23rd, 24th, and 25th July (1918)

A succession of cloudbursts.  Some of the “bivvies” were filled with water and slush and their cursing occupants are now digging new ones.  The ground is churned into a frightful mash, something like one of our very worst stews.

My contribution to the day’s humour was to overbalance with a mess-tin full of soup in one hand and a cup of tea in the other.  Sketched the famed “Rosignol Farm”, the first isolated farm I have seen in the district.  Watched a shoot by some long-range heavies, flinging light amber smoke-rings up into the air.  My ear caught by a soft but ubiquitous twittering from a vast cloud of swallows, moving round and round in the sky, ever reinforced by smaller clouds and bands of stragglers.  Was I witnessing the gathering of the clans preparatory to migration?  As they circled in interwoven flight, their wings caught the light with a curious flickering effect, somewhat like sunlight on a shallow stream, or (hideous simile) the jiggering of the kinematograph.

Lincoln Lee, Unidentified Farm, crayon, 1918

[Lincoln Lee, unidentified image of farm – potentially ‘Rosignol Farm’, c1918]

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