The site for the fifth dispensary was chosen on August 16th, at Vitanovatz, about six miles from Kralievo. The method of selecting localities was always delightfully simple. I tell Colonel Guentchitch that we are ready to open another dispensary. He at once comes up to the camp, and in my office tent, we spread a map upon the table; the need for help is equally great everywhere, and our aim is to choose a place which shall be easiest of access from as many directions as possible, and within motor reach of our Kragujevatz hospital. "Now, Colonel, where is it to be?" He points to a place where cross roads meet, and we decide to drive there and choose the site next day. Total absence of red tape, and a delightful camaraderie between us.

On August 16th, Major Protitch came with the exploring party. A village along the Kralievo road had been suggested, but it was a one-road place, and uninteresting. "I don't like the look of this, doctor." "All right, let's drive on farther"; and we continued till we came to Vitanovatz—a very different proposition. "Oh, this will do; let's get out here!" We stopped in front of the little inn, asked the landlord to send for the Prefect, and whilst we waited, we drank Turkish coffee at little tables in the stoep. Why should Turkish coffee, the only coffee that is invariably good, be always served in thimble-sized cups?

In a few moments, as though by magic, the Prefect joined us. He was beautifully dressed, in peasant costume: dark-brown frieze coat, trousers tucked into embroidered stockings, a waistcoat braided and hand embroidered, a soft, white shirt, and the leather sandals. Major Protitch explained our intention, and asked if there was much sickness amongst the people? "Yes, indeed." "Was there a large population who would be likely to avail themselves of the dispensary?" "Oh, yes, there were many villages behind the hills, and every person had to pass through Vitanovatz to go to the market town of Kralievo, six miles distant." "And no doctors near?" "None." That settled it. "Now let's go and find a site. Is there any school building handy in case of emergency weather in the coming autumn and winter months?" "No." "Any rooms available later, in case of need, in the inn?" "Yes, three." We saw these, and they were good, and we engaged them for store-rooms for drugs, etc., and then we all walked along the road till we came to a field adjoining the road on our left, a few yards beyond the last house of the village. Near the road, the field was level, an excellent place for the dispensary tent, and above a steep slope, beyond the level stretch, was a fine plateau dotted with apple trees, evidently intended for our staff tents. A footpath behind the plateau would make the dispensary doubly accessible for the people. "Excellent; we'll take this. To whom does it belong?" "To Gospodine —." "Can we see him and make arrangements?" "No, he's away; but that will be all right." "Very good, we shall arrive with doctor, nurses, tents and medicines in a few days." And all was settled.

Later, when we were established, the owner returned, and to his surprise he saw, as he approached, that his field was dotted with white tents, and crowded with sick peasants. It happened that I was visiting the unit. He came up to me, a little perturbed at first, but I pointed out to him what a good work he was doing, and how lucky he was to have been the owner of such a suitable field, and he was soon satisfied.

We drove home, via Kralievo, after drinking our tea out of thermos flasks, under the apple trees. As we reached the top of a small rise of road, three minutes from our site, a view of the country in front of us, accustomed as we now were to beautiful scenes, made us hold our breath. Upon our left, close to us, amongst green-grey willows, the broad Morava rushed, silver-grey, through a valley which was green with fields of kukurus; a chain of stately mountains, an untiring guard of honour, lined the river's route; and above the junction of the Morava and the Ibar, came Kralievo, with its white one-storied houses, its round-shaped market-place, its acacia trees, with leaves of delicate green, and with hanging branches of red seed pods, of an exaggerated crimson against the clear blue sky.

We drank coffee with a friend of Major Protitch under walnut trees in the garden of the hospital, and returned to camp by 9.30, p.m., via Milochai, Mirchajevli, Bresnitza, and Knish, along the banks of the rivers Ibar, Morava, and Grusha.

On August 31st, the big motor lorries lent by the town authorities, and our own car, and another lent by the military, conveyed dispensary equipment and unit to start the work at Vitanovatz.

