No-Man's-Land, as it is to tell the houses from garden and orchard
and road: the rubbish covers all. It is as though the ancient forces
of Chaos had come back from the abyss to fight against order and man,
and Chaos had won. So lies this village of France.

As I left it a rat, with something in its mouth, holding its head
high, ran right across the village.





The Real Thing

Once at manoeuvres as the Prussian Crown Prince charged at the head
of his regiment, as sabres gleamed, plumes streamed, and hooves
thundered behind him, he is reported to have said to one that
galloped near him: "Ah, if only this were the real thing!"

One need not doubt that the report is true. So a young man might feel
as he led his regiment of cavalry, for the scene would fire the
blood; all those young men and fine uniforms and good horses, all
coming on behind, everything streaming that could float on the air,
everything jingling then which could ever make a sound, a bright sky
no doubt over the uniforms, a good fresh wind for men and horses to
gulp; and behind, the clinking and jingling, the long roll of hooves
thundering. Such a scene might well stir emotions to sigh for the
splendours of battle.

This is one side of war. Mutilation and death are another; misery,