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[Page 20]
This place would cure anyone, put on bread and butter scantily sur served and no extra meals.
Joe Buckley a man all the way from Jamacia (West Indies Expeditionary Force) has kept me interested today. He is able to get about on one foot, one heel and a walking stick – always busy – stokes the stove, toasts the other side of those lightly buttered slices of bread, and enlists all and sundry. For some time he laboured industriously on a patient's face. One may term it shaving. Joe says something wrong with razor and quotes instances when he removed whiskers painlessly. The next victim to be lathered up looked grave but faced the ordeal like a man awaiting a hop-over the enemy (those whiskers were met in massed formation, but by shear force they were rooted from their firm stronghold. It was not a bloodless victory. Now Joe takes a hand at wist. A mournful look creeps over his face as he sees those small cards but at the sight of an ace livens up considerably. He again smiles, he is winning. Now comes a lull – bad paper has been