We were always preparing for a “breakthrough” for cavalry pursuit, and the cavalry were always being massed behind the lines and then turned back again, after futile waiting, encumbering the roads. “The bloodbath of the Somme,” as the Germans called it, was ours as well as theirs, and scores of times when I saw the dead bodies of our men lying strewn over those dreadful fields, after desperate and, in the end, successful attacks through the woods of death⁠—Mametz Wood, Delville Wood, Trones Wood, Bernafay Wood, High Wood, and over the Pozières ridge to Courcellette and Martinpuich⁠—I thought of Rawlinson in his château in Querrieux, scheming out the battles and ordering up new masses of troops to the great assault over the bodies of their dead⁠ ⁠… Well, it is not for generals to sit down with their heads in their hands, bemoaning slaughter, or to shed tears over their maps when directing battle. It is their job to be cheerful, to harden their hearts against the casualty lists, to keep out of the danger-zone unless their presence is strictly necessary.