April 8, 1942

The enemy’s front lines are practically at our back door. I took my bath late this afternoon at the ravine, and a large piece of shrapnel tore a branch from a tree near me causing my heart to pound hard and fast. I’d hate to die without any clothes on. We worked like slaves today; there are more patients than we can possibly care for. About seven thousand are here. Bill was admitted this morning with a high temperatures he has been sick for days. It is now 8 p.m. We, the nurses, have orders to be ready to leave within an hour. Good-bye, Diary.

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