Now we are at rest for a day or two before the Push. I am to be left
out--in charge of carriers. Damn! I might as well be A.S.C. I see
myself counting ration bags while the battalion is charging with
fixed bayonets; and in the evening sending up parties of weary laden
carriers over shell-swept areas, while I myself stay behind at
the Dump. Damn! Damn!! Damn!!! Then I shall receive ironical
congratulations on my "cushy" job.

* * * * *

Have just seen the battalion off. I don't start for another five
hours. I loathe war. It is futile, idiotic. I would gladly be out
of the Army to-morrow. Glory is a painted idol, honour a phantasy,
religion a delusion. We wallow in blood and torture to please
a creature of our imagination. We are no better than South Sea
Islanders.

* * * * *

Just here the attack was a failure. When I got to the Dump I found the
battalion still there. By an irony of fate I was the only officer of
my company to set foot in the German lines. After a day of idleness
and depression I had to detail a party to carry bombs at top speed to
some relics of the leading battalions, who were still clinging to the
extremest corner of the enemy's front line some distance to our left.
Being fed up with inaction, I took the party myself. It was a long
way. The trenches were choked with wounded and stragglers and troops
who had never been ordered to advance. In many places they were broken
down by shell-fire, in others they were waist-deep in water. By dint
of much shouting and shoving and cursing I managed to get through