My dear Mother
It seems since I wrote to you last, letters come through fairly well at present. We feel that a move from here soon is in the air, but probably we should be amongst the last to go.
We are now fully established for about 600 cases, in two parts of the town, one site the first at the Parc des Sports for about 250 cases and the other in the grounds of the chateau for about 350: at present we are not filled, as other base hospitals are nearer the scenes of action. There are six old Bart’s nurses here, one I discovered today met Mary casually last summer!
Many of our civil surgeons have gone forward, and we are none too many now for running the hospital if it gets full.
I hope you are keeping well, Mother, and getting cheerful news of the boys. I feel rather despondent about Antwerp’s chances, poor Belgium, what a cruel fate she is suffering. I wonder what proportion of the 300,000 football spectators in England are reasonably excusable from active service; I wish a Zeppelin would wake up the remainder. How many people has Badsey sent by now – more I hope. I see some villages in the south have done very well.
The less responsible English press still seems to preach that it will be all over in a few months, but it can’t be, I feel sure twelve months is the minimum, but pray God it may not be all the price? At such a rate of wastage of lives as in the first two months, that seems hardly possible. I see The Times pretty regularly, about a week late and Mary sends me The Spectator.
I hope she will manage to let the flat again. I don’t want her to go and live there by herself, she’d get very depressed. Besides if it can be let it helps the budget very considerably.
With much love to all.
From your son