ing, and a crow sat watching me from the young
Along that ridge, 572 years ago, the Battle of Crfcy
May 15. Another golden day, fine and warm. In the
afternoon we listened to the famous lecture on "The
Spirit of the Bayonet55. The brawny Scotchman, now
a Colonel, addressed two Battalions from a farm-
wagon in a bright green field. His lecture is the same
as it was two years ago, but for me it fell father flat.
His bloodthirsty jokes went down well with the men,
but his too-frequent references to the achievements
with the bayonet of the Colonial troops were a mis-
take. Anyhow his preaching of the offensive spirit
will have to be repeated ad nauseam by me in my
company training perorations. Such is life!
I have just been out for a stroll in the warm dusk
along twilight lanes, past farms with a few yellow-lit
windows, and the glooming trees towering overhead.
Nightingales were singing beautifully. Beyond the
village I could see the dark masses of the copses on
the hill, and the stars were showing among a few thin
clouds. But the sky winked and glowed with swift
flashes of the distant bombardments at Amiens and
Albert, and there was a faint rumbling, low and
menacing. And still the nightingales sang on. O
world God made!
May 17. Took 180 men to Brigade Baths, at Nou-
vions. Beautiful weather, but much too far; and baths
very inadequate. It was 2 J hours5 march to get there,
and Brigade had told us to go in full marching-order,
as the Brigadier wanted the men to do plenty of
route-marching. Quite a useful way of sending them
to get a clean shirt! I made a row with the Adjutant
and got this cancelled, which made all the difference