We were up at 3.30 a.m., fortunately, as we had many stickfasts on the way, but we were established in our tents by the evening. Dr. MacMillan was in charge, and entered heart and soul into the work, and, as though by wireless, the people soon knew of the help available, and the field was at all hours crowded with patients, mostly from long distances, waiting their turn to be examined.

It was interesting to find that here, as in all other dispensaries, the women expressed satisfaction that the doctor was of their own sex, and the men also found that whilst the skill of the women was equal to that of the men, their gentleness and sympathy were certainly not less. But there was one point on which the sick people were much puzzled. They could not understand why the doctor should want to see their tongues. "But the pain is in my knee, not in my tongue!" said one woman boldly when told to show her tongue. The doctor gave an explanation which must have been extra lucid, for thenceforth it was considered good form to enter the field with the tongue hanging out ready for inspection. How far along the road it was necessary, in the pursuance of good form, to begin hanging out the tongue is not recorded.

On August 27th the site for the sixth dispensary was chosen at Rekovatz. As usual on these occasions we had our first breakfast at four o'clock, and started at 5 a.m. with Drs. Guentchitch, Popovitch, and Protitch. We arrived at nine o'clock, after only one breakdown, and breakfasted at the inn. The Prefect sat with us, and told us that the only doctor in the district had died last winter of typhus, and that medical aid was much needed. We were taken to the late doctor's house, which was well placed in a garden with fine trees and lawns. His widow was still in residence, and warmly seconded the idea that we should establish ourselves in our tents in her garden, and make use of the dispensary rooms at the gate, in the cottage which had served as dispensary for her husband. She offered us in addition the use of her outside kitchen, and later, when the lawn became swamped after much rain, she gave hospitality in her house to the doctor and the nurses. A clever and delightful woman, and she spoke excellent French. She had been left without income, and was now employed at the post office as interpreter at censor work. She was enthusiastically patriotic, but when the Germans came she had no choice but to remain as a prisoner in her own land. I have heard that Rekovatz was treated ruthlessly, and I have often wondered what the fate of Madame has been.

Patients did not wait for us to set up shop, but already that day came clamouring to the inn for treatment.

We were back in camp by 5 p.m. after paying a visit to Lapovo Dispensary on the way home. Here, with Dr. Cockburn, arrangements were discussed with Colonel Guentchitch for building wooden sheds for kitchen and for wash-houses, etc., in readiness for extension of dispensary into hospital should hostilities be renewed.

The dispensary at Rekovatz was started on September 4th. The camp was as usual installed, and in working order, by the evening. The dispensary, in four little rooms in a cottage at the entrance to the garden, and the staff in tents. Dr. Stewart was an ideal woman for the work. In addition to professional skill, she had a keen sense of humour, patience and enthusiasm, and she soon established a success. She was sent for the first evening to see a woman who was too ill to leave her bed. The patient, in a two-roomed cottage, was lying in a tiny room, without any sign of ventilation, past or present. She was closely surrounded by friends; they had already put into her hand the lighted candle—token that she was to die. The doctor opened the window, forced a passage to the bedside through the mourners, gently ousted them, and took stock of the patient. Double pneumonia was the verdict. But there was no reason, except the expressed determination of the relatives, why death should result, if only fresh air, and food, and medicines, at regular intervals, could be assured. It seemed almost a pity to rob the friends of their intended tragedy, but the doctor removed the candle from the victim's hands, and said that there was no reason why the woman should not live; but orders must be obeyed. "Who was in charge?" The mother came forward. "Very well, now you must see (through the interpreter) that your daughter takes the medicine, which I will send, every four hours. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but how are we to know when it is four hours?"

"Have you no clocks or watches?"

"None."

"And none in the village?"

"No!"

"Very well, then you must give the medicine every time you eat your meals."

"We only eat three times a day."

"Then give the medicine three times regularly, and do everything that I tell you, and she'll get better."

The friends in chorus promised that if she got better they would give the doctor a pig—a fat pig. The fat pig was earned, and many other pigs, and fruits, and presents of all kinds were received by the doctor and her staff from grateful patients.