ter menace to those in the
open than the former. On one of these nights I, with two Canadian chums,
sightless like myself, had just entered the Bungalow when the maroons
began to explode and the whistles to shriek. Bed was out of the
question. Besides, the matron, Mrs. Craven, would be up on the instant
to look after her boys. True to form, the matron appeared, and we drew
up one of the Davenports in front of a cheerful grate fire.

"Are all you boys feeling right?" asked the matron.

Before we had time to answer, the anti-aircraft guns opened up their
barrage. They seemed to be shooting right over the Bungalow, for pieces
of shrapnel clattered on the roof like great hailstones. One piece,
about a pound in weight, smashed through the roof and into the matron's
room. As we sat there, overhead we could hear the angry droning of the
Hun planes and the whistling rush of the dropping bombs, each moment
expecting one to crash among us. A bomb that dropped near by, in St.
John's Wood, sounded as it if were going to pay us a visit, and I
nervously remarked: "This one is ours, Matron!"

"Well, Rawlinson," she replied, without a quiver in her voice, "we are
still soldiers, you know, and if it comes, what better could we ask than
a soldier's death."

That night four bombs dropped in the grounds within a radius of four
hundred yards, but fortunately none of them did any material damage.

On another night we were being entertained at one of the delightful
concerts arranged for us by the staff. The concert was at its height
when the guns opened up. Our entertainers suggested stopping the
performance, but we objected to having such a trifling matter as an air
raid interfere with our fun, and the concert went merrily on, and before
it was over the Huns were beating it for home, chased by daring British
aviators.

On several occasions the raiders hove in sight after the inmates of the
Bungalow were all in bed. But Sir Arthur had seen to it that we should
be warned in time, so that in case we received a direct hit we should
not be caught like rats in a trap. News of the approaching raiders was
sent in by the telephone simultaneously with its receipt by the police
authorities, and one of the orderlies on watch visited the rooms and
roused the men, instructing any who so wished to take refuge in the
shrapnel-proof cellars over at the House. Needless to say, none of the
boys rushed for shelter--not from our ward, at any rate. We eithe