In July 1918, at a casualty clearing station occupying temporary
quarters in the old College of St. Vincent at ruined Senlis we dealt
with 7,000 wounded in eight days. One night when we were more busy than
usual an ambulance car brought up a load of gas-blinded men.
A little man whose voice proclaimed the city of his birth--arm broken
and face blistered with mustard gas, though he alone of the party could
see--jumped out, looked around, and then whispered in my ear, "All
serene, guv'nor, leave 'em to me."
He turned towards the car and shouted inside, "Dalston Junction, change
here for Hackney, Bow, and Poplar."
Then gently helping each man to alight, he placed them in a line with
right hand on the shoulder of the man in front, took his position
forward and led them all in, calling softly as he advanced, "Slow
march, left, left, I had a good job and I _left_ it."--_Henry T. Lowde
(late 63rd C.C.S., R.A.M.C.), 101 Stanhope Gardens, Harringay, N.4._