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the churchyard wall and wonder if anything awaits
me that will be more truly human than my sense of
satisfaction yesterday at Rue railway station. What
did I do to gain that feeling? . . . There were five of
my men who had come too late to get any tea. Dis-
consolately they stood at the empty dixy—tired out
by the long march and herded-into a dirty van to be
carried a bit nearer to hell. But I managed to get
some hot tea for them. Alone I did it. Without me
they would have got none. And for the moment the
War seemed worth while! . . . That sort of thing
reminds me of my servant and the numberless small
worries and exasperations which he has saved me
from in the past ten weeks. Nothing could be better
than the way he does things, quiet and untiring. He
is simple, humble, patient, and brave. He is reticent
yet humorous. How many of us can claim to possess
these qualities and ask no reward but a smile? It
might have been of him that Duhamel wrote—"he
waged his own war with the divine patience of a
man who had waged the great world-war, and who
knows that victory will not come right away." His
name is 355642 Pte. John Bond. I write it here in
case I am killed.

Little ginger-haired Clements, our shy Company
clerk, who works so hard, goes home for a month's
leave to-morrow. Funny to think that some of us may
be dead when he comes back to his documents and
"returns". About 150 strong and healthy men, all
wondering how soon they'll get killed and hoping it
will be someone else. Obvious, I suppose, but a
peculiar notion to have in one's head!

May 25. Habarcq. (12 k. from Arras.) We left
Magnicourt at 9 a.m. Warm day. Beastly march of
ten miles; very slow, owing to congestion of troops.