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[Page 81]
October 26
As it stands, when bombing stunts are on, we must remain in darkness, completely unable to receive wounded or do dressings till the skies are clear.
All from the damned selfishness and entire lack of keenness of the Q.M. Capt. of the 2nd Field, and the Medical men in a desire for a larger dugout.
87.
Nearing midnight… the night's been hard and clear: a three quarters moon, and hard point stars are superb in a night of deep blue, of light horizons… and on the left flank, terrible bombarding has rolled on since early evening. Only rumour tells us here of the morning's stunt… It was the Canadian affair, - some few reports couple the English, or the London Scottish or ourselves with their names, and all objectives were taken with very few casualties.
Now clouds are slowly coming over… oh most desirable of sky decoratings.
3 a.m. October 27
First point to us, cases in, one a compound fractured leg… we brought him into the dressing tent, put on an improvised tourniquet – and Rube went down to [indecipherable].
The Boche planes were up.. so all light must be put out, the dressing had to be done by the light of his torch, and it took some time.
The only damned point where he scored, was that no bombs were locally dropped till he'd got back to his dugout.
Shelling hereabouts wildly – seemingly wildly anyhow!
88.
I have been reading Shaw's "The Sanity of Art"… at the 42nd page the brilliance begins to tire, and the last of the pages have been read to wandering thoughts.
Still the guns on the left keep their monotonous harmony, entirely without cessation, every few minutes rising heavily, to fall back again tiredly as before.
One of the wounded lads left a packet of photograph cards of great breasted heavy, sleekly beautiful animals….. They led to a yarning of the nude in art. Jane: if only Basil Mac were here, in Rube's place. Rube has elementary ideas certainly, but Mac – mid yarn the shells, the cold, and the long hours away, and we'd know of no troubles, till the next cases come – or came in….
Shaw's "dud": I'll read Brooke. He's of more inspiration that even Keats, in the line or by it.