Sorrowing mothers; I always hurry away when the first sod falls with its horrible thud; it unstrings the chords of one's being, and the best thing is to depart.
Spent afternoon in; at five, went to few tents.
Old Tante yonder; the great collapse; very sorrowful; faithful unto death. Weeks of toil; untiring efforts with sick daughter and her three sick children; poor; helpless; no one to assist save little Billy, who herself is sick. And now—now the daughter is better, the three children on the way to recovery, and the faithful old grandmother? Nunc demittis. She has lain there like a log since yesterday without nourishment; took beef tea; kind neighbour brought broth; made her sit up, and she gulped down the food; will try and get her removed to hospital to-morrow.
Visited Mrs. Naude of yesterday; anguish; the last child died this morning; husband gone; three children gone; alone. Made fool of myself. O, the pity of it all!
Long visit from Doctor; desperate; at wit's end; and with a sermon hanging upon my mind.
Sunday, September 8.—Most awful day of wind and dust. May I never see such another.
Church (!); open air; clouds of dust; people just simply buried in dust; could scarcely read; whole service forty-five minutes.
During sermon compelled to turn round and shut eyes; saw on opening them that my black hat had changed to my brown one.
Met wailing women on return; Mrs. Lubbe; news of husband's death; shot in war; frantic; visited this evening; hopeless. What could I do? frantic despair; cruel anguish unconsolable. Grief makes one unreasonable. I think one should fight against grief and not collapse so readily; and yet—and yet!