nd it was set up on a pedestal
in the middle of the chancel. There was a guard of honour of (p. 080)
Australians; birds were flying about above and singing; they had made
the interior of the Cathedral their own. Bits of glass kept falling
down, and the wind made strange whistling noises through the smashed
and battered windows. It was all very impressive. General Rawlinson
and his staff came over from Bertangles, a few natives of Amiens came
into the town for it, otherwise the whole congregation was British. It
was strange! Australian bugles blaring away inside those walls!

I painted Maude and Colonel du Tyl, the brave defenders of the
interior of the city during the bombardment, in Maude's cellar in the
"Hotel de Ville." General Rogers (then Colonel Rogers) used to come in
constantly--a charming man, very calm, with a great sense of humour,
and as brave as a lion. His little brother was working under Maude. At
that time his little brother was very silent--one could not get a word
out of him. Maude used to call him "my little ray of sunshine." Now he
is as cheerful a "Bean" as you could wish to find.

The day the Boche were driven out of Albert, General Rogers went there
and brought back the story of the cat. When the Tommies got into the
town, even through the din, they heard the wailing of a cat in agony,
and they found her crucified on a door, so they naturally went to take
her down, but as they were pulling the first nail out, it exploded a
bomb and many were killed. It was a dirty trick! Yet they who did it
may be sitting beside me now in the little Parisian cafe in which I
write--it is full of Boche. It's a strange thought, almost beyond
understanding.

The light in Maude's cellar was most interesting to paint, and I'm
afraid I spent far too long at it, but Maude was a good companion.
Things were changing now daily. Instead of feeling the sea just (p. 081)
behind one's back, so to speak, each day, it was getting further
and further away, and there were fresh fields to explore. I was due
officially to leave for Italy, but I couldn't go. Why leave France
when wonder after wonder was happening? Hardly a day passed that some
glorious news did not come in. No, I couldn't tear myself away from
Picardy and the North. I felt that I would feel more out of it in
Italy than in London, and now I know I was right. I did not do much in
the way of my own work, but I saw and felt things I would never have
got d