for senior officers who were late, no asking permission of senior officers to leave the table early.  Within the hours fixed for meals everyone came in and out as they pleased.  There was no special table for the Staff, no rule against bringing evening papers into dinner, no aloofness, no pomposity.  The only un-English formalities were the habit of turning and bowing as one left the Mess, if a number of officers were still present, and the universal Italian custom by which a newcomer at his first appearance would walk round and shake hands in turn with all those whom he did not know and introduce himself to them by name.

We were also invited to become members during our stay of the Circolo Negozianti, or Merchants’ Club, of Ferrara.  This Club had spacious premises in an old Palazzo, and was the warmest place in the town, having a most efficient system of central heating.

Ferrara is spread over a large area relatively to its population; it has broad streets and very few slums.  But it has come down in the world since the Renaissance.  Degenerate descendants of the d’Estes of that time stripped many of the Palazzi of their artistic beauties and sold them to help pay their debts.  Ferrara is a city of old Palazzi, street after street of them, inhabited mainly now by well-to-do peasants, who take a pride in keeping up their exteriors.  One of the most interesting sights in the city is the Palazzo Schifanoia, now used as a museum and containing frescoes by Cossa and Cosimo Tura.  But what most appealed to me was the superb western facade of the Cathedral.

In peace time Ferrara is prosperous, though a little isolated from the main currents of Italian life.  It is the chief centre of food distribution for this part of the country, and is well known for its bakeries.  It is also an important centre for the hemp export trade.

After two days at Ferrara I was chosen to go to Arquata Scrivia, a little town on the main line north of Genoa.  This had been selected as the Base for the British Forces in Italy, and I was to get in touch with the Ordnance people there, to give them a list of our really urgent requirements and try to hasten their delivery, so as to get us back into action as soon as possible.  Siramo, an Italian Artillery officer who was attached to us for liaison, accompanied me.

The ordinary passenger train for Bologna was three and a half hours late.  Special trains were coming through every ten minutes from Treviso and Venice packed with refugees, going southwards.  The organisation of the Italian railways at this time for clearing the refugees from the righting zone was exceedingly good.  Siramo thought that, if Venice had to be abandoned, the Germans and Austrians would not damage it.  I felt no such security.  That night we stopped at Milan.  Wild stories of “tradimento” were in the air.  It was being said, for instance, that two Generals of the Second Army had been marched through their troops in handcuffs under a guard of Carabinieri.  It was also officially announced that Diaz had replaced Cadorna in command of the Italian Armies.