ut did not pay them, looked upon
those ladies with suspicion. They were allowed to work. They were not
welcomed. I think the E.F. Canteen people would have got rid of them
if they could. Yet they did work which in quantity was at least equal
to that of the orderlies usually employed, and in quality enormously
superior.

The room which served as a canteen was singularly inconvenient. The
part of it used by the men was far too small, and used to be
disagreeably crowded in the evenings and on wet days. The space
behind the counter was narrow, gloomy, and ill ventilated. A worker
serving there had the choice of being half choked or blown about by
furious draughts. Miss L. preferred the draughts, which she called
"fresh air." I sometimes found myself inclined to regard suffocation
as the pleasanter alternative.

I have never seen a more inconvenient kitchen than that in which
those ladies worked. It was small, low, and very gloomy. It had an
uneven floor, on which it was quite possible to trip. The roof leaked
badly in half a dozen places, and on wet days an incautious person
splashed about. In summer with two fires burning that kitchen became
fiercely hot. Even an electric fan, presented by a sympathetic
visitor, did little to help. No self-respecting English kitchen maid
would have stayed two hours in a house where she was given such a
kitchen to work in.

Yet wonderful hot suppers were cooked there in long succession. Huge
puddings and deep crocks of stewed fruit were prepared. A constant
supply of tea, coffee, and cocoa was kept ready to replenish
exhausted kettles on the counter outside, and all the washing up for
hundreds of men was done in a very small sink.

The cooking and bar serving were the smallest part of the work those
ladies did. Miss L. was active as a gardener. In most camps in France
men take to gardening willingly, and require little help or
encouragement. In this camp it was different. No one stayed there
long enough to be interested in the garden. I have seen photographs
of the camp before I knew it, as it was in 1915, a desolate stretch
of trampled mud. I saw recently a photograph of the camp in 1917. It
was then gay with flowers. I knew it in 1916, when Miss L. had begun
her gardening and was gradually extending her flower-beds, creating
new borders and fencing off small spaces of waste ground with wooden
palings.

Her enthusiasm stimulated men, who could never hope to see any result
of their