f being bathed at the hospital before the last
stretcher-case was quit of the train. The stretcher cases were our
concern. Pairs of Bluebottles, each carrying a stretcher, entered the
van-wards and anon reappeared with their burden. Now came our cue to
act. As the stretcher approached the foot of the stair two of our number
stepped forth from the rank, each taking a handle from a Bluebottle; the
stretcher thus proceeded on its course up the stair carried by four men,
one on each handle--two Bluebottles and two R.A.M.C.'s.

That flight of iron stairs from the platform to the road seemed no very
arduous ordeal for the first half-dozen journeys. There was a knack
about keeping the stretcher horizontal: the front bearers must hold
their handles as low as possible; the rear bearers must hoist their
handles shoulder-high. It was all plain sailing and perfectly easy. Four
men to a stretcher is luxurious. At least it is luxurious on the level,
and if you have not far to go and not many consecutive stretchers to
carry. But when the convoy was a large one, when the bearers were too
few and you had no sooner got rid of one stretcher than you must run
down the stairs and, without regaining your breath, grab the handle of
another and slowly toil up again to the ambulances ... yes, even on the
coldest day it was possible to be moist with perspiration; and as for
the hot weather of the 1915 summer, when one of our Big Pushes was
afoot, or when returned prisoners came from Germany (those were
memorable occasions!)--you might be pardoned a certain aching in the
arm-muscles.

It was on one of these busy days that I discovered that the comical
prejudice of khaki against the Bluebottles was not (as I had hitherto
supposed) confined to the young swashbucklers of the home-staying
R.A.M.C. It was seldom our custom to enter the hospital trains. An
unwritten law decreed that Bluebottles only should enter the train: the
R.A.M.C. limited themselves to carrying work outside, on the platform
and stair. But on this occasion the supply of Bluebottles had, for the
moment, run short, and our party took a turn at going up the gangways
and evacuating the van-wards. As it happened, I and my mate on the
stretcher were the first khaki-wearers to invade that particular
van-ward. And as we steered our stretcher in at the door and down the
aisle of cots a shout arose from the wounded lying there: "Here are some
real soldiers!"

It was too bad. It was base i