Wednesday, March 3rd, Boulogne.—There is not a great deal to do or see here, especially on a wet day.
Friday, March 5th, 5 p.m.—On way down from Chocques—mixed lot of woundeds, medicals, Indians, and Canadians.
I have a lad of 24 with both eyes destroyed by a bullet, and there is a bad "trachy."
Nothing very much has been going on, but the German shells sometimes plop into the middle of a trench, and each one means a good many casualties.
10 p.m.—We've had a busy day, and are not home yet.
My boy with the dressings on his head has not the slightest idea that he's got no eyes, and who is going to tell him? The pain is bad, and he has to have a lot of morphia, with a cigarette in between.
We shall probably not unload to-night, and I am to be called at 2 a.m.
The infectious ward is full with British enterics, dips., and measles, and Indian mumpies.
Saturday, March 6th, Boulogne.—Instead of being called at 2 for duty, was called at 1 to go to bed, as they unloaded us at that hour.
Last night we pulled up at Hazebrouck alongside a troop train with men, guns, and horses just out from the Midlands.