their
feverish limbs. They were so grateful and, though often too ill to
speak, would smile their thanks, and one felt it was worth all the
backaches in the world.

It was such a virulent type of typhoid. Although we had been inoculated,
we were obliged to gargle several times during the day, and even then we
always had more or less of a "typy" throat.

Our gallant sergeant, sister Wicks, who had organised and run the whole
of the three Salles since November '14, suddenly developed para-typhoid,
and with great difficulty was persuaded to go to bed. Fortunately she
did not have it badly, and in her convalescent stage I was sent to look
after her up at the "shop window." I was anxious to get her something
really appetising for lunch, and presently heard one of the famous fish
wives calling out in the street. I ran out and bargained with her, for
of course she would have been vastly disappointed if I had given her the
original price she asked. At last I returned triumphant with two nice
looking little "Merlans," too small to cut their heads off, I decided. I
had never coped with fish before, so after holding them for some time
under the tap till they seemed clean enough, put them on to fry in
butter. I duly took them in on a tray to Wicks, and I'm sure they looked
very tasty. "Have you cleaned them?" she asked suspiciously. "Yes, of
course I have," I replied. She examined them. "May I ask what you
_did_?" she said. "I held them under the tap," I told her, "there didn't
seem anything more to be done," I added lamely.

How she laughed--I thought she was never going to stop--and I stood
there patiently waiting to hear the joke. She explained at length and
said, "No, take them away; you've made me feel ever so much better, but
I'll have eggs instead, thank you." I went off grumbling, "How on earth
was I to know anyway they kept their tummies behind their ears!"

That fish story went all over the hospital.

Nursing in the typhoids was relieved by turns up to the trenches behind
Dixmude, which we looked forward to tremendously, but as they were
practically--with slight variations in the matter of shelling and
bombardments--a repetition of my first experience, there is no object in
recounting them here.

The typhoid doctor--"Scrubby," by name; so called because of the
inability of his chin to make up its mind if it would have a beard or
not--was very amusing, without of course meaning to be. He liked to
write the reports o