In the evening we went to the Huts to help the men have an English Christmas. The Hut to which I went was a few miles out, at Rouxmesnil, and it was larger than most and possessed a cinema. For the first hour or so, we were fully occupied in serving out the tea and buns and extra fruit provided by the Hut Ladies, and then came the games…. At length a fresh thought struck the troops. How nice it would be to dance! Now dancing in the Huts, during the War, was strictly forbidden. They knew it. But the War was over - a month ago - and it was Christmas night…. Never surely was the proudest ballroom belle in England so humbly begged for a dance. I thought of all those who had swept past me in balls in England. Would that they could see me now! ... The piano was ringing out ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ to the measure of an intoxicating waltz. But the pianist was hastily ordered to stop.... They clamoured for the Lancers, as, in that, I realised, they would all actually dance with me. It was not that they thought anything of me in particular, but they had not been allowed to dance with an Englishwoman in France for more than four years - and in that state of mind any Englishwoman is a goddess. I am quite certain that each one of them imagined me to be somebody different, whom he knew at home. We began. Now I am small, and they were all rather large. Furthermore, the Lancers as the British Army - Other Ranks - dance it, is a highly rollicking affair. In this famous first set, I was the only woman on the floor and we soon were the only set. The Hut, as I have said, was large, but it was nothing for my partners, as we set to corners, to fling me the whole length of it. << less