t down in an ambulance after dark, macks covering
our bathing dresses, and scampered over the sands in the moonlight to
the warm waves shining and glistening with phosphorus.

Zeppelin raids seemed to go out of fashion, but Gothas replaced them
with pretty considerable success. As we had a French Archie battery near
us it was no uncommon thing, when a raid was in progress, for our
souvenirs and plates, etc., to rattle off the walls and bomb us (more or
less gently) awake!

There was a stretch of asphalt just at the bottom of our camp that had
been begun by an enterprising burgher as a tennis club before the war,
though others _did_ say it was really intended as a secret German gun
emplacement. It did not matter much to us for which purpose it had been
made, for, as it was near, we could play tennis and still be within
call. There was just room for two courts, and many a good game we
enjoyed there, especially after an early evacuation, in the long empty
pause till "brekker" at eight o'clock.

"Wuzzy," or to give him his proper name, "Gerald," came into existence
about this time. He arrived from Peuplinghe a fat fluffy puppy covered
with silky grey curls. He was of nondescript breed, with a distinct
leaning towards an old English sheep dog. He had enormous fawn-coloured
silky paws, and was so soft and floppy he seemed as if he had hardly a
bone in his body. We used to pick him up and drop him gently in the
grass to watch him go out flat like a tortoise. He belonged to Lean, and
grew up a rather irresponsible creature with long legs and a lovable
disposition. He adored coming down to the ambulance trains or sitting
importantly on a car, jeering and barking at his low French friends in
the road, on the "I'm the king of the castle" principle. Another of his
favourite tricks was to rush after a car (usually selecting Lean's), and
keep with it the whole time, never swerving to another, which was rather
clever considering they were so much alike. On the way back to Camp he
had a special game he played on the French children playing in the
_Petit Courgain_. He would rush up as if he were going to fly at them.
They would scream and fall over in terror while he positively laughed at
them over his shoulder as he cantered off to try it on somewhere else.
The camp was divided in its opinion of Wuzzy, or rather I should say
quartered--viz.--one quarter saw his points and the other three-quarters
decidedly did not!

A priceless art