At eight o’clock we go off in ambulance motor-wagons and are taken off to the German Hospital. It is a very fine hospital, now of course British, and we are put to bed and given cocoa.
One of the officers of our party is suffering from a nervous breakdown, and a brother-officer of his, an awfully decent chap, who had been wounded in the arm, takes charge of him just as one would a frightened child. In the motor-ambulance the nervous broken officer put out his hand quickly and made as if to rise, and the wounded officer with his unwounded arm linked the other arm in his with a reassuring look. I think little touches like that are very fine. In the hospital one officer is completely off his head, and has to have an orderly in attendance all day and all night. Last night he shouted out in great fear once or twice, imagining shells and Turks.
July 10th.
It is now 9.30, and I have bathed and shaved and had breakfast, and am in bed awaiting the doctor.
They are wheeling bad cases to the dressing-rooms. A hospital is most depressing.
Went out in the afternoon and did some shopping.
July 11th.
Very nice day. An Arab procession passes outside our hospital, headed by a band making a most infernal din. All blowing brass instruments as loudly as they can and beating drums, and all marching anyhow. Difficult at first to make out what the tune is, as it is such a discord, but on listening intently we made it out to be Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes.”
Procession consists of a whole convoy of wagons loaded with what looks like “Manchester goods.” What it is all about no one but the Arabs appears to know.
Found out afterwards they were going to a fair and they were taking goods along to sell. Went out in afternoon and called at Club. Saw Chief Padre of the Forces, Horden, and had a long chat with him.