or a holiday with
me. I feel I ought to take some such stern reminder of mortality, and, in
addition, out of a sentimental regard for the past, a few old books, for
my faith is not dead that they may put a new light on the wonderful
strangeness of these latter days. I take these, too.

And that is why I find them at the journey's end. But why did I bring
them? For now they seem to be exactly what I would avoid--they look like
toil. And work, as these years have taught the observant, is but for
slaves and the conscripted. It is never admired, except with a distant
and haughty sententiousness, by the best people.

Nor is it easy, by this west-country quay, to profit by a conscience
which is willing to allow some shameless idleness. I began talking,
before the books were even unpacked, with some old acquaintances by the
water-side. Most disquieting souls! But I cannot blame them. They have
been obliged to add gunnery to their knowledge of seamanship and
navigation. They were silent, they shook their heads, following some
thoughtless enquiries of mine after the wellbeing of other men I used to
meet here. Worse than all, I was forced to listen to the quiet recitals
of stranded cripples, once good craftsmen in the place, and these dimmed
the blessed sun even where in other years it was unusually bright. That
is what put holiday thoughts and literature away. I felt I had been very
unfairly treated, especially as the mutilated, being young men, were
unpleasantly noticeable in so small a village on fine mornings. It is not
right that the calm of our well-earned leisure should be so savagely
ruined. There was one morning on the quay when, watching the incoming
tide, two of us were discussing Mametz Wood and some matters relating to
it which will never be published, and the young man who was instructing
me was approached by an older man, who beamed, and held in his hand a
news-sheet. "Splendid news this morning," said the elderly man to the
young soldier. He wanted the opinion of one who had fought on that
ground, and I regret to say he got it. The soldier indifferently handed
back the glorious news, without inspecting it, with words which youth
should never address to age.

So how can I stay by the quay all the golden day long? I have not come
here prepared to endure the sudden Arctic shadows which fall, even in
summer, from such clouds. The society of our fellows was never so
uncertain, so likely to be stormy, as in these days