Nothing
could be seen except an occasional cloud where shrapnel had burst. The
British Army was keeping me safe, as it had promised!
There were, however, barbed-wire entanglements everywhere, built, I
thought, rather higher than the French. Roads to the right led to the
advanced trenches, empty roads which at night are thronged with men
going to the front or coming back.
Here and there one saw a sentry, and behind him a tent of curious
mottled shades of red, brown and green.
"They look as though they were painted," I said, rather bewildered.
"They are," the officer replied promptly. "From an aeroplane these
tents are absolutely impossible to locate. They merge into the colors
of the fields."
Now and then at a crossroads it was necessary to inquire our way. I
had no wish to run into danger, but I was conscious of a wild longing
to have the car take the wrong turning and land abruptly at the
advance trenches. Nothing of the sort happened, however.
We passed small buildings converted into field hospitals and flying
the white flag with a red cross.
"There are no nurses in these hospitals," explained the officer. "Only
one surgeon and a few helpers. The men are brought here from the
trenches, and then taken back at night in ambulances to the railroad
or to base hospitals.
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