e patients are enjoying it. It is still very cold, and there is a
little snow about. They call their goatskin coats "Teddy Bears." One
very ill boy, wounded in the lungs, who was put off at Abbeville, was
wailing, "Where's my Mary Box?" as his stretcher went out of the window.
We found it, and he was happy.

_Wednesday, March 10th._--We got to Etretat at about 3 P.M. yesterday
after a two days' and one night load, and had time to go up to the
hospital, where I saw S. The Matron was away. We only saw it at night
last time, so it was jolly getting the afternoon there. The sea was a
thundery blue, and the cliffs lit up yellow by the sun, and with the
grey shingle it made a glorious picture to take back to the train. It
had been a heavy journey with bad patients, and we were rather tired, so
we didn't explore much.

We woke at Sotteville near Rouen this morning, and later in the day had
a most fatiguing and much too exciting adventure over catching the
train. Two of the Sisters and I walked into Rouen about 10.30, and found
No.-- A.T. marked up as still at Sotteville (in the R.T.O.'s office),
and so concluded it would be there all day. So we did our businesses of
hair-washing, Cathedral, lunch, &c., and then took the tram back to
Sotteville. The train had gone! The Sotteville R.T.O. (about a mile off)
told us it was due to leave Rouen loaded up for Havre at 2.36; it was
then 2.15, and it was usually about three-quarters of an hour's walk up
the line (we'd done it once this morning), so we made a desperate dash
for it. Sister M. walks very slowly at her best, so we decided that I
should sprint on and stop the train, and she and the other follow up.
The Major met me near our engine, and was very kind and concerned, and
went on to meet the other two. The train moved out three minutes after
they got on. Never again!--we'll stick on it all day rather than have
such a narrow shave.

We are full of convalescents for Havre to go straight on to the boat.
They are frightfully enthusiastic about the way the British Army is
looked after in this war. "There's not much they don't get for us," they
said.

There are crowds of primroses out on the banks. Our infant R.A.M.C.
(Officer's Mess) cook (a boy of about twenty, who looks sixteen and
cooks beautifully) has just jumped off the train while it was going,
grabbed a handful of primroses, and leapt on to the train again some
coaches back. He came back panting and rosy, and said, "I'v