Part 2

June 8.

Still at this lovely château-farm, and Life seems to have gone into a trance. I wake up and look out into the courtyard and the sunlight, on geese, Muscovy ducks, pigs, and pigeons, and it all feels like a half-forgotten story. There are traces of the Huns, but all that seems unreal. You hear the boom! boom! boom! of the guns all day, and more so at night; but nothing can disturb the extraordinary remote peace of this château. The very stones in the courtyard look more friendly and more countrified than ordinary stones, as if some ancient fairy lived here. There's no doubt at all that the men feel it. Several of them have said how they like the place. They think it's a little bit like ----shire. I think I know what they mean.

After the war perhaps we may visit the place together: I should love showing it to you. I'm not at all sure that it's really very beautiful. The architecture isn't good when you consider it. But somehow....

June 10.

The same château. We are living a simple and brainless life. No field-days, of course, and for this relief much thanks. We don't know in the least what is happening. Troops come and troops go, and guns go by during the night, and Red Cross waggons go hither and thither, and the old turkey gobbles.

Yesterday I was out with my troop, quite uninteresting. But what do you think? Something exploded not 100 yards away from Rinaldo. I was much farther off, dismounted. He didn't turn a hair, but only looked round and watched the smoke. Whereas, as you know, a little bit of paper blown across the road sends him into paroxysms of terror.

June 11.

I went into an old church in a large town ten miles from here to-day with Sergeant Hodge. There were the usual tinsel things and red baize and sham flowers. Sergeant Hodge much impressed. He said after we emerged: "You know, sir, it's very fine indeed. It puts me in mind of a bazaar." This was in all good faith, and was intended as a great compliment to the church! We are having lots of rain, which is bad for the horses, who are picketed in the open. And thunder. It's often extremely difficult to tell whether, when the thunder is far away, it is thunder or guns. Quite a novel experience, and quite pleasant after the long period of make-believe in England. Discipline. So salutary and so irksome. Now for the battle. I own I long to get into the thick of it soon. We see infantry returning and going up, and we feel sick, somehow, to be still safe.

This country is very charming, but a bit monotonous. Every road and every field exactly like every other.

June 13.

A service to-day for Kitchener. And we had to ride fifteen miles there in pouring rain. Then we stood in deep mud for about an hour, the rain gradually trickling down our necks.

To-day delicious rumours of a German defeat at Verdun. Lots of prisoners, including the Crown Prince!

Goodness me, such rain. Jezebel bit Swallow above the eye merely to show what her feelings were. He now has one eye enormously swollen and almost closed up. It is dressed with iodine, so he looks most remarkable. His beauty much damaged. But it will only be temporary.

Hunt tells me that Swallow is so frightened of Jezebel he daren't lie down at night. But then, Hunt thinks Jezebel a sort of Bucephalus, and the more horses she kicks or bites the more pride he takes in her. He has no love for Swallow, unfortunately.

There's a distant cannonade going on to-day. We all eye each other.

June 17.

In the small-hours of to-night we leave this wonderful place. Why we were ever sent here or why moved away is one of those mysteries only known to a few staff officials.

But how we have loved it. At least I have. Some of the others--Jorrocks for instance--have been bored. But, then, they couldn't draw, poor dears. Do you know I have done three pictures. That's a lot in this military life. One of the courtyard, with cocks and hens and things, and in the distance men cleaning their saddles. Another of the vestibule, with Julian and Edward consulting over some map or other at a table. Another of a "fosse" or coal-pit about a mile away. A coal-pit sounds repulsive, but not so in Northern France. They are away from all houses and surrounded by corn-fields. The coal refuse is the curious part of it. Up it comes from the main shaft and is piled up into a series of large pyramids, visible for miles around. Many of the famous "redoubts" are coal-refuse pyramids really. And such nice little chimneys. Rinaldo--gone! Isn't it heartbreaking! An important person comes nosing round, and asks for him. Sir John doesn't like to refuse. I am powerless. Adieu, dear Rinaldo! One gets awfully fond of a horse. Rinaldo was very naughty sometimes, but I loved him all the more for it. And now his good looks have been disastrous. Oh that he had been uglier. Isn't it maddening. Such a leaper, so fast, and such courage. Well, perhaps I shall see him again.

June 19.

At the last moment an order that we are not to go. Then late last night an order to send on an advanced party of one officer and one sergeant and two men immediately. So off I go with Sergeant Dobbin and Hunt and Noad. We had to find billets and bivouacs for the squadron at a place far from here. This we did, and the squadron has just arrived, and we have had lunch and are feeling very fat indeed. We have just seen a pretty aeroplane show. Six of them flew over our heads towards the Boche, and presently puff, puff! went the little dark clouds of smoke all amongst them. They then got too high and too far off for us to see, but we still saw the Archie shells following them. First a flash in the sky, then a very dark spot; then the spot grows larger and fluffier, and becomes a dusky little cloud. So you see some flashes, some dark spots, and some larger fluffy clouds--all on the wretched aeroplane's track.

Only two returned, alas! but they told us they had brought down three Aviatiks.

We're moving with great rapidity up into colder climes. More anon.

June 22.

I wrote a p.c. early this morning, as I thought I might get no other chance. Things are all merry and bright. We have moved up like oiled lightning from ---- to a rather famous place. Hedges and hop-fields. Very interesting church--not hurt at all. We are suffering so (at least, the poor men are) from thirst. There's no water anywhere. I long to gulp down green pond water. However, that will be remedied shortly, I hope. I went into the big town and bought a barrel of beer for the men. Tempting Providence. But there's nothing else. The water isn't good even when boiled. However, all will be well soon.

June 23.

The most extraordinary things are happening. All very quiet and humdrum on the surface. Only the aeroplanes are busy, and if the sun is between you and them there are always the little black high Archie clouds following them, like vultures appearing from nowhere.

Our quick bolt up here has had several pleasant results. First, the country is very beautiful, more hilly in this immediate neighbourhood, with great plains stretching away on all sides. The low hills all have woods round them, and a windmill or a church on the top. Second, B Squadron have already arrived, and our old Brigade-Major and lots of other old friends. It was most joyous meeting them all again. We came trotting down one road, covered with dust, and they came trotting down another road even more covered with dust, having trekked all day.

Isn't it funny. One gets so quickly used to things that already we have ceased to notice the smells, which at first made us wield bottles of disinfectant wherever we went. But now, when the farms and outhouses and other places where we live smell, we merely laugh, and "fatigues" are all at work automatically before nightfall, and by next morning--well, the smells have not gone, but the general feeling is that a good start has been made.