it cannot go into
the train, and the poor wounded man has to be lifted and "transferred,"
which causes him (in the case of broken legs or internal injuries
especially) untold suffering. It also takes up much room, and gives
endless trouble for the sake of an _inch and a half_ of space, which is
the usual difference in the size of the stretchers, but that prevents
them slipping into the sockets on the train.

Another thing I have noticed is, that no man, even lying down in the
train, ever gets his boots taken off. The men's feet are always soaked
through, as they have been standing up to their knees in water in the
trenches; but, of course, slippers are unheard of. I do wonder if ladies
could be persuaded to make any sort of list or felt or even flannel
slippers? I saw quite a good pattern the other day, and will try to send
you one, in case Eastbourne should rise to the occasion. Of course,
there must be _hundreds_ of pairs, and heaps would get lost. I do
believe other centres would join, and the cost of material for slippers
would be quite trifling. A priest goes in each corridor train, and there
is always a stove where the boots could be dried. I believe slippers can
be bought for about a shilling a pair. The men's feet are _enormous_.
Cases should be marked with a red cross, and sent per S.S. _Invicta_,
Admiralty Pier, Dover.

[Page Heading: THE SHELLING OF LAMPERNESSE]

The fighting has had a sort of lull here for some time, but there are
always horrible things happening. The other day at Lampernesse, 500
soldiers were sleeping on straw in a church. A spy informed the Germans,
who were twelve miles off, but they got the range to an inch, and sent
shells straight into the church, killing and wounding nearly everyone in
it, and leaving men under the ruins. We had some terrible cases that
day. The church was shelled at 6 a.m., and by 11 a.m. all the wounded
were having soup and coffee at the station. I thought their faces were
more full of horror than any I had seen.

The parson belonging to our convoy is a particularly nice young fellow.
I have had a bad cold lately, and every night he puts a hot-water bottle
in my bed. When he can raise any food he lays a little supper for me, so
that when I come in between 12 and 1 o'clock I can have something to
eat, a lump of cheese, plum jam, and perhaps a piece of bully beef,
always three pieces of ginger from a paper bag he has of them. Last
night when I got back I found I