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Trevose. No one knows better than myself the difficulties under which you’ve been obliged to work.’
    ‘I agree, we haven’t sufficient equipment, sufficient room, sufficient staff, or a sufficient number of hours in the day, but we manage. I’d like you to see our star turn,’ he invited. ‘Nurse, give these two gentlemen masks and gowns. Step inside. It’s the saline bath unit.’
    In a partitioned corner of the wash-house one of the bathtubs was in use. Sitting up to his waist in water was a man—or so it was to be assumed, the creature being without hair, eyebrows, or nose, the skin of his face and even his eyelids burnt away. There were two nurses working on him in white gowns and rubber gloves. One was moistening the man’s head with a trickle of clear solution running from a glass vessel suspended near the ceiling. The other was manipulating a pair of forceps in the stream, picking away plaques of hard black material embedded in the pus and raw tissue. Captain Pile, whose eyes had become used to inspecting official rather than human material, felt his stomach turn over.
    ‘Very interesting,’ said Haileybury.
    ‘Somewhat Heath Robinson, but it works,’ Graham explained. ‘It’s got plenty of snags. For one thing, the saline solution in the carboy up there cools too quickly. It’s a nuisance for the nurses to keep replacing it.’
    ‘Doubtless,’ said Haileybury.
    They watched the operation in silence. After a few minutes Graham led them out. ‘Why do you do it to them, Haileybury?’ he demanded.
    Haileybury untied the tapes of his surgeon’s gown. ‘Do what?’
    ‘Plaster those burns with tannic acid jelly. Do you know what I feel when I look round my wards? No hatred of the Germans. Their fellows are getting even worse treatment, I know that well enough, I lectured there before the war. No, I simply writhe with indignation over the stupidity of my own countrymen.’
    ‘So you think tannic acid is stupid, do you?’ Haileybury asked drily.
    ‘I think it’s criminal.’
    ‘But you must know perfectly well, Trevose, it happens to be the regulation treatment. And what else would you suggest? That the dressing-stations do nothing in the way of first-aid at all?’
    ‘That’s exactly what I do suggest. I’m charitably assuming you treat burns with the equivalent of grannie’s cold tea because, one, you can’t think of anything better, and two, you want the casualties to feel something’s being done for them. Well, something’s being done, all right. Medieval mutilation.’
    ‘I really don’t think I need comment on that,’ said Haileybury wearily. ‘Ever since I’ve known you, you’ve ruined your advocacy of any cause, worthy or not, with the extravagance of your language.’
    Graham suddenly felt angry. ‘This situation doesn’t need any language at all.’ He pointed to the closed door of the wash-house. ‘Haven’t you eyes to see for yourself? That patient’s a pilot officer, observer in a Blenheim, which failed to take off properly for some reason or other. The pilot was burnt to a cinder. By the time that poor devil turned up here his head and neck had skin like an elephant’. You know what it was, don’t you? Congealed tannic acid. His hands were worse where he’d tried to pull his blazing clothes off. The fingers were drawn into the palms, webbed together, one black horrible mess. That’s his real tragedy. With time and luck I can give him a face which will pass without too much comment in a crowd. But he’ll probably never feed or wash himself again, even light his own cigarette. He’ll be dependent on someone for the rest of his life. An awful prospect for both parties.’
    Haileybury decided to be firm but patient. If the argument was to end in his favour, Trevose needed even more thoughtful handling than usual. ‘I can appreciate how you feel involved with these men, Trevose. But you must try and see our arrangements as a whole. The application of tannic acid