As the stretcher bearers were loading Wilf into the horse-drawn ambulance, Lt. Joe Maxwell stopped by, gripped him on the shoulder, and said, "Hurry up and get back onto your feet, mate. We need every bloke available to keep this unit viable. We've already lost too many good soldiers to this dreaded trench foot, plus other wounds and worse."

"I'll do my best, Lieutenant, but you make sure and look after the rest of the lads while I'm gone. I want to see them all here when I return."

As the stretcher bearers gave Wilf's stretcher the last push into the holding rails on the carriage, the sound of a new shell attack caused the usual commotion, and men scattered back to the security of the trenches.

The calm voice of Maxwell could be heard yelling, "Take cover, men."

The ambulance driver was anxious to get the horses moving out of harm's way, although where that happened to be was anybody's guess. As the horses were driven along what appeared to be an old track, it seemed that the Huns (Germans) were observing their movements and redirecting their fire close by. That was not the case at all because shells were falling over a wide area of this once fertile farming land.

Wilf, being flat on his back, could not see the devastation around him. He had been living in this environment for what to him seemed like years; he knew what it looked like.

The inescapable stench of the dead horses and donkeys along both sides of the track penetrated inside the canvas walls of the ambulance, overpowering any smell coming from Wilf's trench-foot infection. Under normal conditions, the pungent smell of trench foot was bad enough, but the smell of the dead animals was worse.

There were three other soldiers with Wilf, all with the same disease of the feet.

Eventually, he knew they were moving further out of range of the enemy artillery fire. They soon arrived at a Regimental Aid Post, where they were transferred into a motorised ambulance; this vehicle held eight soldiers in various stages of pain.

Wilf couldn't tell what was wrong with all of the men, but two of them had lost legs, and another was heavily bandaged around the head; only his nostrils and one eye were showing. A caring nurse had been assigned the difficult job of keeping him alive for the first leg of the journey to Blighty (England).

The ambulance was again underway at last, but the journey was hardly smoother. The roads were much better, enabling the driver to travel faster. However, the vehicle swayed about more noticeably, making the nurse's task even more difficult.

Wilf wondered what prompted a young girl to willingly give up a life of relative safety at home and come to this hellhole called the Somme. The nurses had to put up with such trying conditions in order to offer life-saving care to men from all around the world. He thought about the marvellous job they all did.

The constant swaying kept up for nearly an hour before they arrived at a railway siding. There were a lot of instructions being shouted by marshals to a rabble of ambulance drivers as they arrived.

The drivers were anxious to discharge their precious cargoes into the care of orderlies and nurses. It was their job to load these men onto the waiting railway carriages for further travel to the harbour. There would be a different lot of nurses waiting there to load their new charges onto the waiting vessel for the journey across the English Channel to hospitals scattered around London and beyond.

Wilf found it impossible to sleep during the ambulance journeys, mainly because of the bumpy, swaying ride. Once on the train, it was certainly smoother, but now the extreme pain from his feet was enough to keep him awake. He felt like he was an imposter in such company when he considered his condition, compared to the terrible plight of most other wounded soldiers around him.

Once the wounded and sick men were loaded onto the boat, the mood of the men changed dramatically. To them, it seemed like they were nearly home and out of harm's way. Most did not realise the danger of the many German submarines lurking in the channel, waiting for a chance to sink Allied vessels travelling in either direction.

If soldiers were in any condition to sing a song whilst being shipped across the channel for hospital treatment, the song was always "Take Me Back to Dear Old Blighty." The words of this song must have added at least an extra 15 per cent chance to the soldiers' recovery rate, even before they arrived at a hospital.

The military ambulance arrived at the King's College Hospital at two in the morning. Wilf was carried by stretcher into the ward to be greeted by Nurse Davis. Wilf was sound asleep and unaware of his surroundings as the orderly handed Wilf's record card to Nurse Davis, which she immediately read: Wilfred George Yates, number 6414, Lewis Gunner of the Eighteenth Infantry Battalion, Second Division of the Australian Imperial Force. He was twenty-five years old, five feet ten with brown hair and blue eyes. His occupation was described as a Teamster (Bullock driver). He enlisted in Sydney and sailed for England on the Suevic in 1916.

After arriving in England, he did extensive training on the Salisbury plains, served in France and Belgium, and was deployed in the trenches around the town of Ypres in Belgium. He was suffering with trench foot and had been withdrawn from the front line and shipped off to England for recovery.

Nurse Davis helped transfer Wilf into a regular bed and noticed from his appearance that he was a wiry, outdoor worker whose body was extremely fit and strong, even for an Australian Digger. Ann had already cared for a number of Diggers in this hospital but was unaware of where the name Digger came from.

She was a nurse with considerable experience looking after injured and sick soldiers from the Western Front. She was five feet four and of slender build, with high cheekbones and blonde hair that was always pulled back and covered under her nurse's cap whilst on duty.

Nurse Davis proceeded to record Wilf's details in the ward register, at the same time making sure he was comfortable. She leaned over the bed and said, "Wilf, can you hear me?" to which he nodded. "I know it's very late, but would you like something to eat or drink?"

"No, I just want to sleep," he replied weakly. He was worn out from the long journey.

Wilf slept well during the night until woken by the day-shift nurse who came to attend to his feet. She also brought him some nourishment, after which he went back to sleep again. Just after dark, he was awakened by the night-shift nurse, Nurse Davis.

"Wakey wakey," she said. "I need to take care of your feet. I'll be back in a few minutes, so you can think about having something to eat." She went away to get the implements needed.

Wilf stirred, and by the time Nurse Davis came back, he was feeling somewhat aware of his surroundings and said, "Yes, I would like something to eat—and a drink also, please."

"How about I arrange a sandwich and a cup of tea for when I have finished bathing and massaging your feet."

"It sounds good to me, thank you."

She caught the eye of the tea lady on the other side of the ward and made arrangements for a sandwich and tea in about half an hour's time.

Nurse Davis proceeded to put in place a large bowl and a jug of hot water and said, "Are you feeling well enough to sit up?"

"Yes, I think so. I'm feeling pretty...