I was as terrified, perhaps, but my
pride had come to my aid.
It was the English officers who disapproved so thoroughly who told me
about them when they had gone.
"Of course they have no business there," they said. "It's a frightful
responsibility to place on the men at that part of the line. But
there's no question about the value of what they are doing, and if
they want to stay they deserve to be allowed to. They go right into
the trenches, and they take care of the wounded until the ambulances
can come up at night. Wait until you see their house and you will
understand why they got those medals."
And when I had seen their house and spent an evening with them I
understood very well indeed.
We gathered round the fire; conversation was desultory. Muddy and
weary young officers, who had been at the front all day, came in and
warmed themselves for a moment before going up to their cold rooms.
The owner of the broken wind shield arrived and was placated.
Continuous relays of tea were coming and going. Colonel ----, who had
been in an observation balloon most of the day, spoke of balloon
sickness.
"I have been in balloons of one sort and another for twenty years," he
said. "I never overcome the nausea. Very few airmen do."
I spoke to him about a recent night attack by German aviators.
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