Dearest Plaster Wall Substitute,

I found a quiet place to write on the upper deck of the ferry. We just left the port of Edinburgh.

I am headed to Antwerp, Belgium.

The highlands I so missed of my youth has left me feeling like I am Elise's cyprian. Dr Elsie Inglis is hard-headed and quick to anger. She argues constantly with the other physicians who question any decision. It is madness dealing with someone like that and having authority makes it all the more difficult. I pleaded for a transfer to Fiona's hospital, but it ignited a fire. I am not pleased.

She has have my education in control. If I leave I have nothing. If I remain my studying will be complete, submitted for evaluation and upon approval, which is certain, I am an approved surgeon and physician by Great Britain. Do you understand? If I stop and come home all my studying, my education everything is for naught.

Patience my half-Silurian wife, I will be home soon as possible.

While I was watching Edinburgh disappearing into the horizon two physicians were talking about France and how they will work with Louisa and Flora. I interrupted their conversation and asked if I may seek them out to deliver a letter to our dear friends. They said yes, I quickly wrote a note telling them where I am headed and wish them well.

I will continue to write this letter until I can ensure its delivery. So my letters might be short or long, depending the time in between deliveries.

Update: I had my passport examined as I changed ship, Dresden, to take me to Antwerp, Belgium. The rules allow only daytime arrivals, so we sat the first night on the seas bobbing up and down. I didn't get sick, but there were many who spend the night hanging their heads over the railings. A few had green faces, I wonder if our children will have green tinted scales like your Mother, they would be the most beautiful children in the world. I believe my daydreaming of green scaled half-Silurian children running around our home brought a smile to my face.

Update: We were ready to leave our place, but the anchor would not be undone, we had to spend a second night on the water. I feel sorry for those who are quite ill with little relief in sight.

Update: We arrived in Antwerp after two nights at sea. Carriages take us to L'Harmonie, Anvers, Belgium. It is a beautiful concert hall, with beds for over 130 patients. We eat a humble meal, at a nearby convent, but sleep at the Hospital. I do not have privacy. I keep my undelivered letter folded with our picture inside the leather pouch. The leather pouch is kept on my person. Can you guess where? Hint number one: not there.

I received a shot in the arm to protect me against typhoid and other diseases. Ouch! I do not make a good patient. I thought of you and your mother taking monthly injections. Please grab something of mine to at least pretend I am near, even if it is a hot water bottle stuffed in my nightgown.

Update: We have limited lighting and emergency surgeries completed by candlelight. All other surgeries begin at first light. Which means I rarely receive enough sleep. I have even missed meals due to surgical responsibilities. I am grateful for the bakery bundle. I do not share with anyone. There are too many sick. Even though I have been given shots, it is not enough. I must maintain my health. I shall come home, slightly thinner ... but I am determined to come home as healthy as possible.

Update: Today bombs were dropped by German aeroplanes on the city. There are rumours of German invasion, but the Belgians tell me the city is well protected. I refrain from making remarks, we know nothing is unsinkable, allowing hope to flourish over facts. Nearby cities are being bombarded by Germans and many refugees have streamed into Antwerp. Reports are saying Germans are 10 to 20 miles away. If Antwerp is held siege, there is food for two years for the entire city population.

Update: The city might have have plenty of food but they did not plan for water. The Germans successfully shelled the pump of the waterworks and now the water is now salty. I boil what I can, soak my tea leaves longer and I still get sick. Cannons are heard nearer every day.

I wonder, with a smile, if Mother Vastra has found the tea supply. I hope not. If she did, please make a note of how long it took. I shall beat the record.

Update: More and more wounded come in each day. An aeroplane dropped a bomb near the hospital and a backfire from a shrapnel case fell through our roof, we are lucky no one was hurt. The Germans are ignoring the Red Cross Flag! The water supply is still salty and no longer can drink well water. The only solution is beer. My dearest Alaya I am drinking beer! I fear this is one small step toward becoming a lush. I hope you love the new me with gin blossoms. When I return I shall find the Whiskey!

Every inch of space occupied. It is a carpet made up of men crowded together ... sick, wounded, men with a limb amputated, those infected by typhoid, dysentery, some waiting to die and the dead. It is a complete grouping of war. I constantly go outside for fresh air, looking west towards London. I miss my plaster wall.

Update: We are to evacuate the hospital. Mrs Godfrey, the cook, is leaving on the first boat back to London. She has agreed to deliver this with strict rules of who accepts the letter.

Update: Evacuation cancelled.

Always Your Hot Water Bottle.

PS. The answer: I keep the leather pouch inside my right socks down by my ankle tied tight with the boots strap.