confess to a few recent ones about being bombed from
the air, but that was probably caused by reading the
The two recurrent dreams were, (i): I was with my
battalion in some slough of despond, from which it
seemed there was no way back. We were all doomed
to perish in the worst possible of all most hopeless
"dud shows'5. Our only enemy was mud. This was
caused by hearing about the Ypres salient, and by
the haunting fear that sooner or later I should find
myself in some such "immortal morass"., as it might
be designated by one of those lofty-minded persons
who prefer to let bygones be bygones—one might call
them "the Unknown Warrior School of Unrealists"
—"these men perished miserably, but the spirit in
which they did it lives for ever", and so on. Measured
in terms of unmitigated horror, this dream was, I
think, quite good peace propaganda. But the queer
thing about it was that while in the thick of my dream-
despair, I sometimes thought "Anyhow I am adding
a very complete piece of war experience to my col-
lection5'. This dream did not recur after I had written
my account of military service.
The second dream still recurs, every two or three
months. It varies in context and background, but
always amounts to the same thing. The War is still
going on and I have got to return to the front. I com-
plain bitterly to myself because it hasn't stopped yet!
I am worried because I can't find my active-service
kit. I am worried because I have forgotten how to be
an officer. I feel that I can't face it again, and some-
times I burst into tears and say "It's no good. I can't
do it." But I know that I can't escape going back,
and search frantically for my lost equipment.
Sometimes I actually find myself "out there"