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them. The sun blazes from a clear sky; in the orchard
where I am sitting the trees begin to lengthen their
shadows on the green and gold and white floor of
grass, buttercups, and daisies. Aeroplanes drone over-
head; but the late afternoon is full of tranquillity and
beauty. No one can take this loveliness from my heart.

May 20. This afternoon we marched over to Cau-
chy, a couple of miles away; hot sun; green wheat,
and barley and clover; occasional whiffs of hawthorn
smell along the narrow lanes; two red may trees over
a wall, and the hawthorn whitening the landscape

Our Brigade formed a hollow square on the green
hillside above the red-roofed village snug among its
trees. The Brigadier stalked on to the scene, followed
by the modest Major-General who received the salute
of a small forest of flashing bayonets. The General,
speaking loud and distinct but rather fast, told us that
he'd never been more honoured, proud, and pleased
than to-day when he had come to do honour to one of
the most gallant men he'd ever known. He felt sure
we were all equally proud and honoured. (The men
had come along using awful language owing to their
having been turned out for this show before they'd
finished their midday meal.) He then read out the
exploits which had won Corporal Whiteway the V.G.
Nothing was finer in the whole history of the British
Army. The Corporal had captured a machine-gun
post single-handed, shot and bayonetted the whole
team (who were Turks) and redeemed the situation
on his Battalion front. The General then called for
Corporal Whiteway (of the Shropshire Light Infan-
try) and a clumsily-built squat figure in a round steel
helmet doubled out of the front rank of his Company,
halted, and saluted. The General then pinned some-