As nothing was done with the draft, J. and I took our hook at about noon and mooched off munching huge quantities of lollies and salted nuts J. had just had sent to him as a birthday present. We also ate innumerable black-berries. We essayed a sketch of a pond, seated on some old palings with our feet deep in mire, when a crowd of young bulls came grumbling and nodding up to us from behind, threatening to bump us into the pond. After a careful scrutiny they apparently decided that we weren’t worth strafing and moved on.
[Lincoln Lee, sketch of moorland, Ewshot-Hants, 1917. While not of a pond, this is the final sketch of Lincoln’s we have from the period after he arrived in England, and when he departed for the front.]
Walk March 