foolish. Compared with the earlier days of the war the country seemed
full of men, and we heard stories of great accumulation of ammunition.
Anything seemed possible.

By nine o'clock on the morning of the 25th the convoys were coming in,
and the wounded streamed into the reception room. They were 'walking
cases,' men who had been wounded in the early part of the attack and,
able to walk, had made their way on foot to the regimental aid-post. All
had been going well when they left. They were bubbling over with good
spirits and excitement. Three--four--no, five lines of trenches had been
taken and 'the Boche was on the run.' They joked and laughed and slapped
one another on the back, and indeed this jovial crowd presented an
extraordinary appearance, caked and plastered with mud, with tunics
ripped and blood-stained, with German helmets, black or grey, stuck on
the back of their heads, and amazing souvenirs 'for the wife.' One man
with a rather guilty glance round produced for my private inspection
from under his coat an enormous silver crucifix about a foot long. He
found it in a German officer's dug-out, but probably it came originally
from some ruined French chapel. All souvenirs taken from dead enemies
are loathsome to me. It is merciful that so many people have no
imagination. I have never been able to understand, either, the carrying
home of bits of shell and mementoes of that kind. Any memento of these
unspeakable scenes of bloodshed is repulsive. Yet the British soldier is
as chivalrous as he is brave. He speaks terrible words about what he
will do to his foes, but when they are beaten and in his power he can
never carry it through. This was very striking when you consider that
until quite recently the German was 'top-dog' and how much our men had
suffered at his hands. But once the fight is over he is ready to regard
their individual account as settled. I remember so well one fire-eating
officer who was going to teach any prisoners that came into his hands