at all till the afternoon. Then they started, and the
noise was HELL. Whenever there was a big bang I couldn't help giving (p. 026)
a jump. The old Tommy I was drawing said, "It's all right, Guv'ner,
you'll get used to it very soon." _I_ didn't think so, but to make
conversation I said: "How long is it since you were home?"

"Twenty-two months," said he.

"Twenty-two months!" said I.

"Yes," said he, "but one can't complain. That bloke over there hasn't
been home for twenty-eight."

What a life! Twenty-four hours of it was enough for me at a time.
Before evening came my head felt as if it were filled with pebbles
which were rattling about inside it. After lunch I sat with the
Brigadier for a time and watched the men coming out from the trenches.
Some sick; some with trench feet; some on stretchers; some walking;
worn, sad and dirty--all stumbling along in the glare. The General
spoke to each as they passed. I noticed that their faces had no change
of expression. Their eyes were wide open, the pupils very small, and
their mouths always sagged a bit. They seemed like men in a dream,
hardly realising where they were or what they were doing. They showed
no sign of pleasure at the idea of leaving Hell for a bit. It was as
if they had gone through so much that nothing mattered. I was glad
when I was back at Divisional H.Q. that evening. We had difficulty on
one part of the road, as a "Sausage" had been brought down across it.

Shortly afterwards I went to live at St. Pol, a dirty little town, but
full of character. The hotel was filthy and the food impossible. We
ate tinned tongue and bully-beef for the most part. Here I met
Laboreur, a Frenchman, who was acting as interpreter--a very good
artist. I think his etchings are as good as any line work the war has
produced. A most amusing man. We had many happy dinners together at (p. 027)
a little restaurant, where the old lady used to give us her bedroom as
a private sitting-room dining-room. It was a bit stuffy, but the food
was eatable.

[Illustration: VIII. _Man in the Glare. Two miles from the Hindenburg Line._]

One fine morning I got a message, "Would I ring up the P.S. of the
C.-in-C. at once?" so I went to the Camp Commandant's office. No one
was there except a corporal, so I asked him to get through to Sir
Philip Sassoon, and said that I would wait outside till he did so.
Presently he called me in, and Sassoon said I was to paint the Chief,
and would I come t