When we come to the end of a period in our history such as the present, it seems natural and almost inevitable to stop and I look back. We find that the years that have passed form the leaves of an album in which have been pasted many views. Some of these are of such value that they stand out as clear and sharp as on the day on which they were made, some bring back sights and sounds and scents, some give us again days of immense pleasure and some recall experiences of deep interest to ourselves and it may be, to others. It is hard to decide which pictures in our albums we shall show when it must be only a few, but perhaps none draw us so irresistibly as those that belong to the war, and of these, the little family groups and the wayside sketches seem sometimes more compelling than those that recall dramatic and exciting events. May I reproduce three or four such pictures taken in London and in Salonica in the early years of the war that has changed all our lives.