So it was that when I reached Oulchy Ie Chateau I made for a cafe, and had some bread and preserved meat, a large bowl of hot coffee and a drink of cider. The good lady gave me a long bandage when she learned I was "mal au pieds" and later directed me to the doctor's house. She would accept no payment, telling me that she knew I must be English. Oh what a blow to what I hoped was beginning to sound like a Polish accented French. A few minutes later I arrived at the door of the doctor's house. As the weather was hot the door had been left open and I stood looking into a neat hall from which doors led off to rooms on either side. I rang the electric bell. A cry of "entrez" repeated quickly three times, came in answer, but I stayed rooted to the door step. I did not want to enter and be assailed by a torrent of quick French with other ears to hear my reply. There were bound to be patients in the house I thought, and attracting their attention would serve no good purpose. I rang again and from one of the side doors bustled a dapper little, bespectacled man. When he saw the "tramp", he stood where he was ,half way up the hall and spoke quickly. I gathered he wanted to know who I was, and why I had not come in when bidden to do so. My form of reply rather shook the doctor. I merely beckoned with my forefinger and said nothing! He peered at me through his thickly rimmed glasses, shrugged his shoulders and advance upon me. When he was standing at my side I bent down to his ear and whispered -"Je suis Anglais M. Ie doctor". In a few sentences I added to that I was an aviator, and had very bad blisters on my feet, - could he help me?
    He spoke too quickly for me to understand all he said but I followed him into his surgery; as he directed. I was given a chair, and happy moment, off came those tormenting boots. The size and rawness of the blisters on my heels exacted cries of sympathy from the doctor and his charming little wife who had been summoned into the room. The lady could speak a little English, heavily accented after the fashion of French maids in the farces. My French poor though it was, once more bridged the gap and the doctor was persuaded by Madame to speak slowly. In this way they learned of my travels to date, and I, that they would help me, and that I must stay a few days under their roof until arrangements could be made to remove me to a safe hiding at a small farm they knew, isolated and not far distant. My blistered feet were bathed, the dead skin cut deftly away and ointment and bandages quickly applied. Madame then led me upstairs to a large airy bedroom and I was soon, sound asleep on a feather bed.
    I was awakened about three hours later and waiting for me was a bowl of soup, a plate of eggs and bacon, with a large bowl of red and white currants with sugar. There was a bottle of white wine. The meal was delicious and was dispatched with amazing speed. I was told there was a bath waiting for me. What luxury! Those good folk could never have had a more grateful guest. The doctor gave me a little compact razor, which I still possess, and a small red tin of Vaseline, which even now I retain, though it is sadly battered. After my bath I was given a clean shirt, clean underpants, and two pairs of clean socks. The doctor's feet were smaller than mine, or I should have been given a pair of shoes as well. As it was I kept my boots. Bathed and shaven I was feeling on top of the world. Madame Fayet bade me stay in my room and gave me several copies of "Signal" to read. Signal is a German propaganda weekly, published in several languages and doubtless of good value to the Germans. Later the doctor returned, redressed my feet and told me that he had been out to the farm, of which he had spoken. I would leave for the farm on the next day. I was assured that he did not want me to walk, and at this I was greatly relieved. After another meal, more white wine, and a bowl of coffee I was bidden "good night".