September 21st, 1916.
In the last few days two other officers and myself have been in charge of working parties. Starting out at 8 A.M., it is our habit to proceed on foot to places distant anything up to three and four miles, returning in the late afternoon. Yesterday we got to our destination about 9 A.M., and found the Boche "crumping" with fair regularity the vicinity of an apology for a road. Though little more than a muddy track, and only recently captured by us, this road is full of traffic most hours of the day. The "Hun" knows this and acts accordingly. As we were marching gaily up about 9 A.M. he began a "strafe" of the district with pretty heavy shells at intervals of a couple of minutes. Suddenly came a bang about thirty yards in front of us on the road, and he put a beautiful shot almost under the wheels of a lorry, digging a huge crater in the road, into which the crumpled-up chassis subsided with a crash. Fortunately the driver was not there, or for him it would have been a case of "kingdom come." I was at the head of our lot, along with my friend Lieutenant Gardner. We considered what we should do—whether to push straight through to our destination, which was not two hundred yards away, to wait where we were, or split up into small parties. We arranged that he should lead on, while I would wait to see all the column pass and hurry up stragglers. Gardner had not got farther than fifty yards when a six-incher came plonk within a few yards of him. Luckily he and all his lot had time to prostrate themselves, and there were no casualties. I was gathering the remainder of the party, when whew! crash! and I felt a terrific detonation at my very elbow, and for a moment was stunned and deafened. A Boche shell had pitched not five yards behind me. How I was not blown to smithereens will always be a marvel to me. As I staggered about under the shock of the explosion I could feel bits of steel and earth pattering on my helmet like rain. After the first momentary shock I was in full possession of my wits, and I quickly realised that, for the moment at least, I had lost all sense of hearing in my right ear. But this was a small price to pay for the escape. Such a miracle would assuredly never happen again. A few hours later I had regained a good deal of hearing power, but it is not right yet. Experts, however, tell me that this effect will pass off in time. A fragment of the shell passed through the right sleeve of my heavy overcoat. I am glad to say we had no casualties at all, though the enemy kept on dropping heavy stuff round about us all day.
Well, cheer-oh! I am keeping as fit as a horse. My appetite, I regret to say, gets bigger every day.
September 27th, 1916.
Our working party having finished its duties, I have now been appointed Requisitioning Officer to the 2nd Cavalry Brigade. This is much better than that horrible job with the Supply Column. The war news is splendid, but some glorious men have "gone West." We are paying a big price for victory. The death of Raymond Asquith is a great tragedy. A brilliant life extinguished, one that gave promise of great things. I had a shock to-day on reading in the paper that my old friend H. Edkins,[13] who took a Junior Scholarship at Dulwich in the same year as I did, is reported among the missing. He was an able and gifted fellow. Do you remember how well he sang at the school concert in December, 1914? With all my heart I hope he's all right. I wish you would get for me Professor Moulton's book, "The Analytic Study of Literature."[Back to Contents]
WITH THE 2nd CAVALRY BRIGADE
October 3rd, 1916.
Here I am a Requisitioning Officer again, this time for another Cavalry Brigade. I was sorry not to get back to my old comrades. Still, it is a change to work with new regiments. This Cavalry Brigade is a famous body of troops. To it belongs the honour of having been the first lot of Britishers in action in the war. While I like my duties, I am beginning to feel restive, and am longing to get back to the real battle zone. What think you of our new war machines? [Tanks were first employed on September 15, 1916.—Editor.] I have had many opportunities of studying them on the move. One would scarcely believe it possible they could go over ground such as I have seen them comfortably traverse. No obstacle seems insurmountable to them. They are quaint-looking things, but, in spite of the Press correspondents, they are no more like to, or suggestive of, primeval monsters than a cow resembles a chaff-cutter.
Ireland is an enigma and no mistake. The man who settles the Irish problem will go down to history. The difficulty would appear to be to effect any rapprochement of the English and Irish national points of view, these having been determined by the different environments of the two races. In national life as in nature the law of natural selection operates.
I rejoice to say that I've got two horses again, one a big brown horse, very strong and a hard worker, the other a powerful bay mare. Neither is particularly good-looking, but I've learnt from experience that soundness and strength in a horse are more to be desired than good looks, especially when campaigning. It is seldom that you can combine all the qualities. Breed and blood tell in horses. A well-bred horse will outlast a common one, because it tries harder. What you want is a judicious mixture of breed and strength. My two horses are pretty well-bred and have great strength, and always try hard; so I'm pretty well off, I reckon.