And home to them was one room of a shattered house directly on the firing line.
Much has been said about women at the front. As far as I know at that time there were only two women absolutely at the front. Nurses as a rule are kept miles behind the line. Here and there a soup kitchen, like that just spoken of, has held its courageous place three or four miles back along the lines of communication.
I have said that they were extraordinarily dressed. Rather they were most practically dressed. Under khaki-coloured leather coats these two young women wore khaki riding breeches with puttees and flannel shirts. They had worn nothing else for six months. They wore knitted caps on their heads, for the weather was extremely cold, and mittens.
The fire was blazing high and we urged them to take off their outer wraps. For a reason which we did not understand at the time they refused. They sat with their leather coats buttoned to the throat, and coloured violently when urged to remove them.
"But what are you doing here?" said one of the officers. "What brings you so far from P——"
They said they had had an errand, and went on drinking tea.
"What sort of an errand?" a young lieutenant demanded.
They exchanged glances.
"Shopping," they said, and took more tea.
"Shopping, for what?" He was smilingly impertinent.