Thursday, 26th September (1918)

Lived yesterday in the hopes of a night’s sleep but it wasn’t to be.  Night trip with a special shell.  Had things gone smoothly we should have been back before midnight, but exasperating delays occurred.  I can tell you there was some hard driving on the way back.  To bed at 2 a.m.  This waning moon fascinates me.  Last night it wore an almost insane and taunting expression and seemed suggestive of universal topsy-turvy don – I know this must sound very mad.  Often one sees a stream of “tracer” (luminous) bullets flying through the air, sweeping the night and catching a plane here and there, remaining on it a moment to make sure it is one of our own, is worth watching.

The animals are now grazing in bright sunshine; they, poor brutes, get the hardest work and little enough feed and are beginning to fall off noticeably.

Cloudlets in large droves, pasturing in the heavens – to use a Shellean metaphor – all being brightened by the hope of a night’s rest.

The air grows chill; the windy incantations of the wild Scot are plaintive on the moors, and darkness covers this ancient land of France and big events methinks are impending.

One thought on “Thursday, 26th September (1918)”

  1. Just a “few” things up for a mention tonight:
    “A special shell … this waning moon … a stream of tracers… animals grazing … cloudlets brightened …
    the wild Scot … this ancient land … big events impending …”.
    The word artist has not been idle!


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