with their bombardments and the reality of the men who endured them. I wanted to be there again for a few hours, because the trenches really were more interesting than Lady Asterisk’s rose-garden. Seen from a distance, the War had a sombre and unforgettable fascination for its bondsmen. I would have liked to go and see what was happening, and perhaps take part in some exciting little exploit. I couldn’t gainsay certain intense emotional experiences which I’d lived through in France. But I also wanted to be back at Nutwood Manor for breakfast … Returning to my bed I switched on the yellow shaded light. Yes; this was the Clematis Room, and nothing could be less like the dugout where I’d sat a month ago talking about Sussex with Ralph Wilmot. Through the discurtained window the sky was deep nocturnal blue. I turned out the lamp, and the window became a patch of greyish white, with treetops dark and still in the strange quietude before dawn. I heard the cuckoo a long way off. Then a blackbird went scolding along the garden.
I awoke to a cloudless Sabbath