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[Page 134]

June 19
I am at Clapton Hospital, London, a rather bare place, which used to be a workhouse – it must be cold & cheerless in the winter. Left No 2 C. Stationary Hospital on the 16th and went on board the "St Denis" at Boulogne. Whenever the stretcher was going to be carried I wanted to walk; but was shoved back again. When we were going on board, the man on the stretcher ahead of me proved to be Hampton, a new arrival, since it was smashed, in my platoon, and a man who was with us a Marie Cappel when I became ill.
He has it in the leg, & has come, also, to this hospital. His wound came in a hopover, a week ago. The curious thing is that I wrote to him & two others to make sure of having my pack & things in it looked after; and Hampton tells me that the other two, poor Somerville, (who got the fictionally frequent but war-rare "shot through the heart"), and Leyton, have both been killed.I came over to England in a pyjama coat merely, the Hospital being short of things; & I have very little with me, though what I have includes the inevitable pen & bottle of ink. I don't seem able to keep fountain pens, having lost three. I suppose the souvenirs in my pack are gone.

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