ter had his mother with him, who was
one of our guests. The Canadian watched them together for some time in
silence, but followed them with his eyes as a cat might a mouse.
Suddenly, without any warning, he flung himself over on to his side and
burst out crying. Questioned as to what was the matter, he replied,
'Nothing.' 'Then what makes you cry? Is the pain worse?' 'No, thanks,
the pain is better.' 'Then what makes you cry like that?' Drying his
eyes, the boy replied, 'It's all very well for him, he's got his mother
with him. My mother is more than six thousand miles away!' Is it not
worth any effort and any cost to help the loved ones of these men who
have made such great sacrifices for us? The whole of this work for 'Les
Parents Blessees' is full of pathos. On one occasion we reached a big
hospital centre just as another Association car arrived from a big base
port, bringing three English women to see their husbands. The Y.M.C.A.
leader took them to the wards they were seeking. At the first, the
sister in charge came to speak to one of our guests and said, 'I am very
sorry, but am afraid your husband won't know you. He has been terribly
ill, and all sorts of complications have set in, but you had better come
in and see him.' Twenty minutes later we saw her again, and she told us
that for ten minutes she sat by her husband's bedside, but he did not
know her. Then stooping over him, she whispered, 'You remember little
Lizzie and little Willie at home, don't you?' For one second he gave her
that look of love and recognition that made the long journey from home
worth while.

Passing on to another ward we sent in a message, and the sister came to
greet our guest, and said, 'I am glad to say your husband is much
better. I'll tell him you are here.' When she came back she said she had
asked the invalid, 'What would you like best in all the world?' Without
a moment's hesitation, he replied, 'To go back to Blighty, Sister.'
'Blighty'--how many of those who use it realise the meaning of the word?
It comes from the Indian 'Vilayhti' and means 'The home across the sea.'
'Blighty!' said the Sister; 'you know that's impossible. What would you
like next best?' 'To see my wife,' was the prompt reply. 'And what
would you say if I told you your wife was waiting outside to see you?'
queried the Sister, as she moved from his bedside and opened the door.
Yes, to these people many thousands of them, the Red Triangle has indeed
been as a