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Monte Carlo.
In every small town along the Riviera I came across I never failed to ask: "Are there any British wounded here?"
The answer was always the same "No, not yet, but we are expecting some, sir"; or, "Mrs. or Miss So-and-So has offered her villa, with doctors and nurses and everything, so they are bound to come soon."
And this is perfectly true. Everywhere, even in small villages like La Turbie, English ladies have offered to equip their villas as hospitals for British wounded. But no one has been sent yet, and the beautiful houses in that wondrous climate, which would certainly mean a delightful and quick convalescence, still remain empty.
If no use is made of such generous offers the fault will more easily be found in England than in France.
During a long motor trip all along the Upper Corniche Road I saw hundreds of French wounded who have become quite well and will go back to the front in a few days' time.
I spoke to some of them, and all admitted that there is nothing like staying, even for a very short time, on the Riviera to pick one up after the life of the trenches.
Not only wealthy people in their villas, but many among the middle classes and even poor folk find room for convalescent wounded in their homes; a doctor goes round every morning, but all the nursing is done by the families who take charge of the sick men.
Motoring on the Riviera is now a fairly complicated business, in spite of the passports and other documents which everyone now carries. At every control—and there is a control at every village—there are difficulties.