Goodbye to all That by Robert Graves — Read

I HAD wired my parents that I should be arriving at Waterloo Station the next morning. The roadway from the hospital train to a row of waiting ambulances had been roped off; as each stretcher case was lifted from the train, a huge hysterical crowd surged up to the barrier and uttered a new roar. Flags were being waved. The Somme battle seemed to be regarded at home as the beginning of the end of the war. As I looked idly at the crowd, one figure detached itself: to my embarrassment - I recognized my father, hopping about on one leg, waving an umbrella, and cheering with the best of them.

The ambulance took me to Queen Alexandra's Hospital at Highgate: Sir Alfred Mond's big house, lent for the duration of the War, and reputedly the best hospital in London. Having a private room to myself came as an unexpected luxury. What I most disliked in the Army was never being alone, forced to live and sleep with men whose company, in many cases, I would have run miles to avoid.